church: a tradition

The people I knew growing up believed in god because they just did – he just was. He was Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Praise him all creatures here below, heavenly hosts, the works. We said the Lord’s Prayer every week, sometimes even the Apostles’ Creed. The focus was god. When we prayed, we prayed to god. The trinity, particularly Jesus was peripheral. Jesus seemed to be just another apostle instead of the Christ.

But there was compassion and truth and a sense of belonging because everything was so rooted in the tradition of “thisiswhatchurchislike” that how was I to know any different?

As much as I claim to dislike that church, it still has a hold on me. The people who sat in the pews each week (and in the same seats) were genuine and old-fashioned in that they clasped their hands, bowed their heads, and went home and made dinner after the service. I remember sitting on the left side of the sanctuary, four rows from the back.

The wooden pews had a long stretch of mustard yellow cushion along the seat, and the ends were the best because they had the attendance booklet. More doodle paper in addition to the never-used offering envelopes and prayer sheets in the pockets of the pew ahead.

I used to stare at the stained glass windows and trace the frame patterns with my eyes. I would think about the colors and the texture. I did the same with the Christmas tree that stood up front, letting my eyes swirl along the unexplained trinity symbols and counting the marbles of lights. During Silent Night each Christmas Eve, I stood in the dark and stared only at my candle, the wax dripping down the sides, sometimes slipping through the paper try cracks and sticking to my fingers in a pinch of heat.

Sometimes I looked at the banners. The crown of thorns, the wine glass, the broken bread. The Good Shepherd and one sheep. The colored themes for different times of year: whites and purples.

I remember the warmth of summer, and the breeze coming up through the open doors behind the pulpit. I remember walking down to be acolyte, my favorite task. I loved the balance of holding the flame just right. I loved putting out the wick at the end of the brass rod. But my favorite was tipping the little bell over the flames, extinguishing them for the week and then, quickly, going back up the aisle to take off the heavy robe and go home for lunch.

It never took long. We’d hardly have our skirts and tights off before Katlin and I would be fighting.

“What did you just learn in church? Didn’t they just talk about love?” Mom said the same thing every time we fought, even if the sermon was about Cain and Abel. “Don’t you learn anything from church?”

Sure, sure. We learned the histories of the Bible. Creation, Cain and Abel, Abraham and Sarah, Isaac, Moses and the Israelites, Noah and the ark, the Covenant, the Commandments. By the time we made it through those, it was time for the holidays. We did the usual Christmas story and Easter, and by the time it was all over, it was time to start at Creation again. I don’t remember learning much about the New Testament, certainly not ever Revelation, but maybe some Matthew. Psalms. Lots of Psalms. Lots of read and response in droning tones like chanting monks.  

I am thankful to have that back-knowledge. I really am. It has helped me a lot in preparing for the New Testament. Preparing for and recognizing a need for Jesus. But at the same time, I didn’t learn until last year that micro-evolution and the Old Earth theories are widely accepted by the Church as a whole.

The discipline of getting up and going to church was more important than I realized. Now, I find myself needing to go. I love my church and my church family so much that it is an absolute joy to go, even when I do not feel sure in my faith. This Sunday, I will be out-of-town, and I feel like I am going to be missing out on that community of worshipping and praying and learning together.

Tonight at membership class, I felt for a moment like I was back at Poke Run. Everyone was seated quietly. The lesson was more read than taught or enthusiastically spoken. The calm took me back to the pews and the candles. Only instead of grape juice, we have Starbucks, and instead of stained glass, we have skyscrapers, and instead of focusing on rules and history, we focus on Jesus and redemption and life.

We talked about mission, about the calling to share the gospel to others. Well, I am no where near ready for that, and like all other things regarding Christianity, it scares me. I am afraid of all of it. But this in particular frightens me because evangelism has always been such a loaded word, and I’ve always just wanted to say, “Let others believe what they want to believe. Why should I push my viewpoint on them?” But I am starting to learn that it is not about forcing others into the same religion but rather loving others into the same community.

And now it seems just a little more clearer that maybe that was what the church I grew up in was trying to do after all. We were a sort of family, and I was a prodigal daughter.