One of my all time favorite movies is The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra. It is an independent film, a spoof on old sci fi movies; I have it on my iPod and have possibly seen it 4,000 times. There is a part in the movie where Paul, the geek-turned-hero, confidently claims to his woman, "Betty, I'm a scientist. I don't believe in anything." This line is what popped into my head this morning when I told my Mom that Rachel and I were going to a Unitarian Church and she said, "Oh...you know they don't believe in Jesus, don't you?" I did. I wanted to know what their motivation was. From the little I knew, Unitarian Universalists were an organized religion, but without the religion part. Terrifying? Yes. Was I excited? Oh yes.
During this month long break, Rachel and I have managed to master directional skills and GPS understanding. You believed that? You must not be a scientist. We almost went to the Buddhist Temple on the street right before the Unitarian Church. Best we didn't, I suppose, I probably would have said something intelligent. "Oh look at the feng shui. I love that brand of noodle."
When we walked into the Unitarian Church we were greeted and given name tags. They tried a couple times to get us to write down our addresses, but I think we mumbled something like, "Oh perhaps after, thank you." I did wonder if Unitarian people delivered food. I confess I still think about that Methodist poppy seed bread late at night sometimes.
We took our seats while worship (worshiping who?) was going on. Then an old man and a guy who looked like Dwight from The Office started telling a story about dogs. They were talking all animated and over-emphasizing things. I finally realized that they were talking to kids up there - it was yet another children's time. This lesson wins trippy-est. It was about how this dog family barked at the moon and had a long, grand, howl at the end. The reason they did this was to give thanks to all the beings in the world and to the universe. Then Dwight proceeded to lead the children in a chorus of dog barks. He exclaimed that "Pentecostals aren't the only ones who bark." I am sharing this with you because everybody laughed. Personally, I can't figure it out. While the Romulus and Remus children left for Children's Church and the congregation sang a hymn thing called "Go Now in Peace," I admired the decor. The building was actually decorated freakishly similar to my bedroom. There were pictures of impressive natural landscapes, quotes, and art and objects from an assortment of countries randomly placed around. It had the whole "Man I wish I had actually been to even one of these places and haven't mostly just sat in this room reading National Geographic all the time" look. Not to be specific or anything.
Next we were invited into a musical deepening. In those precise words. We were told to close our eyes for improvisational singing, to just find a note and hold it. Apparently by doing this we would create a flow and bring our individual nervous systems into sync. My system was nervous, I can tell you that. When the, uh, deepening, began I did not offer any special note of my own, however I closed my eyes and listened. It was an interesting sound. It made me think of when I did musical theater and we were warming up, everybody on a different note and creating a hum that should not be legal in this dimension. Still, A Plus for guts, people! Once we were supposedly in sync Dwight came up and read a poem by T.S Eliot and instructed us to breathe deeply and gently. Then he said something about the fire and the rose being one. He prayed to "The spirit of life and love, known in many ways by many names." I don't remember the prayer; I was still stuck on that flaming rose thing. Talk about lethal. So much for peace be with you.
Rachel scribbled me a note saying she had an Atheist friend who thought Christianity was just something parents invented to make their kids behave, and that's what this seemed like. I guess this place just gives people a sense of belonging. It is a way for them to fill the hole humans have had in their soul since the fall of mankind in the Garden of Eden. What really binds these people together? I just can't grasp that the desire to be "good" is enough. What about the motive behind that? They want to turn the world around. Why? What about when the supposed flow they work so hard to achieve dries up for no reason? We all fail. Bad things happen because there is sin in the world. When bad things happen do these people blame themselves? I suppose this particular way to attempt to fill that missing piece is better then drugs and such, though the ideas are essentially the same - people trying to fill something missing from their hearts. All the poetry and good intentions were nice, but it's empty babble without Jesus in your heart, cliché as that sounds.
While those thoughts danced about in my mind, the congregation had candle lighting time. A person would come up and light a candle, then state their joy or sorrow. Rachel pointed out that instead of saying "Pray for me" they would say "cross your fingers." Hmm. Next came more singing which included a tambourine, much to my delight. The song was called "Jazz Alleluia." Dwight then told us to prepare our minds for the sermon, "Form, Function, and Flow." Too bad I left my granola and yoga mat at home.
Dwight's sermon was NOT based on a particular passage of scripture, so it was hard to gather what the core of it was. He did recite a poem, a passage from Psalms, and a quote from some guy named Wahhabi Sabi. I think Rachel giggled every time he said that name. Which of course made me smirk and start to doodle a vicious Wahhabi Sabi bird creature in my notebook, until I realized the guy next to me was peeking at my notes. He would continue to do this throughout the sermon. Eh, he was undoubtedly entertained; we'll leave it at that.
I wrote SERMON at the top of my page and Rachel grabbed my pen and changed it to "SERMON." Good point my friend. The Wahhabi Sabi guy (Are we sure Dr. Seuss didn't make him up?) claims that we can never know the complete state of a thing. He says we'll never know when a plant is whole, if it is complete as a seed, flower, or pod. This was an interesting thing to ponder. But then he stated that everything begins from nothing and is heading toward nothing. Stop and think about that. We came from nowhere and are going nowhere? After lots of deep emotional pondering, I have personally concluded...that sucks. If that's the way it is, I hope I'm reincarnated into an ostrich. Then I can just stick my head in the ground forever. Because if that's how it is, what's the point? Why bother?
Dwight's answer to this was beauty. He said that truth comes from observation of nature; a river's perfect flow is the connector between beauty and truth; it restores our lost soul. The only way I can see a river fixing my soul is by drowning myself in it. Really though, I can understand where Dwight is coming from. There is something healing about the natural. Comforting. But I disagree with Dwight about his claim that beauty makes our life worth living. It enhances it greatly, yes, but it's not "the plank amid the wares," as Dwight put it. I think beautiful, natural, wonders are a gift and a mere glimpse of what’s to come. And anyway, some people think Paris Hilton is gorgeous. She's your life saver? The woman wants to invent echo friendly Hummers! But I shouldn't judge. I'm disrupting the flow. Now instead of an ostrich I'll get reincarnated into one of Paris Hilton's pink purse dwelling Chihuahuas.
The "sermon" ended and everyone was reminded about the Drum Circle event happening in the evening, that it was a wonderful embodied experience opportunity. MY body was ready to leave. I had practically licked the coffee cup clean and observed enough for the morning. People are so silly. I saw a woman with a shirt covered in polka dotted Koalas and was of course extremely envious. Also I saw a lady with a pink shirt and skirt, pink dragonfly clip, and a pink FUZZY phone which she kept pulling out of her shirt and playing with. At least I hope it was a phone. I love people, from a distance. However Gandhi/Rachel insisted on making friends. One of these days I'm searching her purse for really-nice-person-pills from Mrs. Piggle Wiggle. She asked me if I wanted to go meet someone. Want? No ma'am. Would I? Yes, as a dedicated, serious journalist with a few regular followers. (Hey, little sibling and boyfriend count.)
We ended up talking to several people, who were all genuinely friendly. Well, except for the old man at the end who gave me the heebie jeebies. Ha, that word is almost as funny as Wahhabi Sabi. We met Dwight as well and he told us how his wife was also a Unitarian pastor person (don't remember the exact title) but at a different church. I found that interesting, and asked if they taught the same things and worked on sermons together. He laughed and said not at all, because they were completely different personalities. Again, interesting...
In The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra the evil villain Roger gangs up with these aliens. Roger breaks his side of the deal and cheats the aliens out of what they were after. The aliens are frustrated and exclaim, "Why, Earth sharing isn't at all like Marvan sharing! More...disgusting I think." No matter what all the characters claim, their motives are for their own gain, comfort, and desire. Later the aliens befriend Paul and Betty, the good scientist and his wife. Their common connector is a rock, basically the rock that will save their lives. Do you see where this is going? It doesn't take a scientist (or alien) to figure it out. Jesus is our rock, the solid thing that binds Christians together. Plus, I just really wanted to write an allegory about deeper Christian meaning in a fiction story. The Lord of the Rings and Chronicles of Narnia have already been taken.
In the very end of The Lost Skeleton of Cadevera, Paul, Betty, and the aliens are standing on a hill overlooking the world and dramatic music is playing and the alien named Crowbar says, “You know, it's funny, but when the kind of understanding you and I have over a rock spreads throughout the universe, then, and only then, will there be understanding amongst all peoples, alien and alike. In all kinds of places, at the same time." And then they all shrug, and walk away and carry on with their lives.
I'll leave you to look for more hidden Biblical references that aren't intentionally there while I go work on another allegory. This one is called, "A Deeper Look at The Beverly Hills Chihuahuas." Staring Paris Hilton of course, who gets defeated by a caffeinated ostrich in a polka dotted koala shirt.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
#9 Kirkwood Presbyterian Church
For the first time ever, I was the one who knew how to get to our church of the week. Kirkwood Presbyterian is in my neighborhood, just a few blocks from my house. Usually my directional input consists of something like "I dunno. Wherever you go there you are." But this week I got to say "left up here" and "turn right!" Never mind that most of the turns were one way.
This church is very familiar to me; it has always been a part of my life, though I have never been inside the sanctuary. I learned to ride a bike in the parking lot, as did my brother. It is a big flat surface and always empty except on Sundays; I'm not sure what this says about the church. There is a small patch of woods next to the parking lot with office complexes on the other side of it. There is a playground in the woods, and it has always been my favorite. It is unlike elementary school playgrounds - all the equipment is old. I used to be convinced the place was haunted; now I just think it’s seen a lot, glimpsed a lot of stories. You can hang out down there and listen to the sounds of the shopping centers around you, but feel distant from them all the same. The playground is a half-way point between my house and one of my best friend’s house; for years we have started off long summer days by meeting there. At age 13 we would swing and speculate how much toilet paper it would take to teepee our orthodontist, whose office was visible if you swung high enough. Recently we swung and talked about our jobs and how he's leaving for college in the fall. I suppose this is the point where I should ponder, "Where has the time gone?" But why waste time speculating such things.
All those times I've been on the property I've never seen anyone who works there. Still, today as I walked into the church I wondered if someone would come up to me and say, "Hey where is the skater boy?" or "Well, don’t you clean up nice." Rachel and I were greeted only with smiles, though, as we took a seat in the elegant sanctuary.
