A few weeks ago, after meeting with the Women’s Spirituality Group (which I make an unabashed plug for right here – it’s wonderful!) I snuck back into my house, grabbed my portfolio and headed to Dunn Brothers, which has become my ritual after that meeting. I ordered myself a Chai and sat down with my favorite fountain pen and started writing about what I had discovered that day about me, my year and my faith. I’m going share what I wrote that night, so imagine you are sitting there with me in Dunn Brothers on December 17, with your favorite coffee or tea. It’s kind of crowded but quiet and unseasonably warm out the windows, a bit of snow blowing around. Here goes.
After the meeting tonight I am understanding even more of what has happened in my life this year. I am standing in it, letting it blow my hair around a little bit.
Judson Church fits me like a fine, hand-woven, beaded, shimmering party dress. It did right from the start, though at first I felt a bit nutty coming to church wearing a party dress and all. I came, I listened and opened myself to the breezes blowing me out my front door and across the street. I was curious as to what was happening to me. How could I want to go back to a place that told me about Jesus and the saints, and God, and, and, and.
You see, I didn’t believe any of that, that God and bible stuff. It didn’t work for me. But I had a sneaky suspicion that it is transformative to a child – maybe the only way a child has to deal with the vastness and all the chaos and change in the world. I know as a child I grabbed on to it all – I loved those stories and the safety of answers. And I felt like it was probably that way for my kids, too. So, I went back, every week. And my dress got tailored a little bit … a new row of beading added along the hem … a little around the neckline.
And this liturgy thing. Wow. Listening to Beth Waterhouse sing and share, all the stories, the journeys, the interpretations, the visions of people, people that, well, seemed almost too good to be true. How could so many amazingly creative, committed, energetic, ah no word exists that describes you guys --- how could people like this exist at all, let alone in mass, assembled all in one place? Another tuck on my dress, a string of sequins. This dress was becoming amazing.
There were four people who David and I shared many dinners with during this time – the passionate way they talked about this place, the kind of people they are – the wonder of Judson really came through. With them, in part because of them we decided to join. It felt right, though I could describe why to no one. Marching around to “Oh when the Saints Come Marching In” one Sunday I whispered to David, “let’s do it. This feels right.” A little thrill of belonging, another string of pearls on my dress.
Between the time of joining and deciding I had lots of strange experiences. I sat in my pew, gratefully alone and I often had this sensation that I was about to soar, I mean literally, right off my pew. I in fact knew that if I raised my arms up I would go up. Right up – right into the air, all that shimmering colored light from these beautiful stained glass windows would embrace me, reflect off the sequins of my beautiful party dress. But I couldn’t quite do it. I Couldn’t lift up my arms. Too scared I would soar up. Too scared I wouldn’t. But most Sundays, I had that same sensation, that I could decide to rise up and into the gusts of wind from those fans blowing around the sanctuary.
The weekend we were going to join my Granny died. She was 83. She was vibrant, powerful and amazing. She had great faith. She hated it that I didn’t. So I left for Denver, to be with my family and make some kind of peace with the loss of her. During those 3 days in her apartment, with my family, I lived moments that shook my spiritual foundation. In her death, she gave me faith. This was her gift to me. Faith. Hope. God.
I came back, both completely changed and also unchanged. I didn’t know how to fit it all in. But I kept blowing across the street – ok, getting a bit later every Sunday! – But this was my place now – I knew it. I craved it even. And my dress … ? Perfect.
I joined. Nothing profound.
But lately I have realized that I don’t feel the winds in here anymore. If I raised my arms I know I would just sit there on my pew like a nut with my arms up. Oh – you guys would accept me anyway, probably, it’s kind of how you are. “There’s that woman who likes to raise her arms up now and then. Yep, and she’s wearing a party dress …” Shrug.
But I missed it. I missed feeling like something huge was moving me, or might.
But tonight, Trish asked me a question that brought me all the way around. After the Women’s Spirituality Group meeting, I got it. I got why I didn’t join that first weekend and why I don’t feel “soar” anymore. I wasn’t supposed to join this church until I had my faith. My Grandmother gave me that. And you, wonderful people, gave me a place to wear my sparkling finest and just live and be and celebrate the many ways my faith comes more fully alive. And I don’t soar anymore because I have already lifted off. I am not grounded in a pew anymore, my spirit is floating all around this place – celebrating, mourning, searching, striving, dreaming. With you.