As I've been going around researching prayer, I'm starting to see alot of reasons why humans have a NEED to pray. The first reason I saw is that we may actually have a spiritual need. Other reasons are for comfort, guidance, and for forgiveness. Now for years I never had a need to pray, at least not one that I recognized. I thought I could handle absolutely everything on my own. Any problem I caused, I could certainly solve since I so adeptly help others solve their problems. I've dealt with some pretty challenging situations in my life, and because of those triumphant wins I figured I could just take everything as it came. That was until the bottom fell out of my world before I had a chance to make amends. So why am I being consumed with the overwhelming desire to know God and know how to pray now? I toiled with the idea of posting something so deeply personal, but because holding it in has had absolutely no effect..... here's to giving out a try. Confession number One:
For most of my life I've had what so many people around the world seem to have: daddy issues. That's putting it lightly. I won't air out all the nitty gritty specifics here because a) it's not the time, place, nor occasion b) because my dad's not here to defend or explain himself and c) because once someone vanishes from the planet forever, the list of grievances you have with them seems to vanish just as suddenly... leaving behind a handful of memories that highlight only the good. People always say that, and of course I never believed them. And why would I? Indifference and disconnection is so much easier than forgiveness sometimes.
So suffice it to say that my dad and I had a very difficult, painful, tumultuous, and grudgeful history. He was a constant reminder of why I should give having children a long, hard thought before I attempted it since you can so irrevocably devastate another human's life simply by giving that very life. At the age of 12 I bravely decided that it was easier to forget he was around at all then it was to deal with the emotional ups and downs of being his daughter. The way that I can so easily dismiss people today still hurts and is a testament to how dark the period was when that coping mechanism was developed. Of course completely ignoring him until I was 18 didn't make him go away and alot more hurt during that time led to quite a bit of therapy, a couple of anti-depressants, and a few broken-hearted boyfriends who tried to love me but didn't know how. My dad didn't seem to know the pain he caused and more often than not went around acting like nothing was wrong... which turned the hurt into anger and hatred over the years. So exhausting was this relationship and the wake of tattered relationships between my dad and my mom and sister, that there was a time we actually thought he had died and all I felt was relief. That's not even the confession yet. And that's the thing. I never in my life wanted him to die, but on that night it was something I could accept. That was a long time ago.
Fast forward to the last couple of years. Without us ever having a conversation to hash out all the blows of the past, my dad just started changing on his own. He just started trying to be a better father to me. And there were times when I loved it so much because I needed that from him, but there were other times when I hated him for not trying sooner, for not trying enough, and for assuming all he had to do was say a few nice words and think all was forgiven. Unfortunately, my inability to let go and to forgive him won out more often than not. This was the spot we were in on the night he died in April.
I was coming off of a two week stint where I didn't return a single phone call of his because I was mad at him for the millionth time. He had disappointed me in some [trivial] way (trivial now, at least) and I just couldn't be bothered to call him. And here's where it gets extra painful. He was only calling to tell me about a trip he was on and trying to find out what souvenir I wanted and what books I'd like if he went to a flea market. AND I DIDN'T FUCKING ANSWER THE PHONE. As I type, I can barely breathe it hurts so much. I heard from a voicemail he left that he was sick and I blew it off. I wasn't quite over the stupid issue I had with him yet. I'd deal with him the next week, I decided. And then he was dead. When I got the news I started screaming at the top of my lungs in my car. No pain he had ever caused came within an inch of that moment that dealt the most shockingly, mind-blowing pain I've ever felt in my whole life. Not all of it combined. And now six months later, I'm still dealing with a mountain of grief that I can't even fully access yet because I can't get over the guilt I feel. My dad died alone in a bathroom in a motel room of heart failure without having heard his bitch daughter's voice in over two weeks. It is so hard to type these words but I have to let it out. They're the truth. My dad was trying his best to make things right, but he just wasn't doing it fast enough for my busy schedule and now he's gone. I'm still here, sorrier than anyone could ever possibly be.
There are only three beings in the universe that can offer me forgiveness for this. One of them is dead. One of them is me, and based on previous experience I know that forgiveness from Kim is damn near impossible to come by. The third, and my only hope, is God. So when I pray tonight, I will beg Him with everything in me to forgive me. And if he does, then I'll ask him to help me forgive myself. And then I'll ask him to help me deal with the loneliness left in knowing that the world is so much emptier now that the man that gave me life has lost his.