The service was pretty much identical to the Methodist church. I have been meaning to Google the difference between Methodist and Presbyterian. The only difference I was able to observe was at the beginning two candle girls walked down the aisle instead of one, and they weren't clad in white robes. They were more like oversized Alice in Wonderland costumes. This place also had a stand with a peculiarly shaped empty bowl on it; neither Rachel nor I know what its purpose was.
The following-of-the-program was even more specific then the Methodists; I was surprised this was possible. At least this time I knew how it worked. Shut brain off, quit thinking for self, follow guide, chant like zombie. The program even tells when to sit down and stand up. The first time the leader guy said "let us pray" I bowed my head and started to close my eyes and was startled by the entire congregation chanting. I guess I forgot that these were Easy Bake prayers, already prepared with clear instructions for completion. "So easy a caveman could do it!" Throughout the service everyone would rise for a hymn, Rachel and I would frantically flip through the book, find it, and never quite figure out where we were. Finally I whispered to just mouth the word "banana" the whole time, and quit giggling before you pop a gasket. Rachel, I must say, was in the giggliest mood I have ever witnessed. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining at all. It made the otherwise dull experience entertaining and enjoyable. It's a good thing this type of church doesn't practice the art of whacking people with switches though. At one point Rachel asked if I knew what the previously mentioned mysterious bowl was for. I told her it was for the severed heads of those who can't control their lol-ing. I said this with a little too much enthusiasm and my pen flew out of my hand and clattered to the floor. I felt like the speaking-guy on stage was looking right at me and thus was scared to bend over, so I retrieved the runaway writing utensil with my toes.
Rachel and I questioned who writes these things as the "prayer of confession" was chanted. When it ended and the room became dead quiet I looked around and wondered if somebody forgot their lines. Rachel had to point out to me (giggling, of course) the small words in the program which read "Moment of silence for personal confession." Right. Like the Methodist church, these guys also had children’s time, however the lady leading this one seemed more genuine and talked with the kids better. This was because she was young I suppose, unlike that other lady, who probably flipped on the switch when God said let there be light. The children's lesson consisted of the woman showing them a black bag and asking if they had faith there were hundreds of flowers in there. When they doubted, she opened it to reveal packets of flower seeds, giving each of them one as she talked about Thomas the Doubter from the Bible. As we all prayed I caught a little girl peeking, or she caught me, whatever. She was a scrawny brown-haired thing, fidgeting, trying to remove her shoes, and no doubt my kindred spirit. We exchanged smirks, then all the good people opened up their eyes and the kids left for children’s church.
The main sermon was also about Thomas the doubter, though alas we didn't get any flower seeds. If the pastor at Family Worship Center was Clinton, this dude was McCain, Rachel and I concluded. McCain explained how just like the Resurrection story is taught on Easter, the story of Thomas is usually presented the week after Easter. This is because the account in the Bible took place exactly one week after Christ rose. Here's that account: "Now Thomas, one of the Twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, "We have seen the Lord!" But he said to them, "Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe it." A week later his disciples were in the house again and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you!" Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe." Thomas said to him, "My Lord and my God!" Then Jesus told him, "Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed."" (John 20 24-29)
McCain managed to take an interesting look at the story; he pointed out how Thomas gets a bad rep for being a doubter and not having faith. A lot of people don't realize Thomas went on to cross the largest area as a missionary, and was believed to be the only disciple to leave the Roman Empire. Just because he once doubted and questioned it didn't mean he couldn't have strong faith later. We can get through times of trial and agony and move on to do great things. We are all going to have times of doubt. Christ will always be there to prove himself, maybe not in a physical sense, but he makes himself evident. The reason we break the bread, take communion, is so we have something tangible to remind us of that.
Rachel said the entire service felt like a graduation ceremony to her. I agreed. It was lovely and wise things were said, not to mention a lot of a people were wearing robes. But it was so formal. I appreciated the intelligent speeches that were made, and though they were meant to motivate, I left no different. Well, it did bend my mind that the church I've been hanging around for so long had an interior which held something nearly as intriguing as the ancient playground - the mystery bowl. *Insert giggles here.*
P.S. I regret to inform you there will be no entry next Sunday, as Rachel will be on a retreat and I will be attending the Appalachian State University open house. You may now proceed to mourn.
This church is very familiar to me; it has always been a part of my life, though I have never been inside the sanctuary. I learned to ride a bike in the parking lot, as did my brother. It is a big flat surface and always empty except on Sundays; I'm not sure what this says about the church. There is a small patch of woods next to the parking lot with office complexes on the other side of it. There is a playground in the woods, and it has always been my favorite. It is unlike elementary school playgrounds - all the equipment is old. I used to be convinced the place was haunted; now I just think it’s seen a lot, glimpsed a lot of stories. You can hang out down there and listen to the sounds of the shopping centers around you, but feel distant from them all the same. The playground is a half-way point between my house and one of my best friend’s house; for years we have started off long summer days by meeting there. At age 13 we would swing and speculate how much toilet paper it would take to teepee our orthodontist, whose office was visible if you swung high enough. Recently we swung and talked about our jobs and how he's leaving for college in the fall. I suppose this is the point where I should ponder, "Where has the time gone?" But why waste time speculating such things.
All those times I've been on the property I've never seen anyone who works there. Still, today as I walked into the church I wondered if someone would come up to me and say, "Hey where is the skater boy?" or "Well, don’t you clean up nice." Rachel and I were greeted only with smiles, though, as we took a seat in the elegant sanctuary.
The service was pretty much identical to the Methodist church. I have been meaning to Google the difference between Methodist and Presbyterian. The only difference I was able to observe was at the beginning two candle girls walked down the aisle instead of one, and they weren't clad in white robes. They were more like oversized Alice in Wonderland costumes. This place also had a stand with a peculiarly shaped empty bowl on it; neither Rachel nor I know what its purpose was.
The following-of-the-program was even more specific then the Methodists; I was surprised this was possible. At least this time I knew how it worked. Shut brain off, quit thinking for self, follow guide, chant like zombie. The program even tells when to sit down and stand up. The first time the leader guy said "let us pray" I bowed my head and started to close my eyes and was startled by the entire congregation chanting. I guess I forgot that these were Easy Bake prayers, already prepared with clear instructions for completion. "So easy a caveman could do it!" Throughout the service everyone would rise for a hymn, Rachel and I would frantically flip through the book, find it, and never quite figure out where we were. Finally I whispered to just mouth the word "banana" the whole time, and quit giggling before you pop a gasket. Rachel, I must say, was in the giggliest mood I have ever witnessed. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining at all. It made the otherwise dull experience entertaining and enjoyable. It's a good thing this type of church doesn't practice the art of whacking people with switches though. At one point Rachel asked if I knew what the previously mentioned mysterious bowl was for. I told her it was for the severed heads of those who can't control their lol-ing. I said this with a little too much enthusiasm and my pen flew out of my hand and clattered to the floor. I felt like the speaking-guy on stage was looking right at me and thus was scared to bend over, so I retrieved the runaway writing utensil with my toes.
Rachel and I questioned who writes these things as the "prayer of confession" was chanted. When it ended and the room became dead quiet I looked around and wondered if somebody forgot their lines. Rachel had to point out to me (giggling, of course) the small words in the program which read "Moment of silence for personal confession." Right. Like the Methodist church, these guys also had children’s time, however the lady leading this one seemed more genuine and talked with the kids better. This was because she was young I suppose, unlike that other lady, who probably flipped on the switch when God said let there be light. The children's lesson consisted of the woman showing them a black bag and asking if they had faith there were hundreds of flowers in there. When they doubted, she opened it to reveal packets of flower seeds, giving each of them one as she talked about Thomas the Doubter from the Bible. As we all prayed I caught a little girl peeking, or she caught me, whatever. She was a scrawny brown-haired thing, fidgeting, trying to remove her shoes, and no doubt my kindred spirit. We exchanged smirks, then all the good people opened up their eyes and the kids left for children’s church.
The main sermon was also about Thomas the doubter, though alas we didn't get any flower seeds. If the pastor at Family Worship Center was Clinton, this dude was McCain, Rachel and I concluded. McCain explained how just like the Resurrection story is taught on Easter, the story of Thomas is usually presented the week after Easter. This is because the account in the Bible took place exactly one week after Christ rose. Here's that account: "Now Thomas, one of the Twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, "We have seen the Lord!" But he said to them, "Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe it." A week later his disciples were in the house again and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you!" Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe." Thomas said to him, "My Lord and my God!" Then Jesus told him, "Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed."" (John 20 24-29)
McCain managed to take an interesting look at the story; he pointed out how Thomas gets a bad rep for being a doubter and not having faith. A lot of people don't realize Thomas went on to cross the largest area as a missionary, and was believed to be the only disciple to leave the Roman Empire. Just because he once doubted and questioned it didn't mean he couldn't have strong faith later. We can get through times of trial and agony and move on to do great things. We are all going to have times of doubt. Christ will always be there to prove himself, maybe not in a physical sense, but he makes himself evident. The reason we break the bread, take communion, is so we have something tangible to remind us of that.
