Church Comes in Many Forms
Yesterday I drove down to Laguna, about an hour south of here when the Traffic Goddess is in a good mood. I attended the memorial service of my good friend's brother. I knew hardly anyone there, but the ones I did know are very special to me and it was good to reconnect with them.
The service was at an Episcopal church, St. George's. Didn't see any dragons, though. I arrived early and sat way in the back, where I soon found myself among latecomers. I was in a secret society, the way they slid in without wanting anyone to notice and sharing knowing nods with the people around them. The "Back Pew Club", as it were. The usual prayers and hymns were delivered, tears were shed, laughter was shared and then, THEN...the opulent tones of a vibraphone rolled through the air, and for a moment I thought perhaps *I* was in heaven. The minister, Brother Norm, was jamming on the vibes; the dulcet sounds almost made me want to return to my Christian roots. Almost. (I found out later that he trained at Julliard, tours with Barbara Streisand on occasion, and was once with the Boston Pops. Or was it the New York Philharmonic. Whatever - he was good.) After his short and simple performance, I started noticing his delivery of his homily and sermon - lyrical in its essence, especially when he directed his message to the deceased's young sons, as if no one else was in the church. That's much like the personal experience one has with a favorite song - eliciting strong feelings anew no matter how many times the tune has played.
I watched Brother Norm - whom I shied away from, because, well, I'm shy - for most of the afternoon, watched him interact with people young and old, smiling and hugging and giving off a warmth and confidence that could only be from genuine love and care for others. Is this what being part of a church is like? I thought of my previous brushes with church - mostly of the Armenian Church, where no English was spoken, no one smiled, everything was very dour and frightening, women were next to invisible, and actions driven from a sense of "duty", not "purpose" - and of the few forays into "new" Christianity when I was a young teen, mostly to meet guys but always ending in feelings of inadequacy or doubt. This was nothing like those old, gladly-forgotten memories of Church. This was a community. And, on this day, my tears that were freely shed weren't the usual depletion of my spirit, they were just tears, as they should be.
Church Part 2: After spending the day and early evening with my friends and their family - a true exercise in love and support - I went to my next Church. Birthday party for Lorenzo at his house. I was late to arrive and walked in on a card game called 4 Horses or something like that, complete with piles of dimes and flutes of champagne for all. I dove right in - it was like the feeling you get from crowdsurfing, just being swept along by the moment - more camaraderie but of a different color. Everyone was tuned to the same frequency - KFUN - and I spend the next 4 hours laughing, arguing, and teasing my fellow congregation, each of us there to find purpose, meaning and a good plate (or two) of Indian food at the Church of Perpetual Silliness.
"One Love, One Heart...let's get together and feel all right..."