This is but one of the terrible things I've done. Trust me, I'm starting small.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Episcopalian Reprieve
I didn't make it to any church last week because... well, I just didn't that's why. I chose the Episcopalians this week after a very interesting and funny talk with my roommate about Catholics v. Episcopals. I'm not entirely sure I was able to make out the difference, but I became fixated on receiving a blessing from either. I was entirely sure that I did NOT want communion (I'm baptized Catholic, I can totally receive), but because the idea of placing my mouth on the same chalice as 300 other eager cannibals (the whole body/blood of Christ thing) gives me the eeby-jeebies. As my friend pointed out, Jesus WANTS us to eat and drink him, but I feel pretty weird about that inside. So with my greedy heart set on being blessed without hassle, I chose the Episcopalians.
The church itself was beautiful and very old. There was stained glass, but no dying or bloody Jesus' (this is not the place for you if that's what you're in to). I chose this particular church because I went to a Women of Faith panel a few weeks ago and the female Minister of this church was part of the panel and she really impressed with me with her intelligence and tolerance. Ironic that I went today. Turns out it was her last service here in Baton Rouge as she is moving to Kentucky (of all places). Her first few words hit me! I'm noticing a trend with that. You'll see what I mean.
I've been having a hard time with prayer, right? I don't feel like I'm doing it right. My prayers are stupid, I stutter, I don't know what to call Him, and on and on and on and on. WELL... the message she had for me was this: that first of all, you don't get a report card on your prayers! Wow! I'm not sure if she has the authority to notify me of this, but it sure felt good to hear. She said, simply, there's no A or B or C prayer. All you have to do is be open enough to accept the answer, even if it's new and drastically different than the way you thought it should be. She said it's probably not a good idea to go in with a list of exactly what you want and when. I'm in no danger of this. I've never even given Santa a list of things I wanted. Seriously, demanding gifts of a stranger is tacky whether you've been naughty OR nice. Really, my only prayer is to help me feel like I'm not alone. I think it's pretty simple, but God is taking his sweet time. It's ok though.
The calm hour of peaceful happy I feel in church (except that one church with the cleavage rock band) is better than I'm able to feel any other way in my life. And surely there must be something driving me to try strange, new churches week after week? I'd like to believe there is, but maybe it's just plain boredom or even my adventurous spirit. Who knows? As for the blessing, by the time it was time to receive that or the cannibalistic body and blood of Christ, I was far too humbled. I started to realize how much I'm blessed already. Blessings are defined as a special favor, mercy, or benefit. I have so many of these that I never asked or thanked God for that I felt like a fool for choosing a church solely on the basis of receiving an extra, intangible one. It's funny, but losing my dad and my life the way I knew it showed me how incredibly... blessed... I am for having my wonderful and amazing sisters, my mom, my beautiful friends, my pain in the ass but lovable students, and the opportunity to feel all the love, hate, beauty, anguish, joy, turmoil, anger, solice, solitude and host of other feelings I get to feel that are either lovely and/or agonizing all in one breath. So, no. I didn't stand in line to get blessed by the nice lady minister.
Back to the Episcopalians, I even got to witness baptism at this church. I found it strange, though, that infants are called upon to promise that they'll shun the temptations of the world and follow Jesus. I understand that people standing in for you can take the vow on your infant behalf, but that is a weighty and near impossible task to take on. I was probably a pretty sweet baby, but I feel sorry for the fools who vowed that I'd walk in the "way of the light." Some days I feel I can barely walk at all. Hmmm... infant baptism. I'll have to ponder that this week. Until then, I'll continue practicing my clumsy yet adequate prayers.
The church itself was beautiful and very old. There was stained glass, but no dying or bloody Jesus' (this is not the place for you if that's what you're in to). I chose this particular church because I went to a Women of Faith panel a few weeks ago and the female Minister of this church was part of the panel and she really impressed with me with her intelligence and tolerance. Ironic that I went today. Turns out it was her last service here in Baton Rouge as she is moving to Kentucky (of all places). Her first few words hit me! I'm noticing a trend with that. You'll see what I mean.
I've been having a hard time with prayer, right? I don't feel like I'm doing it right. My prayers are stupid, I stutter, I don't know what to call Him, and on and on and on and on. WELL... the message she had for me was this: that first of all, you don't get a report card on your prayers! Wow! I'm not sure if she has the authority to notify me of this, but it sure felt good to hear. She said, simply, there's no A or B or C prayer. All you have to do is be open enough to accept the answer, even if it's new and drastically different than the way you thought it should be. She said it's probably not a good idea to go in with a list of exactly what you want and when. I'm in no danger of this. I've never even given Santa a list of things I wanted. Seriously, demanding gifts of a stranger is tacky whether you've been naughty OR nice. Really, my only prayer is to help me feel like I'm not alone. I think it's pretty simple, but God is taking his sweet time. It's ok though.