Rachel said the entire service felt like a graduation ceremony to her. I agreed. It was lovely and wise things were said, not to mention a lot of a people were wearing robes. But it was so formal. I appreciated the intelligent speeches that were made, and though they were meant to motivate, I left no different. Well, it did bend my mind that the church I've been hanging around for so long had an interior which held something nearly as intriguing as the ancient playground - the mystery bowl. *Insert giggles here.*
P.S. I regret to inform you there will be no entry next Sunday, as Rachel will be on a retreat and I will be attending the Appalachian State University open house. You may now proceed to mourn.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Easter Break (A Re-cap/Rambling of Sorts)
-WARNING: This gets obnoxiously close to sounding like a diary entry. Due to a jellybean overdose, probably.-
Last night I was babysitting some kids who live on my street. They had been in bed about an hour and I was happily curled up on the couch reading when Molly, age 7, ran into the room with a panicked look; I thought her 4 year old brother had disappeared or lit the house on fire, or both. "What is it?" I asked her as I quickly shut my book and hopped up. "I didn't leave out the eggs for the Easter bunny to hide, or my Easter basket for him to fill!" she gasped. "He's not gonna know where they are!" I took her by the hand and we strode to the kitchen, where freshly decorated eggs sat in the fridge. We stuck them on the front porch and proceeded to search for the baskets. They were nowhere to be found; I assumed this was because they were already filled and waiting. I only had to promise Molly several hundred times I'd make sure her parents found them and put them out. As I tucked her back into bed she asked me when exactly the Easter Bunny came. I told her not in the middle of the night, Santa hogged that time slot, though rabbits prefer early morning anyway, so right when the sun rises. "Why does the bunny have eggs?" She questioned next. "Because he is trying to keep his relations with the chicken on the down low." I informed her. "What?" She looked frustrated. "Don't worry about it." I gave her pillow one last fluff then walked out. I thought I'd made an escape when the little voice spoke again. "Sally?" I sighed. "Yes, Sleeping Beauty?" "I'm glad you know so much about Easter." I turned in time to watch her drift into sleep as she said this, and thus the child was spared a sermon on The True Meaning of Easter. I will spare you one as well, because gosh, we all know it right? We all know Easter isn't about bunnies and colorful eggs and baskets lined with paper grass that makes my cat barf...it's about much more...like jellybeans. Joke.
Today Rachel and I both went to Burke Community Church with our own families. It felt strange this morning, making my single cup of coffee and leaving my nearly half full notebook called "Church, for lack of a better title" behind. I felt my thoughts on this one would be too tainted. I cannot look at the place with fresh eyes. I don't dwell on the past, which is exactly why I don't love returning. It smelled like junior high in there. I already have a strong taste of the atmosphere and an impression of many of the people. It wouldn't be fair to those who I don't know or have changed for me to make any observations. Though I imagine they too see me, "girl with the bizarre sense of humor," as I was called once, and can also assume only what they know from before. Sure I've changed. I've made some (okay a lot) of mistakes and learned and never regretted. I've mastered controlling my temper and telling the truth, (THAT’S A BIG FAT LIE) and I don't have braces anymore. But essentially, I'm the same.
Johnny, a good friend and one of my favorite people, is always saying, "Sometimes the same is different, but mostly it's the same." This sums up my returning-to-my-original-church experience. This is not the church or its peoples’ problem; it's mine and my incredible fear of "the same." I know I can't keep going to a new church every Sunday forever; I have to at least attempt to fit in somewhere, and the fact is, I think I may want to. But no worries, this isn't the end of the exploration, just a re-cap. Besides, I may not live until next Sunday, I ate so many darn jellybeans.
As for the service at Burke Community Church, I can tell you it was nice and well done. Though I am not allowed to say much more, I reckon. As we were driving home I innocently compared one of the songs to a scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and was told by my mother, "No. Just no. My church and I like it." And to give it a rest or something of that sort. But I mean it, it was a nice service. A usual Easter one, do you know what I mean? Honestly though, that's alright. It is good to hear the resurrection story, to sing praise, remind and revive your heart, mind, and soul of the simple yet life-changing/saving news. Right, no preaching. I am not here to preach; you can go to church and hear all about this news I speak of. That's right, I, Sally Grace, am suggesting going to church. Don't write it off because of one (or several) specific ones and experiences. As I counted flowered dresses and khaki guy pants today, I thought about the different churches I've been to. It continues to wow me how utterly different each is; I can't help but marvel at the beauty. All so different - the people, the music, the atmosphere, the customs, the traditions and etiquette, the vibe, the presentations. But boil it down, and they are gatherings of human beings trying to discover a God, follow a Savior, and understand The Why. "Sometimes the same is different, but mostly it's the same."
Much as I actually didn't mind attending the service and pondering over my newly gained perspectives on God's fan club, I still am not sure if I am part of that group. Indeed I am a fan of God, but the club part? Not so much. After I got home I changed out of the high heels and red dress (oh man that’s a Jonas Brothers lyric, just shoot me now) into jean cut-offs and a Converse All Star tee. We went to Great Falls and I went on a long walk through the woods, mostly barefoot, peace love and granola man. Call me a grape nut, but it's out there I feel the most grateful for God's gift of eternal life; in all that natural beauty I see that he is real and good. It is there my heart really sings praise. Not to mention my off key little voice box. I want to leave you with my number one favorite praise song of all time. I find it good to sing when walking along a breezy mountain ridge, chasing waves into the sunset, searching for all natural shampoo in Wal-Mart, you name it I sing it. It is from some commercial a few years back on the Discovery Channel. I suppose it's called Boom De Yada, though in these parts we call it "Sally’s Song" or "SALLY SING SOMETHING ELSE FOR ONCE." Enjoy, and Happy Easter. Oh, since I'm getting all sappy and sentimental anyway, let me say thank-you for reading. Don't get me started how much it means. I honestly didn't believe anyone would read this. I figured it would help me organize my thoughts and keep track of each, and I just like to write, hone my skills, and attempt to semi-amuse Rachel. As she said, "People like us, they really like us!" So thanks, the comments and all mean a lot, such a blessing and encouragement. Now I will cease rambling before you decide to quit following. Song time.
Astronaut 1: It never gets old, huh?
Astronaut 2: Nope.
Astronaut 1: It kinda makes you wanna...
Astronaut 2: Break into song?
Astronaut 1: Yep.
I love the mountains.
I love the clear blue skies.
I love big bridges.
I love when great whites fly.
I love the whole world.
And all its sights and sounds.
Boom De Yada!
I love the ocean.
I love real dirty things.
I love to go fast.
I love Egyptian kings.
I love the whole world
And all its craziness
Boom De Yada!
I love tornadoes.
I love arachnids.
I love hot magma.
I love the giant squids.
I love the whole world.
It's such a brilliant place.
Boom De Yada.
Last night I was babysitting some kids who live on my street. They had been in bed about an hour and I was happily curled up on the couch reading when Molly, age 7, ran into the room with a panicked look; I thought her 4 year old brother had disappeared or lit the house on fire, or both. "What is it?" I asked her as I quickly shut my book and hopped up. "I didn't leave out the eggs for the Easter bunny to hide, or my Easter basket for him to fill!" she gasped. "He's not gonna know where they are!" I took her by the hand and we strode to the kitchen, where freshly decorated eggs sat in the fridge. We stuck them on the front porch and proceeded to search for the baskets. They were nowhere to be found; I assumed this was because they were already filled and waiting. I only had to promise Molly several hundred times I'd make sure her parents found them and put them out. As I tucked her back into bed she asked me when exactly the Easter Bunny came. I told her not in the middle of the night, Santa hogged that time slot, though rabbits prefer early morning anyway, so right when the sun rises. "Why does the bunny have eggs?" She questioned next. "Because he is trying to keep his relations with the chicken on the down low." I informed her. "What?" She looked frustrated. "Don't worry about it." I gave her pillow one last fluff then walked out. I thought I'd made an escape when the little voice spoke again. "Sally?" I sighed. "Yes, Sleeping Beauty?" "I'm glad you know so much about Easter." I turned in time to watch her drift into sleep as she said this, and thus the child was spared a sermon on The True Meaning of Easter. I will spare you one as well, because gosh, we all know it right? We all know Easter isn't about bunnies and colorful eggs and baskets lined with paper grass that makes my cat barf...it's about much more...like jellybeans. Joke.
Today Rachel and I both went to Burke Community Church with our own families. It felt strange this morning, making my single cup of coffee and leaving my nearly half full notebook called "Church, for lack of a better title" behind. I felt my thoughts on this one would be too tainted. I cannot look at the place with fresh eyes. I don't dwell on the past, which is exactly why I don't love returning. It smelled like junior high in there. I already have a strong taste of the atmosphere and an impression of many of the people. It wouldn't be fair to those who I don't know or have changed for me to make any observations. Though I imagine they too see me, "girl with the bizarre sense of humor," as I was called once, and can also assume only what they know from before. Sure I've changed. I've made some (okay a lot) of mistakes and learned and never regretted. I've mastered controlling my temper and telling the truth, (THAT’S A BIG FAT LIE) and I don't have braces anymore. But essentially, I'm the same.
Johnny, a good friend and one of my favorite people, is always saying, "Sometimes the same is different, but mostly it's the same." This sums up my returning-to-my-original-church experience. This is not the church or its peoples’ problem; it's mine and my incredible fear of "the same." I know I can't keep going to a new church every Sunday forever; I have to at least attempt to fit in somewhere, and the fact is, I think I may want to. But no worries, this isn't the end of the exploration, just a re-cap. Besides, I may not live until next Sunday, I ate so many darn jellybeans.
As for the service at Burke Community Church, I can tell you it was nice and well done. Though I am not allowed to say much more, I reckon. As we were driving home I innocently compared one of the songs to a scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and was told by my mother, "No. Just no. My church and I like it." And to give it a rest or something of that sort. But I mean it, it was a nice service. A usual Easter one, do you know what I mean? Honestly though, that's alright. It is good to hear the resurrection story, to sing praise, remind and revive your heart, mind, and soul of the simple yet life-changing/saving news. Right, no preaching. I am not here to preach; you can go to church and hear all about this news I speak of. That's right, I, Sally Grace, am suggesting going to church. Don't write it off because of one (or several) specific ones and experiences. As I counted flowered dresses and khaki guy pants today, I thought about the different churches I've been to. It continues to wow me how utterly different each is; I can't help but marvel at the beauty. All so different - the people, the music, the atmosphere, the customs, the traditions and etiquette, the vibe, the presentations. But boil it down, and they are gatherings of human beings trying to discover a God, follow a Savior, and understand The Why. "Sometimes the same is different, but mostly it's the same."
Much as I actually didn't mind attending the service and pondering over my newly gained perspectives on God's fan club, I still am not sure if I am part of that group. Indeed I am a fan of God, but the club part? Not so much. After I got home I changed out of the high heels and red dress (oh man that’s a Jonas Brothers lyric, just shoot me now) into jean cut-offs and a Converse All Star tee. We went to Great Falls and I went on a long walk through the woods, mostly barefoot, peace love and granola man. Call me a grape nut, but it's out there I feel the most grateful for God's gift of eternal life; in all that natural beauty I see that he is real and good. It is there my heart really sings praise. Not to mention my off key little voice box. I want to leave you with my number one favorite praise song of all time. I find it good to sing when walking along a breezy mountain ridge, chasing waves into the sunset, searching for all natural shampoo in Wal-Mart, you name it I sing it. It is from some commercial a few years back on the Discovery Channel. I suppose it's called Boom De Yada, though in these parts we call it "Sally’s Song" or "SALLY SING SOMETHING ELSE FOR ONCE." Enjoy, and Happy Easter. Oh, since I'm getting all sappy and sentimental anyway, let me say thank-you for reading. Don't get me started how much it means. I honestly didn't believe anyone would read this. I figured it would help me organize my thoughts and keep track of each, and I just like to write, hone my skills, and attempt to semi-amuse Rachel. As she said, "People like us, they really like us!" So thanks, the comments and all mean a lot, such a blessing and encouragement. Now I will cease rambling before you decide to quit following. Song time.
Astronaut 1: It never gets old, huh?
Astronaut 2: Nope.
Astronaut 1: It kinda makes you wanna...
Astronaut 2: Break into song?
Astronaut 1: Yep.
I love the mountains.
I love the clear blue skies.
I love big bridges.
I love when great whites fly.
I love the whole world.
And all its sights and sounds.
Boom De Yada!
I love the ocean.
I love real dirty things.
I love to go fast.
I love Egyptian kings.
I love the whole world
And all its craziness
Boom De Yada!
I love tornadoes.
I love arachnids.
I love hot magma.
I love the giant squids.
I love the whole world.
It's such a brilliant place.
Boom De Yada.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
#8 Calvary Christian
http://www.calvaryfamily.com/whatwebelieve.html
Today Rachel presented me with a CD she made titled "Sunday Mix." Last week I told her how every morning, listening to the coffeemaker bubble and music is what gets me up and going. Some days, mostly Sunday, I want "God music." The majority of what I've heard annoys me to no end, to be honest. It all sounds the same, so poppy, makes me want to discombobulate my eardrums with a screwdriver. I can manage about 10 seconds of the typical Christian radio stuff before grabbing the iPod and breathing a sigh of relief when my usual Nirvana, Metallica, and Led Zeppelin fill the room once again. Despite there being an AC/DC logo engraved on my soul (or more likely AD/HD) Rachel managed to find some decent stuff. Thanks to her, my reading material (Don Miller yay!) and music has become a lot more wholesome and enjoyable AT THE SAME TIME.
We both agreed the music at church visit #8, Calvary Christian Church, was the bla-est ever. But that's jumping ahead, back to the start. We arrived at our destination late, big surprise. When we walked into the modest building, a man asked if it was our first time and then led us to the service. He had a hand behind each of our backs, and informed us it was meet-and-greet time. I'm sure he felt me twitch.
This buildings interior was nice but in the opposite way of Fairfax Community. It was small and quaint. There were about 50 people in the congregation and I'm fairly certain Laura Ingalls Wilder was amongst them somewhere. This was the first church we've been to that was warm; so far they have all been chilly inside. According to Rachel this is done on purpose to keep people awake. The reason for this church being kept at high temperatures was obvious; it needed to be warm to keep the old folks alive. I would claim this “a grandparents’ church” except my grandparents could run circles around them, which is saying something considering my Grandpa is in leg braces. Throughout the sermon, jokes concerning hearing aids and the like would be made, and while everyone laughed and hooted Rachel and I would just look at each other and shrug.
Back to the music topic. All they had was a piano and a little bongo drum. This could be cool if done right, but as Rachel said, every song felt just a tad too slow. They all sounded exactly the same; I call them see saw songs. Because your voice goes up and down with each line. The last word of the first verse you go up, last word of the second you go down, and so on. On the bright side, this makes tuning out and thinking about the hole in your dress easy. Hole in dress...holy dress...for church...ha.
Before the sermon they had prayer time. Anyone in the congregation could chime in with their own prayer; the room was small enough and it was easy to hear everyone everywhere. Also, old people talk loud. They like to repeat themselves apparently, and ask God to forgive us all of our sins and heal Andrew's broken arm, even though the last guy just requested the same thing. In between each person there would be a long silent lull, and after prayer time there was more melodic piano music. I think I fell half asleep, because suddenly I heard the name Stephen King and opened my eyes to see Elmer Fudd’s big brother up on stage, introducing the sermon.
The man told us in his cartoon worthy voice that there are lots of different "kings" today. Hence the Stephen King reference, which immediately perked my mind up; along with Burger King and the King of Rock and Roll. Elmer then progressed into the lesson, "That's My King," focusing on Mark 11:1-11. Of course Jesus was the King discussed, being "The King of Kings." We learned how there were at least three kinds of people when Jesus rode into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday so long ago, and those three types still exist today. Group 1 is the Kingdom Hopefuls. They want something to get excited about; they want someone to lead them. Group 2 is the Church Goers. These guys are the "good" people. They have come to believe they can get into heaven on their own works and not by grace. They are proud and don’t like the radical Jesus guy; they saw him as a threat, a sandal-wearing radical hippie, loving everyone and shaking things up. (Hippie idea mine, not Elmer’s.) Group 3 are the Christ Followers. They acknowledge Jesus as Lord and Savior, the King come to save us. But even they fall away at times, wanting Jesus only when it’s comfortable. When things don’t go their way they turn away.
The sermon closed by Elmer asking us, who was our Jesus, our King? They showed a video which pretty much sums it up for me personally, as much as one could ever sum up something like that. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yzqTFNfeDnE There’s the link, I encourage you to watch it. After this ended and we prayed, Elmer said, "Let's get pumped up for Jesus!" I bounced up out of my chair ready to sing grinning and off key, and was immediately disappointed by more plunkey un-rhythmic music. Oh well. I did like the singer guy, he reminded me of Louis Armstrong. Well, Louis Armstrong having a bad day thus singing a little too slow. During the (finally) last song, some guy offered us candy. Never take candy from a stranger...unless they have Sour Patch Kids, then by all means do. Gosh, get in the dirty van with the “free puppy” sign if Sour Patch Kids are involved. The nice old man who bought my approval with candy wins Favorite New Person of the Day.
This place felt like a family. There were plenty of apparent inside jokes and the pastor called everyone by first name. A lot of people smiled and said hello to us, and we were made to feel quite welcome. Despite not having arthritis, hernias, and massive nose hairs, I feel like we would be accepted easily enough if we wanted. But sorry small-town-wanna-be ‘ol chaps, while you enjoy your warm quiet sanctuary, Rachel and Sally must continue on. Next week that is. Now it’s time for sleep, begun with Pearl Jam lullabies. Thank you Lord for music with a beat, and for being the beat in my heart.
Today Rachel presented me with a CD she made titled "Sunday Mix." Last week I told her how every morning, listening to the coffeemaker bubble and music is what gets me up and going. Some days, mostly Sunday, I want "God music." The majority of what I've heard annoys me to no end, to be honest. It all sounds the same, so poppy, makes me want to discombobulate my eardrums with a screwdriver. I can manage about 10 seconds of the typical Christian radio stuff before grabbing the iPod and breathing a sigh of relief when my usual Nirvana, Metallica, and Led Zeppelin fill the room once again. Despite there being an AC/DC logo engraved on my soul (or more likely AD/HD) Rachel managed to find some decent stuff. Thanks to her, my reading material (Don Miller yay!) and music has become a lot more wholesome and enjoyable AT THE SAME TIME.
We both agreed the music at church visit #8, Calvary Christian Church, was the bla-est ever. But that's jumping ahead, back to the start. We arrived at our destination late, big surprise. When we walked into the modest building, a man asked if it was our first time and then led us to the service. He had a hand behind each of our backs, and informed us it was meet-and-greet time. I'm sure he felt me twitch.
This buildings interior was nice but in the opposite way of Fairfax Community. It was small and quaint. There were about 50 people in the congregation and I'm fairly certain Laura Ingalls Wilder was amongst them somewhere. This was the first church we've been to that was warm; so far they have all been chilly inside. According to Rachel this is done on purpose to keep people awake. The reason for this church being kept at high temperatures was obvious; it needed to be warm to keep the old folks alive. I would claim this “a grandparents’ church” except my grandparents could run circles around them, which is saying something considering my Grandpa is in leg braces. Throughout the sermon, jokes concerning hearing aids and the like would be made, and while everyone laughed and hooted Rachel and I would just look at each other and shrug.
Back to the music topic. All they had was a piano and a little bongo drum. This could be cool if done right, but as Rachel said, every song felt just a tad too slow. They all sounded exactly the same; I call them see saw songs. Because your voice goes up and down with each line. The last word of the first verse you go up, last word of the second you go down, and so on. On the bright side, this makes tuning out and thinking about the hole in your dress easy. Hole in dress...holy dress...for church...ha.
Before the sermon they had prayer time. Anyone in the congregation could chime in with their own prayer; the room was small enough and it was easy to hear everyone everywhere. Also, old people talk loud. They like to repeat themselves apparently, and ask God to forgive us all of our sins and heal Andrew's broken arm, even though the last guy just requested the same thing. In between each person there would be a long silent lull, and after prayer time there was more melodic piano music. I think I fell half asleep, because suddenly I heard the name Stephen King and opened my eyes to see Elmer Fudd’s big brother up on stage, introducing the sermon.
The man told us in his cartoon worthy voice that there are lots of different "kings" today. Hence the Stephen King reference, which immediately perked my mind up; along with Burger King and the King of Rock and Roll. Elmer then progressed into the lesson, "That's My King," focusing on Mark 11:1-11. Of course Jesus was the King discussed, being "The King of Kings." We learned how there were at least three kinds of people when Jesus rode into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday so long ago, and those three types still exist today. Group 1 is the Kingdom Hopefuls. They want something to get excited about; they want someone to lead them. Group 2 is the Church Goers. These guys are the "good" people. They have come to believe they can get into heaven on their own works and not by grace. They are proud and don’t like the radical Jesus guy; they saw him as a threat, a sandal-wearing radical hippie, loving everyone and shaking things up. (Hippie idea mine, not Elmer’s.) Group 3 are the Christ Followers. They acknowledge Jesus as Lord and Savior, the King come to save us. But even they fall away at times, wanting Jesus only when it’s comfortable. When things don’t go their way they turn away.