The calm hour of peaceful happy I feel in church (except that one church with the cleavage rock band) is better than I'm able to feel any other way in my life. And surely there must be something driving me to try strange, new churches week after week? I'd like to believe there is, but maybe it's just plain boredom or even my adventurous spirit. Who knows? As for the blessing, by the time it was time to receive that or the cannibalistic body and blood of Christ, I was far too humbled. I started to realize how much I'm blessed already. Blessings are defined as a special favor, mercy, or benefit. I have so many of these that I never asked or thanked God for that I felt like a fool for choosing a church solely on the basis of receiving an extra, intangible one. It's funny, but losing my dad and my life the way I knew it showed me how incredibly... blessed... I am for having my wonderful and amazing sisters, my mom, my beautiful friends, my pain in the ass but lovable students, and the opportunity to feel all the love, hate, beauty, anguish, joy, turmoil, anger, solice, solitude and host of other feelings I get to feel that are either lovely and/or agonizing all in one breath. So, no. I didn't stand in line to get blessed by the nice lady minister.
Back to the Episcopalians, I even got to witness baptism at this church. I found it strange, though, that infants are called upon to promise that they'll shun the temptations of the world and follow Jesus. I understand that people standing in for you can take the vow on your infant behalf, but that is a weighty and near impossible task to take on. I was probably a pretty sweet baby, but I feel sorry for the fools who vowed that I'd walk in the "way of the light." Some days I feel I can barely walk at all. Hmmm... infant baptism. I'll have to ponder that this week. Until then, I'll continue practicing my clumsy yet adequate prayers.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Strawberry Shortcake, Faith, and Menstrual Cramps
This post won't be about my church visit this week. I did attend a service this past Sunday just so you know I'm still in hot pursuit. It was a Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses (no cleavage or coffee shops). But since this religious experience is just as much about following my heart, I have no choice but to comply and write about just how badly I want faith. I've mentioned it before, but it is dominating my every thought today.
The only thing I've ever wanted in a way that was remotely close to faith was a Strawberry Shortcake doll when I was around six. I was never big on causing scenes in public (I'd wait till I got home to let them rip), but the day I laid eyes on her was the day I threw the absolute worst tantrum the TG & Y "department store" next door to Piggly Wiggly had ever seen. I have no verifiable proof of this, but just trust me. It was bad. There was kicking. There was screaming. And oh yes, there was definitely some hurling-myself-to-the-ground more than once action. I wanted that damned little doll so much. With her freckles. And her strawberry scented hair. And her hat with the strawberry on it. Oh how I longed to be with her in the comfort of my home instead of behind packaging. Speaking of, I ripped the packaging during my tantrum. That's how I smelled her hair. Sigh.
Alright. Now faith. OH MY GOD I WANT IT SO BAD. Trust me. If it was socially acceptable to do so, I would throw the mother of all tantrums if I thought it would help. Instead, I find myself making shoddy and desparate prayer attempts (usually) while I'm driving. Today was one of my more fervent dialogues with God. It consisted mostly of body-shaking, snotty sobs and the word PLEASE. Did I mention I was driving. It won't be long before they revoke my license. I've never been in this situation before. I feel no connection to God but I DO feel an overwhelming desire to want a connection. Worst of all, I have absolutely no idea how to ask. I've tried the following: "Please give me faith", "Pretty please give me faith", "Please help me to know what to ask you for so that I can have faith", "Please endure these horrible prayers because they're a work in progress and I fully recognize that I have neither the proper envelop nor stamp to get my communication with you into the next town much less heaven". This time I even begged to not be one of the people on the earth who just can't feel "IT" no matter what. I had a dream last night that I saw faith in a store. For some reason, it took the form of a glowing purple orb and when I reached out to touch it, my had went right through it. Sucker.
All I know is that I need God so much. I never thought I would say that. I need there to be one being that I won't drive to insanity. I need to know that someone is there. I need to feel a little peace and quiet in my brain. I can't get my brain to just shut it lately. I'm trapped in a head that is full of relentless bitching... you know... never a kind word, always making me feel guilty, telling me what a mess I made, telling me that I need to stop wasting God's time like I waste the time of so many earthlings. It's a nightmare!