The sermon closed by Elmer asking us, who was our Jesus, our King? They showed a video which pretty much sums it up for me personally, as much as one could ever sum up something like that. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yzqTFNfeDnE There’s the link, I encourage you to watch it. After this ended and we prayed, Elmer said, "Let's get pumped up for Jesus!" I bounced up out of my chair ready to sing grinning and off key, and was immediately disappointed by more plunkey un-rhythmic music. Oh well. I did like the singer guy, he reminded me of Louis Armstrong. Well, Louis Armstrong having a bad day thus singing a little too slow. During the (finally) last song, some guy offered us candy. Never take candy from a stranger...unless they have Sour Patch Kids, then by all means do. Gosh, get in the dirty van with the “free puppy” sign if Sour Patch Kids are involved. The nice old man who bought my approval with candy wins Favorite New Person of the Day.
This place felt like a family. There were plenty of apparent inside jokes and the pastor called everyone by first name. A lot of people smiled and said hello to us, and we were made to feel quite welcome. Despite not having arthritis, hernias, and massive nose hairs, I feel like we would be accepted easily enough if we wanted. But sorry small-town-wanna-be ‘ol chaps, while you enjoy your warm quiet sanctuary, Rachel and Sally must continue on. Next week that is. Now it’s time for sleep, begun with Pearl Jam lullabies. Thank you Lord for music with a beat, and for being the beat in my heart.
Monday, March 22, 2010
#7 Open Door Presbyterian
Combined, Rachel and I would have a complete, not to mention brilliant, brain. We wish we could have smashed it together for the SAT's, though thanks to movies like Freaky Friday, we know running full speed and crashing into each other won't do the trick. Rachel is skilled at math, she is keen and observant. Math is the epic fail of my life. I'm sure I bombed the math section on the SAT, but I'm not concerned; if I end up living in a cardboard box someday that's alright; you can write on cardboard. I like to write. The point to this is Rachel does the organized stuff-she finds church websites and addresses and informs me when Sunday is nearing, among many other things. I just provide the coffee, unsuccessfully try to keep my big mouth shut, and write about what occurs.
This week, like most all the others, Rachel sent me a church website. I checked it out, said it sounded cool, and that became the next destination. Our friend Katie had seen a van on the road somewhere that read, "Open Door Presbyterian Church," and told Rachel about it. As we headed there I was unaware that when Rachel first went to the website it was in Korean, and she had to click on the English version.
We ALMOST went to the wrong church again. We parked in a shopping center. What we thought was the church was across the street. We knew it wasn't right though because the title had nothing to do with an open door, and "Open Door Church" was how we had been referring to this one. The correct church was behind the imposter building, and must have been either a school or hospital before it was a church. It was huge, and as Rachel kept commenting, smelled like latex. It was large, not in the fancy modern fashion Fairfax Community was, but in a functional business way; long brightly lit halls with lots of rooms on either side.
As we neared the building, it immediately came to my attention that everyone around us was Asian. I also noticed that Rachel was not surprised about this fact at all. Upon my inquiry, she simply said something along the lines of, "Oh yeah, it's Korean." Of course I have nothing against Koreans, or any nationality. Call me Angelina Jolie, but I love diversity. I love that little picture often found in classrooms that depicts kids linking hands so they make a circle around the world. The thing I am against is standing out; I am more then content to stay unnoticed and be left alone. I like to do the observing, not be observed, thank you very much. I am tall and tan with light brown hair, and pretty sure those features do not pass as Korean. Also, not to stereotype, but typically those from the Far East are good at math.
Just moments after Rachel and I went into the massive building, a girl about our own age came up and asked us if it was our first time there. She stated it more then questioned it, which is understandable. (We would not see a non-Korean the entire visit.) She questioned whether we were looking for the Korean or English service, but with a good humored smile that made it evident she knew the answer to this already. She led us through the lengthy halls to the English service, said she had to go to the Korean one with her parents, and then introduced us to someone else. We commented on her genuine friendliness as we took our seats.
The worship was mainstream. Everyone in the band was young, as was most of the congregation. We later learned that a majority of them were students from Georgetown University. Some guy did the church announcements, and then told us to prepare ourselves for the sermon, that it would be intense.
The message was called "Blinded by Greed" and part of a series on Luke. The Pastor Dihan Lee (I'm just gonna call him Lee) explained how greed was unlike other sins in that it had a way of hiding. Greed is often disguised by terms like "motivation." Jesus said in Luke 12:15, "Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; a man's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions." Being a wise saver is one thing, but we can not depend on possessions for our happiness. The more you have the tighter fisted you become. According to Lee, Jesus says to take life easy, be merry. But merry and happy are two different things. You can save and invest all you want, but when it comes down to it you're still stuck with your same old self, still trying to fulfill and gain, just in better clothes. We should never be more interested in pursuing wealth then God. It is widely accepted in the USA that the more one has the more they can control their future. We think our wealth will protect us and keep us secure, make us happy. But we do so much worrying over that wealth, it's ridiculous. Most of the world is concerned with will or how they are going to eat. The average American ponders where and what. Same goes for clothing and housing. Lee told us we must trust God and change our perspectives. We can't just sit there and chant "greed is bad" repeatedly; we must overrun it by seeking the Lord's kingdom first. I haven’t exactly sold everything I own save a barrel to wear (mainly ‘cuz I don’t own a barrel), but nevertheless, this was enlightening.
My favorite part of the sermon was when we were told to imagine we had a blank sheet of paper in front of us, to imagine that how much money we made didn't matter, to write down anything we wanted to do, be it a career or mission or anything. Then contemplate if the reason we weren't doing this now or pursuing it was purely for wealth reasons, and if it was God's calling for us. Scrawled across my imaginary sheet was, "constant travel, exploration/adventure" and underneath that "write". A mental image immediately popped into my head of my mom driving our van around with a bumper sticker that read, "Proud Parent of a Restless Hobo." Ha. Hopefully Rachel will tell us what was on her paper. It probably includes something along the lines of, "Find more ways to make Sally feel self-conscious and be unable to just blend in like she prefers gosh darn it!"
Really though, nobody gave me too-long-looks or anything that acknowledged our extreme out-of-placement. I mean I wasn't expecting to be shunned, but I was impressed by the immediate acceptance of our obvious difference. There was never any feeling of I-don't-belong-here simply because of a differing heritage/place of birth.
Visitors were encouraged to introduce themselves and receive gift bags. Like before, I was hesitant about this and would have chosen to just leave if it weren’t for Rachel's insisting. I'm glad she likes to be polite and meet people, though the realization that she only wants to do this when there are presents involved hasn't escaped me. These neon green gift bags had a rubber bracelet, pen, and coffee mug all with ODPC on them. A non-winky dink, gulp-rather-then-sip sized mug, I must add. I drank out of it this morning.
I want to conclude by saying I liked the sermon because it addressed a “why” question. I don't know about you, but my brain is constantly baffled and tortured by these. I believe I can sum it up with a passage from a book by Don Miller, a favorite authur of both mine and Rachel’s. I wish to leave you with these thoughts, so farewell and 안녕(Korean for goodbye) until next week.
"Sometimes I admire people who don't ask why questions, who only want to know the how of life: How do I get paid, how do I get a wife, how do I make myself happy, whatever. The why path isn't so rewarding, if you think about it: Why are we here, why do we feel what we feel, desire what we desire, need what we need, hate what we hate? I saw this Calvin and Hobbes cartoon once that had Calvin's teacher asking the class to turn in their homework. Calvin raised his hand and asked why we exist. The teacher told Calvin not to change the subject but to turn in his homework, and what difference does it make anyway? Calvin leaned back in his chair and mumbled to himself that the answer to the question determined whether or not turning in his homework was important in the first place." (Through Painted Deserts, page 19)
This week, like most all the others, Rachel sent me a church website. I checked it out, said it sounded cool, and that became the next destination. Our friend Katie had seen a van on the road somewhere that read, "Open Door Presbyterian Church," and told Rachel about it. As we headed there I was unaware that when Rachel first went to the website it was in Korean, and she had to click on the English version.
We ALMOST went to the wrong church again. We parked in a shopping center. What we thought was the church was across the street. We knew it wasn't right though because the title had nothing to do with an open door, and "Open Door Church" was how we had been referring to this one. The correct church was behind the imposter building, and must have been either a school or hospital before it was a church. It was huge, and as Rachel kept commenting, smelled like latex. It was large, not in the fancy modern fashion Fairfax Community was, but in a functional business way; long brightly lit halls with lots of rooms on either side.
As we neared the building, it immediately came to my attention that everyone around us was Asian. I also noticed that Rachel was not surprised about this fact at all. Upon my inquiry, she simply said something along the lines of, "Oh yeah, it's Korean." Of course I have nothing against Koreans, or any nationality. Call me Angelina Jolie, but I love diversity. I love that little picture often found in classrooms that depicts kids linking hands so they make a circle around the world. The thing I am against is standing out; I am more then content to stay unnoticed and be left alone. I like to do the observing, not be observed, thank you very much. I am tall and tan with light brown hair, and pretty sure those features do not pass as Korean. Also, not to stereotype, but typically those from the Far East are good at math.
Just moments after Rachel and I went into the massive building, a girl about our own age came up and asked us if it was our first time there. She stated it more then questioned it, which is understandable. (We would not see a non-Korean the entire visit.) She questioned whether we were looking for the Korean or English service, but with a good humored smile that made it evident she knew the answer to this already. She led us through the lengthy halls to the English service, said she had to go to the Korean one with her parents, and then introduced us to someone else. We commented on her genuine friendliness as we took our seats.
The worship was mainstream. Everyone in the band was young, as was most of the congregation. We later learned that a majority of them were students from Georgetown University. Some guy did the church announcements, and then told us to prepare ourselves for the sermon, that it would be intense.
The message was called "Blinded by Greed" and part of a series on Luke. The Pastor Dihan Lee (I'm just gonna call him Lee) explained how greed was unlike other sins in that it had a way of hiding. Greed is often disguised by terms like "motivation." Jesus said in Luke 12:15, "Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; a man's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions." Being a wise saver is one thing, but we can not depend on possessions for our happiness. The more you have the tighter fisted you become. According to Lee, Jesus says to take life easy, be merry. But merry and happy are two different things. You can save and invest all you want, but when it comes down to it you're still stuck with your same old self, still trying to fulfill and gain, just in better clothes. We should never be more interested in pursuing wealth then God. It is widely accepted in the USA that the more one has the more they can control their future. We think our wealth will protect us and keep us secure, make us happy. But we do so much worrying over that wealth, it's ridiculous. Most of the world is concerned with will or how they are going to eat. The average American ponders where and what. Same goes for clothing and housing. Lee told us we must trust God and change our perspectives. We can't just sit there and chant "greed is bad" repeatedly; we must overrun it by seeking the Lord's kingdom first. I haven’t exactly sold everything I own save a barrel to wear (mainly ‘cuz I don’t own a barrel), but nevertheless, this was enlightening.
My favorite part of the sermon was when we were told to imagine we had a blank sheet of paper in front of us, to imagine that how much money we made didn't matter, to write down anything we wanted to do, be it a career or mission or anything. Then contemplate if the reason we weren't doing this now or pursuing it was purely for wealth reasons, and if it was God's calling for us. Scrawled across my imaginary sheet was, "constant travel, exploration/adventure" and underneath that "write". A mental image immediately popped into my head of my mom driving our van around with a bumper sticker that read, "Proud Parent of a Restless Hobo." Ha. Hopefully Rachel will tell us what was on her paper. It probably includes something along the lines of, "Find more ways to make Sally feel self-conscious and be unable to just blend in like she prefers gosh darn it!"
Really though, nobody gave me too-long-looks or anything that acknowledged our extreme out-of-placement. I mean I wasn't expecting to be shunned, but I was impressed by the immediate acceptance of our obvious difference. There was never any feeling of I-don't-belong-here simply because of a differing heritage/place of birth.
Visitors were encouraged to introduce themselves and receive gift bags. Like before, I was hesitant about this and would have chosen to just leave if it weren’t for Rachel's insisting. I'm glad she likes to be polite and meet people, though the realization that she only wants to do this when there are presents involved hasn't escaped me. These neon green gift bags had a rubber bracelet, pen, and coffee mug all with ODPC on them. A non-winky dink, gulp-rather-then-sip sized mug, I must add. I drank out of it this morning.
I want to conclude by saying I liked the sermon because it addressed a “why” question. I don't know about you, but my brain is constantly baffled and tortured by these. I believe I can sum it up with a passage from a book by Don Miller, a favorite authur of both mine and Rachel’s. I wish to leave you with these thoughts, so farewell and 안녕(Korean for goodbye) until next week.
"Sometimes I admire people who don't ask why questions, who only want to know the how of life: How do I get paid, how do I get a wife, how do I make myself happy, whatever. The why path isn't so rewarding, if you think about it: Why are we here, why do we feel what we feel, desire what we desire, need what we need, hate what we hate? I saw this Calvin and Hobbes cartoon once that had Calvin's teacher asking the class to turn in their homework. Calvin raised his hand and asked why we exist. The teacher told Calvin not to change the subject but to turn in his homework, and what difference does it make anyway? Calvin leaned back in his chair and mumbled to himself that the answer to the question determined whether or not turning in his homework was important in the first place." (Through Painted Deserts, page 19)
Monday, March 15, 2010
#6 Fairfax Community
"Only the government would think if you cut one foot off the top of the blanket and sewed it on the bottom, you would get a longer blanket" some Native American said regarding daylight savings time. I was in complete agreement with him as I trudged to Rachel's car through the rain, clutching my coffee and wondering if a coffee IV was attainable. As we headed to this week's destination, Fairfax Community Church, we discussed issues of importance -- Future stuff. When you are nearing the end of your high school days, this is a regular topic. Adults want to know what you're going to do with life and who you are going to be. They seem to forget that surviving the 11th grade is hard enough. Anyway, Rachel and I talked about college, jobs, future stuff, as I said. We also pondered the significance of Ke$ha's Tik Tok song being number 1 in America. Interestingly, the sermon would focus a lot on this. Future stuff, not Ke$ha.
We arrived at Fairfax Community only a tad late. We ran through the rain into what was instantly dubbed nicest facility yet. I don't want to know how many starving Peruvian villages could have been fed for the amount of money it cost to build this place. The building was almost futuristic, a work of modern art. The inside was no less impressive with lots of tiles and fountains and abstract angles. There was lots of space, very roomy and airy, which is saying something as there are apparently 2000 regular attendees. Rachel used the word "suburban" to describe the over all feel of the place. I agree. If the movie "Over the Hedge" had a church in it this would be the one - a perfect example of "civilized" human beings. I hate to generalize, but from what I observed most everyone looked the same, or more, blended together. It lacked an immediate diversity vibe.
Luckily Rachel and I didn't miss all the worship, the music was very good. It had a concert feel, lots of lights and a professional energy and a great sound system. However, unlike Family Worship Center last week, you didn't feel like you were trippin or hallucinating or at an energetic loony revival meeting, always a plus.
When we took our seats the lights went down and a movie came on the massive screens. I mean it, they were enormous. There were 3, and if you cut them out of the walls and made a lean to out of them, a person, no, a family of sumo wrestlers, could live quite comfortably in there. The movie was the end of Slumdog Millionaire. Had it smelled like popcorn, you could have convinced me I was in a movie theater. But then the pastor came up to talk, and that doesn't usually happen in theaters I go to. I was never able to figure out how old this guy was. He was thin but in a fit way, and he wore trendy, preppy, clothes and had a square goatee. He also had gray hair and an old wrinkled face. Was he 55 and hip? Or a 25 year old who went gray early and spent most all the early years of his life sun tanning? I honestly could not tell, but it doesn't matter. I liked the way he talked, there was much more speaking then preaching.
He told us how in Slumdog Millionaire so much stuff happens to the characters, but that's what makes the happy ending satisfying. He also said he could use a lot of better describing words then "stuff" but he might lose his job as pastor. He explained how something in us longs for a happy ending and every person who longs for redemption and reconciliation in a story longs for God. He questioned, what about our story? Does God promise a happy ending? He does, for believers. HOWEVER, we are constantly trying to move the happy ending to the middle of our story. Happy endings come at the end. The more struggles, pain, and trials we overcome, the more satisfying it will be. What is the ending exactly? As in, the ending of all endings? That was the next area he covered. Revelations 21 gives us a glimpse of exactly what's to come.
"1Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. 2I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. 3And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 4He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." 5He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" Then he said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true." 6He said to me: "It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To him who is thirsty I will give to drink without cost from the spring of the water of life. 7He who overcomes will inherit all this, and I will be his God and he will be my son. 8But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars—their place will be in the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death."
So there you go. The pastor told us that revelations is so important, but is often ignored because of its graphic nature and all the symbolism. I think the pastors name was Brian, or Rod or Joe, but I am going to refer to him as Sim. He looked like one of those people from the Sims video games. Sim mentioned how we are probably thinking, "Why does it matter? I'm just trying to make it through Monday. I'm just trying to survive here." It matters because if "here" is all there is, then everyone’s story ends the same. It ends in death. If this is it, it doesn't matter what happens in the middle. If we don't believe in the bigger picture, then this is simply a story about us. There is no mega story we are connected to. If we are living our all-about-us lives, we can try to do right. But, this is a broken world and there is sin. Hard as we try we will never be able to guarantee a happy ending without the gospel message. Because of what Christ has already done we can have a secured happy ending if we choose.
What does God want in return? A relationship with those he created. Sim pointed out how in the end of Slumdog Millionaire the boy kisses the scar on the girls face, showing that even her imperfections are lovely to him. To God, our worst traits are lovely. He wants us, imperfections included, the whole package.
I found all these things interesting to ponder over. It's good to know God finds my large ears lovely...oh and my impulsiveness, my habit of saying exactly what I'm thinking, restlessness, and tendency to get downright cranky from routine and lack of adventure. The whole future part was mind broadening. Most of the future thinking I do lately consists of what's after high school life, not earth life in general. I am a little obsessed with living in the now, taking every moment as it comes. I always say I want to live my life so when I die, as it flashes before my eyes, I have a good show to watch. But that shows only the beginning of the end, huh?
Great, I'm rambling about the apocalypse practically. Hang on while I go get some cardboard and paint on "THE END IS NEAR." Of course it may be 2 years, 2012, 4000 years, whatever. Man I may never get to be a hobo and roam the country in a VW bus...right focusing. (Hey, you know what, GOD loves that quirk!) In conclusion the sermon was clear and presented in a non-intimidating fashion. Though, as Rachel pointed out, Sim did spit a lot when talking. Just don't sit near the front. And you can see it coming. It kind of glistened in the extravagant spotlight, resembling a small orb. After the service ended and we were heading out of the sanctuary, the man in front of us called out to Sim. They did the guy handshake that involves back slapping. Apparently this man was visiting from out of town. Sim asked him what he was doing for lunch. The guy said "eating hopefully." Sim invited him to his home. This entire exchange was very genuine and did not seem forced or fake.
I liked this church fine. It reminded me a lot of New Hope and Burke Community. Fine, nice, church. I would not want to go there regularly. I think I would struggle with all the things I have before - masks, acts, an expected way to behave. Bla bla. I have consumed almost an entire large bag of cheese puffs while writing this. If I don't shut up soon I will wake up 700 pounds with 14 chins perhaps. I mean no offense if this description is you. Remember what we learned today class, God loves you, no matter what. I say that with a note of humor, but honestly, this fact is pretty much the best.
We arrived at Fairfax Community only a tad late. We ran through the rain into what was instantly dubbed nicest facility yet. I don't want to know how many starving Peruvian villages could have been fed for the amount of money it cost to build this place. The building was almost futuristic, a work of modern art. The inside was no less impressive with lots of tiles and fountains and abstract angles. There was lots of space, very roomy and airy, which is saying something as there are apparently 2000 regular attendees. Rachel used the word "suburban" to describe the over all feel of the place. I agree. If the movie "Over the Hedge" had a church in it this would be the one - a perfect example of "civilized" human beings. I hate to generalize, but from what I observed most everyone looked the same, or more, blended together. It lacked an immediate diversity vibe.