So, as anyone can plainly tell from the tale of Strawberry Shortcake (oh, how I loved her), I am clearly no stranger to desire. Honestly, I've had hundreds of desires this month alone from chocolate to being able to see my dad again. But none of my desires come close to the strongest one of all: a feeling that God is within, around, above, under me along with any other host of prepositions. I'll take Him and his grace/holy spirit/groovy vibe whether it comes in the form of Strawberry Shortcake, a purple orb, or even menstrual cramps. God knows how much I hate menstrual cramps. Now he knows I mean business.
The only thing I've ever wanted in a way that was remotely close to faith was a Strawberry Shortcake doll when I was around six. I was never big on causing scenes in public (I'd wait till I got home to let them rip), but the day I laid eyes on her was the day I threw the absolute worst tantrum the TG & Y "department store" next door to Piggly Wiggly had ever seen. I have no verifiable proof of this, but just trust me. It was bad. There was kicking. There was screaming. And oh yes, there was definitely some hurling-myself-to-the-ground more than once action. I wanted that damned little doll so much. With her freckles. And her strawberry scented hair. And her hat with the strawberry on it. Oh how I longed to be with her in the comfort of my home instead of behind packaging. Speaking of, I ripped the packaging during my tantrum. That's how I smelled her hair. Sigh.
Alright. Now faith. OH MY GOD I WANT IT SO BAD. Trust me. If it was socially acceptable to do so, I would throw the mother of all tantrums if I thought it would help. Instead, I find myself making shoddy and desparate prayer attempts (usually) while I'm driving. Today was one of my more fervent dialogues with God. It consisted mostly of body-shaking, snotty sobs and the word PLEASE. Did I mention I was driving. It won't be long before they revoke my license. I've never been in this situation before. I feel no connection to God but I DO feel an overwhelming desire to want a connection. Worst of all, I have absolutely no idea how to ask. I've tried the following: "Please give me faith", "Pretty please give me faith", "Please help me to know what to ask you for so that I can have faith", "Please endure these horrible prayers because they're a work in progress and I fully recognize that I have neither the proper envelop nor stamp to get my communication with you into the next town much less heaven". This time I even begged to not be one of the people on the earth who just can't feel "IT" no matter what. I had a dream last night that I saw faith in a store. For some reason, it took the form of a glowing purple orb and when I reached out to touch it, my had went right through it. Sucker.
All I know is that I need God so much. I never thought I would say that. I need there to be one being that I won't drive to insanity. I need to know that someone is there. I need to feel a little peace and quiet in my brain. I can't get my brain to just shut it lately. I'm trapped in a head that is full of relentless bitching... you know... never a kind word, always making me feel guilty, telling me what a mess I made, telling me that I need to stop wasting God's time like I waste the time of so many earthlings. It's a nightmare!
So, as anyone can plainly tell from the tale of Strawberry Shortcake (oh, how I loved her), I am clearly no stranger to desire. Honestly, I've had hundreds of desires this month alone from chocolate to being able to see my dad again. But none of my desires come close to the strongest one of all: a feeling that God is within, around, above, under me along with any other host of prepositions. I'll take Him and his grace/holy spirit/groovy vibe whether it comes in the form of Strawberry Shortcake, a purple orb, or even menstrual cramps. God knows how much I hate menstrual cramps. Now he knows I mean business.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Universal Unitarians
I'll admit I'd been eying the UU's for quite some time now. I just couldn't get anyone to commit to go with me. Normally I don't care if I do things alone. I've been to movies, restaurants, and even foreign countries alone but it never bothers me. For some reason churching alone does. After my sister promised to go then didn't wake up and, hence, sold me out, I went to the Unitarian Church all alone. I sat in the parking lot debating if I should actually get out, but since so many other parts of my life have failed, I refuse to fail in my spiritual journey!!!! ROAR!!!
Now then. This church was something else from the parking lot alone. I'm serious. The individuality warmed my heart. I saw bikers, an old guy dressed for adventure and smoking a giant stogie, a couple of girls with extreme purple/blue hair, dreadlocks...you name it. But I gotta tell you, what was more striking than the individuality was the overwhelming acceptance of these people by "everyone else." The majority of people were what I'd consider to be typical churchgoers: (minus the cleavage of Journey church, I checked) every day people with families, or couples, or solo acts in the periphery (like me). But everyone was so TOGETHER and that was beautiful to me. I think alot of churches probably SAY they welcome everyone, and probably even do for the first time that person visits. I hope they all truly continue doing this, but it was obvious that the Unitarian church doesn't even view this as a thing to consider. It was nice.