Luckily Rachel and I didn't miss all the worship, the music was very good. It had a concert feel, lots of lights and a professional energy and a great sound system. However, unlike Family Worship Center last week, you didn't feel like you were trippin or hallucinating or at an energetic loony revival meeting, always a plus.
When we took our seats the lights went down and a movie came on the massive screens. I mean it, they were enormous. There were 3, and if you cut them out of the walls and made a lean to out of them, a person, no, a family of sumo wrestlers, could live quite comfortably in there. The movie was the end of Slumdog Millionaire. Had it smelled like popcorn, you could have convinced me I was in a movie theater. But then the pastor came up to talk, and that doesn't usually happen in theaters I go to. I was never able to figure out how old this guy was. He was thin but in a fit way, and he wore trendy, preppy, clothes and had a square goatee. He also had gray hair and an old wrinkled face. Was he 55 and hip? Or a 25 year old who went gray early and spent most all the early years of his life sun tanning? I honestly could not tell, but it doesn't matter. I liked the way he talked, there was much more speaking then preaching.
He told us how in Slumdog Millionaire so much stuff happens to the characters, but that's what makes the happy ending satisfying. He also said he could use a lot of better describing words then "stuff" but he might lose his job as pastor. He explained how something in us longs for a happy ending and every person who longs for redemption and reconciliation in a story longs for God. He questioned, what about our story? Does God promise a happy ending? He does, for believers. HOWEVER, we are constantly trying to move the happy ending to the middle of our story. Happy endings come at the end. The more struggles, pain, and trials we overcome, the more satisfying it will be. What is the ending exactly? As in, the ending of all endings? That was the next area he covered. Revelations 21 gives us a glimpse of exactly what's to come.
"1Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. 2I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. 3And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 4He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." 5He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" Then he said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true." 6He said to me: "It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To him who is thirsty I will give to drink without cost from the spring of the water of life. 7He who overcomes will inherit all this, and I will be his God and he will be my son. 8But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars—their place will be in the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death."
So there you go. The pastor told us that revelations is so important, but is often ignored because of its graphic nature and all the symbolism. I think the pastors name was Brian, or Rod or Joe, but I am going to refer to him as Sim. He looked like one of those people from the Sims video games. Sim mentioned how we are probably thinking, "Why does it matter? I'm just trying to make it through Monday. I'm just trying to survive here." It matters because if "here" is all there is, then everyone’s story ends the same. It ends in death. If this is it, it doesn't matter what happens in the middle. If we don't believe in the bigger picture, then this is simply a story about us. There is no mega story we are connected to. If we are living our all-about-us lives, we can try to do right. But, this is a broken world and there is sin. Hard as we try we will never be able to guarantee a happy ending without the gospel message. Because of what Christ has already done we can have a secured happy ending if we choose.
What does God want in return? A relationship with those he created. Sim pointed out how in the end of Slumdog Millionaire the boy kisses the scar on the girls face, showing that even her imperfections are lovely to him. To God, our worst traits are lovely. He wants us, imperfections included, the whole package.
I found all these things interesting to ponder over. It's good to know God finds my large ears lovely...oh and my impulsiveness, my habit of saying exactly what I'm thinking, restlessness, and tendency to get downright cranky from routine and lack of adventure. The whole future part was mind broadening. Most of the future thinking I do lately consists of what's after high school life, not earth life in general. I am a little obsessed with living in the now, taking every moment as it comes. I always say I want to live my life so when I die, as it flashes before my eyes, I have a good show to watch. But that shows only the beginning of the end, huh?
Great, I'm rambling about the apocalypse practically. Hang on while I go get some cardboard and paint on "THE END IS NEAR." Of course it may be 2 years, 2012, 4000 years, whatever. Man I may never get to be a hobo and roam the country in a VW bus...right focusing. (Hey, you know what, GOD loves that quirk!) In conclusion the sermon was clear and presented in a non-intimidating fashion. Though, as Rachel pointed out, Sim did spit a lot when talking. Just don't sit near the front. And you can see it coming. It kind of glistened in the extravagant spotlight, resembling a small orb. After the service ended and we were heading out of the sanctuary, the man in front of us called out to Sim. They did the guy handshake that involves back slapping. Apparently this man was visiting from out of town. Sim asked him what he was doing for lunch. The guy said "eating hopefully." Sim invited him to his home. This entire exchange was very genuine and did not seem forced or fake.
I liked this church fine. It reminded me a lot of New Hope and Burke Community. Fine, nice, church. I would not want to go there regularly. I think I would struggle with all the things I have before - masks, acts, an expected way to behave. Bla bla. I have consumed almost an entire large bag of cheese puffs while writing this. If I don't shut up soon I will wake up 700 pounds with 14 chins perhaps. I mean no offense if this description is you. Remember what we learned today class, God loves you, no matter what. I say that with a note of humor, but honestly, this fact is pretty much the best.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
#5 Family Worship Center
This week we went to Family Worship Center. http://www.fwcdc.com/index.htm The website shows everyone with arms linked around each other and advertises their "passionate worship." I'm not gonna lie, this type of thing does me in - people being emotional and passionate with people they don't know. They don't merely invade your personal space, they rob you of it. Are you ever standing there talking to someone, and as you talk they move closer and closer? Every time they move forward you have to move back a little and you wonder if you stayed put, how soon would you guys be Eskimo kissing? Yeah welcome to Sally's biggest concern when it comes to dealing with fellow Homo sapiens. I'm not a scrooge, but I'm NOT a touchy person. If some guy with a greasy mustache who carried a spike ball on a chain and wore a name tag that read "Hello, I am part of the Springfield Mafia" waltzed by I'd most likely nod, say hey, and never think about it again. Let's say one of those people that touches your arm with every other word comes along next, hello nervous breakdown!
Never judge a book by its cover. Does that go for church websites as well? We never had to fend off any touchy feelys, though I was prepared to. I intended to wear my super high heels; they give me confidence and a don’t-mess-with-me inner vibe. However, unless you find beanpoles particularly intimidating, it doesn't have much of an effect. I decided against them, because in flats I can kick anyone who gets too close considerably hard. Rachel turned out to have these same concerns, though maybe not to my pathetic extent of a condition, which would entitle medical help in certain situations. We realized the reason we wanted to go to this one was because of the possibility of the excitement it held, and just how interesting and different it seemed. We wouldn't be disappointed.
My friend Rebecca joined us this week; she followed us there in her own car. We all made it without difficulty to the originally destined church on the first try! Score! The building was a warehouse, which was unique. It made me crave Costco pizza. The two short, blond haired, blue eyed R names and I went in. It was bright outside, and we walked in and blinked and squinted in that attractive way humans do. I don't know about Rachel and Rebecca, but the first thing I focused in on was thirty floating people. The stage was nice, but above it there was an odd balcony that resembled a cage. The choir was up there stepping left and right, left and right, and singing. They stayed up there for the whole worship, always stepping left and right in sync. I may just read too much Stephen King, but my mind was immediately giddy with stories. What an awful nightmare, being ever suspended in front of a hundred people, stepping side to side, smiling, clapping, having no control. How often did food get thrown up there to them? Do they all coordinate all the time? They were all in green and black. If a bus full of people crashed on Saint Patrick’s Day in a cartoon this is what it would look like as they all rose up heaven bound. Smiling, swaying, and scary.
We were taken to our seats which were thankfully not in the front. Distracting as the floating people were, the music was excellent. They were mainstream Christian radio songs, but the band was incredible. This place was obviously designed for its music, hence the title "Worship Center" I guess. The lighting and sound system was very elaborate, and the congregation was VERY into it. When a slow song started I expected lighters and cell phones to come out and be waved. In between songs the intensity of the people cheering resembled something right off one of my "Iron Maiden Live" CDs. The worship leader woman was a maniac, clearly no one makes HER take about a 100 ADHD pills a day. But I'm not jealous, because her energy didn't seem real. It was too happy happy wind up. As Rachel said, you got to wonder what she (and the rest of them) are like during the week. Because this presentation wasn't real. It was just that - a presentation. Rachel also pointed out that this place had rituals, the people seemed brainwashed, and they thought they were the best. They were just like Burke United Methodist, but on drugs, and possibly escapees from an insane asylum. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The music went on for an hour. The technical end of it was impressive, like I said, but the overall experience was not. Leader Woman was getting more wound up with every song and I suspected a tranquilizer would be needed soon. She asked everyone to raise their hands up, to shout amen. "I don't raise," Rebecca muttered. Leader Woman invited us all to take a moment and invite God into the room. At most churches, this has seemed to involve bowing your head and praying, asking God to open you heart and receive his teachings, etc. Here everybody started loudly talking to God. The mix of everyone’s individual summonings blended into a loud murmur, and the three of us stood there awkwardly. Talk about intimidating.
The pastor came up and talked for half an hour. It was only after he talked, another song was played, and then he came back that we realized that hadn't been the sermon; that had been the request for offering. He told us how God has a plan but he can't fulfill it without our help, that God can't steer a parked car. That we are like water - we take the path of least resistance, but God wants us to be like bulldozers. All of this concluded to "give us money."
Rachel and I looked at each other in wonder when it had been nearly 2 hours and the actual message was only just beginning. We had both already had enough. Rebecca was lucky she had to leave for work. The pastor was not pleasant. He came across as manipulative to me. He used only one Bible verse the entire time, and kept stating things that would make Rachel whisper, "Where does the Bible say that?" I use descriptions like "say" and "said" but in reality he yelled. The whole time. I don't know about you, but I find it difficult to think and let things reach my heart when someone who looks like Bill Clinton is shrieking at me. He had a thing for making high pitched noises whenever possible. It was the kind of thing that was supposed to be funny, I think. High pitched impersonations and squeals. One time he bellowed, "His name has slipped my mind but that’s only because I'm an idiot." This was the only thing I agreed with all morning. I didn't like how he shouted, "As Christians we are an army! I say we swoop in and grab ‘em!"
The terrible thing was the congregation encouraged all this. When he first began to speak, people would shout, "amen," "halleluiah," and "preach it" with every sentence he said. I thought that there was no way they could keep it up the whole time, but oh they did. It was so distracting; I don't know how anyone can like the sound of their own voice that much. There is no way they had time to process what he said before shouting their amens. At one point he stuck his hands on his lower stomach and said that was his witness in there, Jesus lived inside him. Why Jesus’ dwelling spot was the lower stomach I am still unable to figure out. Clinton began to rock back and forth gripping there and singing, "I got a witness inside of me," and almost everyone did the same.
The sermon’s theme was "Cooperation with God." He said we have to quit the "stinkin thinkin" and that we must humble ourselves or we will be humiliated and separated from God. He said that God wants his hand inside our life, meaning he wants us to be his puppet. When God is controlling us like a puppet, that's what it means to be in cooperation with God. Can you imagine Socrates rolling over in his grave? I agree with none of this. We are different from animals and all other creatures because we are created in God's image, and he wants us to follow him, to let go and say God guide me mold me, not God control me.
The control freak was this pastor. Don't be deceived by his smiling, realtor ad worthy picture in the program. Throughout his sermon he would walk around the audience, stopping and staring at people, touching them. He jumped up on a chair at one point, shouting at the church to agree. As if the constant amens weren’t enough. Every time he'd stride toward our general area Rachel and I would tense up. He was just so unnerving. He had no notes or anything; he just strode around repeating the same stuff. There was no flow to his talk, no points he would make clear. We could have set a raving drunk lose and got much the same affect. Ranting and rambling. Rachel wrote down these actual words right out of Clintons trap: "If they're not in cooperation with me then Jesus will get rid of them." What? He then claimed that Elvis would still be alive today if he had stayed in cooperation with God. This was when we decided to leave. We wanted to stay for the experience, but it became evident that this was pretty much it. He was just repeating the same stuff again and again. Anyway, I was hungry and would have stabbed him with my pen without hesitation had he come close enough. Terrified, we slunk out of there and back into the bright outside, both sighing with relief then laughing at ourselves and our joy at finally being freed.
During worship a man had come up and said something to Rachel, and she left for a few minutes. When I looked questioningly at Rebecca, she just shrugged. I found out later that the man had asked Rachel to move her car. He told her she was in the pastor’s spot, and had her move exactly one space over to the right. Why couldn't the pastor park one spot over instead? How did they even know she was the owner of that car? I don't know, I don't understand. There was a lot about this place I don't understand.
I was just talking to Rachel a few minutes ago; she was inquiring about the progress of this entry. I told her I was having a difficult time with it, and I didn't know what was wrong with me. Her immediate response was, "Did you drink coffee?" To which I replied, "Not enough never enough." She then said, "Hmm...maybe cuz this place was just...weird." I think that sums it up. It was so bizarre; I want to simply tell you all, "It was strange, I can't describe it." But then why am I writing this in the first place if I can’t? But I feel like Rachel's description does a better job then any of my long reckonings. "This place was just...weird." Amen.
Never judge a book by its cover. Does that go for church websites as well? We never had to fend off any touchy feelys, though I was prepared to. I intended to wear my super high heels; they give me confidence and a don’t-mess-with-me inner vibe. However, unless you find beanpoles particularly intimidating, it doesn't have much of an effect. I decided against them, because in flats I can kick anyone who gets too close considerably hard. Rachel turned out to have these same concerns, though maybe not to my pathetic extent of a condition, which would entitle medical help in certain situations. We realized the reason we wanted to go to this one was because of the possibility of the excitement it held, and just how interesting and different it seemed. We wouldn't be disappointed.
My friend Rebecca joined us this week; she followed us there in her own car. We all made it without difficulty to the originally destined church on the first try! Score! The building was a warehouse, which was unique. It made me crave Costco pizza. The two short, blond haired, blue eyed R names and I went in. It was bright outside, and we walked in and blinked and squinted in that attractive way humans do. I don't know about Rachel and Rebecca, but the first thing I focused in on was thirty floating people. The stage was nice, but above it there was an odd balcony that resembled a cage. The choir was up there stepping left and right, left and right, and singing. They stayed up there for the whole worship, always stepping left and right in sync. I may just read too much Stephen King, but my mind was immediately giddy with stories. What an awful nightmare, being ever suspended in front of a hundred people, stepping side to side, smiling, clapping, having no control. How often did food get thrown up there to them? Do they all coordinate all the time? They were all in green and black. If a bus full of people crashed on Saint Patrick’s Day in a cartoon this is what it would look like as they all rose up heaven bound. Smiling, swaying, and scary.
We were taken to our seats which were thankfully not in the front. Distracting as the floating people were, the music was excellent. They were mainstream Christian radio songs, but the band was incredible. This place was obviously designed for its music, hence the title "Worship Center" I guess. The lighting and sound system was very elaborate, and the congregation was VERY into it. When a slow song started I expected lighters and cell phones to come out and be waved. In between songs the intensity of the people cheering resembled something right off one of my "Iron Maiden Live" CDs. The worship leader woman was a maniac, clearly no one makes HER take about a 100 ADHD pills a day. But I'm not jealous, because her energy didn't seem real. It was too happy happy wind up. As Rachel said, you got to wonder what she (and the rest of them) are like during the week. Because this presentation wasn't real. It was just that - a presentation. Rachel also pointed out that this place had rituals, the people seemed brainwashed, and they thought they were the best. They were just like Burke United Methodist, but on drugs, and possibly escapees from an insane asylum. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The music went on for an hour. The technical end of it was impressive, like I said, but the overall experience was not. Leader Woman was getting more wound up with every song and I suspected a tranquilizer would be needed soon. She asked everyone to raise their hands up, to shout amen. "I don't raise," Rebecca muttered. Leader Woman invited us all to take a moment and invite God into the room. At most churches, this has seemed to involve bowing your head and praying, asking God to open you heart and receive his teachings, etc. Here everybody started loudly talking to God. The mix of everyone’s individual summonings blended into a loud murmur, and the three of us stood there awkwardly. Talk about intimidating.
The pastor came up and talked for half an hour. It was only after he talked, another song was played, and then he came back that we realized that hadn't been the sermon; that had been the request for offering. He told us how God has a plan but he can't fulfill it without our help, that God can't steer a parked car. That we are like water - we take the path of least resistance, but God wants us to be like bulldozers. All of this concluded to "give us money."
Rachel and I looked at each other in wonder when it had been nearly 2 hours and the actual message was only just beginning. We had both already had enough. Rebecca was lucky she had to leave for work. The pastor was not pleasant. He came across as manipulative to me. He used only one Bible verse the entire time, and kept stating things that would make Rachel whisper, "Where does the Bible say that?" I use descriptions like "say" and "said" but in reality he yelled. The whole time. I don't know about you, but I find it difficult to think and let things reach my heart when someone who looks like Bill Clinton is shrieking at me. He had a thing for making high pitched noises whenever possible. It was the kind of thing that was supposed to be funny, I think. High pitched impersonations and squeals. One time he bellowed, "His name has slipped my mind but that’s only because I'm an idiot." This was the only thing I agreed with all morning. I didn't like how he shouted, "As Christians we are an army! I say we swoop in and grab ‘em!"
The terrible thing was the congregation encouraged all this. When he first began to speak, people would shout, "amen," "halleluiah," and "preach it" with every sentence he said. I thought that there was no way they could keep it up the whole time, but oh they did. It was so distracting; I don't know how anyone can like the sound of their own voice that much. There is no way they had time to process what he said before shouting their amens. At one point he stuck his hands on his lower stomach and said that was his witness in there, Jesus lived inside him. Why Jesus’ dwelling spot was the lower stomach I am still unable to figure out. Clinton began to rock back and forth gripping there and singing, "I got a witness inside of me," and almost everyone did the same.
The sermon’s theme was "Cooperation with God." He said we have to quit the "stinkin thinkin" and that we must humble ourselves or we will be humiliated and separated from God. He said that God wants his hand inside our life, meaning he wants us to be his puppet. When God is controlling us like a puppet, that's what it means to be in cooperation with God. Can you imagine Socrates rolling over in his grave? I agree with none of this. We are different from animals and all other creatures because we are created in God's image, and he wants us to follow him, to let go and say God guide me mold me, not God control me.
The control freak was this pastor. Don't be deceived by his smiling, realtor ad worthy picture in the program. Throughout his sermon he would walk around the audience, stopping and staring at people, touching them. He jumped up on a chair at one point, shouting at the church to agree. As if the constant amens weren’t enough. Every time he'd stride toward our general area Rachel and I would tense up. He was just so unnerving. He had no notes or anything; he just strode around repeating the same stuff. There was no flow to his talk, no points he would make clear. We could have set a raving drunk lose and got much the same affect. Ranting and rambling. Rachel wrote down these actual words right out of Clintons trap: "If they're not in cooperation with me then Jesus will get rid of them." What? He then claimed that Elvis would still be alive today if he had stayed in cooperation with God. This was when we decided to leave. We wanted to stay for the experience, but it became evident that this was pretty much it. He was just repeating the same stuff again and again. Anyway, I was hungry and would have stabbed him with my pen without hesitation had he come close enough. Terrified, we slunk out of there and back into the bright outside, both sighing with relief then laughing at ourselves and our joy at finally being freed.
During worship a man had come up and said something to Rachel, and she left for a few minutes. When I looked questioningly at Rebecca, she just shrugged. I found out later that the man had asked Rachel to move her car. He told her she was in the pastor’s spot, and had her move exactly one space over to the right. Why couldn't the pastor park one spot over instead? How did they even know she was the owner of that car? I don't know, I don't understand. There was a lot about this place I don't understand.
I was just talking to Rachel a few minutes ago; she was inquiring about the progress of this entry. I told her I was having a difficult time with it, and I didn't know what was wrong with me. Her immediate response was, "Did you drink coffee?" To which I replied, "Not enough never enough." She then said, "Hmm...maybe cuz this place was just...weird." I think that sums it up. It was so bizarre; I want to simply tell you all, "It was strange, I can't describe it." But then why am I writing this in the first place if I can’t? But I feel like Rachel's description does a better job then any of my long reckonings. "This place was just...weird." Amen.
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