The electronic marquee outside says, "Many beliefs, one community, a better world." It's definitely one of the few places of religion I've been with any message other than "Many beliefs, but if you don't share ours then you're going to hell. And also Eff off." Of course, that's never on the marquee but it seems to be a consensus. I'm not saying one marquee is better than the other. What do I know? But if you'll recall the first blog I wrote, since I was a very young child it bothered me that some people may not get salvation because of what their heart truly, passionately believes. So that value of the UU's appeals to me. Part of me would love to belong to a church like this one, where I can't even tell what people believe. Part of me wants to pick a side that has chosen a side. You can't win the lottery if you don't buy the ticket, right?
The service itself was very interesting, but nothing like I've ever seen. They never mentioned God (though I'm not sure if they usually do or not). The theme for the talk/lecture/sermon was "The Artistic, Subversive and Sublime". They did mention some horrific sadnesses that caused everyone to throw pebbles into the place where pebbles go. There was singing. There was a very talented cellist from Salvador who supposedly improvised each selection. Then there was an awesome video clip about this guy Philippe Petit, a wire-walker who walked between the Twin Towers and Notre Dame. The congregation was then invited to "meditate" by walking across some balance beams set up in front to get the feeling of Philippe Petit. Far Out! A little bit WTF but mostly Far Out. I think the message was that we should take chances and not be afraid to live on the edge of life. I'm not sure if God signed off on this service or if his signature was even sought, but it was worth the hour.
The only other thing I'll mention is that one of the song's they sang was "This Little Light of Mine." I think this was the first time I ever heard grown-ups sing this song. I was very sad to discover that I didn't want to sing it because my light is in repair. So I will close with an open letter to God:
Dear God, please fix my light. Love Always, Kim.
Now then. This church was something else from the parking lot alone. I'm serious. The individuality warmed my heart. I saw bikers, an old guy dressed for adventure and smoking a giant stogie, a couple of girls with extreme purple/blue hair, dreadlocks...you name it. But I gotta tell you, what was more striking than the individuality was the overwhelming acceptance of these people by "everyone else." The majority of people were what I'd consider to be typical churchgoers: (minus the cleavage of Journey church, I checked) every day people with families, or couples, or solo acts in the periphery (like me). But everyone was so TOGETHER and that was beautiful to me. I think alot of churches probably SAY they welcome everyone, and probably even do for the first time that person visits. I hope they all truly continue doing this, but it was obvious that the Unitarian church doesn't even view this as a thing to consider. It was nice.
The electronic marquee outside says, "Many beliefs, one community, a better world." It's definitely one of the few places of religion I've been with any message other than "Many beliefs, but if you don't share ours then you're going to hell. And also Eff off." Of course, that's never on the marquee but it seems to be a consensus. I'm not saying one marquee is better than the other. What do I know? But if you'll recall the first blog I wrote, since I was a very young child it bothered me that some people may not get salvation because of what their heart truly, passionately believes. So that value of the UU's appeals to me. Part of me would love to belong to a church like this one, where I can't even tell what people believe. Part of me wants to pick a side that has chosen a side. You can't win the lottery if you don't buy the ticket, right?
The service itself was very interesting, but nothing like I've ever seen. They never mentioned God (though I'm not sure if they usually do or not). The theme for the talk/lecture/sermon was "The Artistic, Subversive and Sublime". They did mention some horrific sadnesses that caused everyone to throw pebbles into the place where pebbles go. There was singing. There was a very talented cellist from Salvador who supposedly improvised each selection. Then there was an awesome video clip about this guy Philippe Petit, a wire-walker who walked between the Twin Towers and Notre Dame. The congregation was then invited to "meditate" by walking across some balance beams set up in front to get the feeling of Philippe Petit. Far Out! A little bit WTF but mostly Far Out. I think the message was that we should take chances and not be afraid to live on the edge of life. I'm not sure if God signed off on this service or if his signature was even sought, but it was worth the hour.
The only other thing I'll mention is that one of the song's they sang was "This Little Light of Mine." I think this was the first time I ever heard grown-ups sing this song. I was very sad to discover that I didn't want to sing it because my light is in repair. So I will close with an open letter to God:
Dear God, please fix my light. Love Always, Kim.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Journey Church- Let me Off!!
I finally remembered why I stopped doing this blog last year. I did make an earnest attempt to venture into as many churches as possible. Shortly after I started the blog, I got invited to a baby dedication at Journey Church. I stopped at that one. I chose not to blog about it at the time because it would have been nothing short of wicked to do so. Now that time has healed the memory, I feel I can get through the jist of this service without being too ugly about it.
First, this church is the hippest place in Central, Louisiana. Seriously. It has everything!!! Strobe lights, a coffee shop, loud music, and more cleavage than a rock concert! In fact, their website describes the music as having a cutting, modern edge, their service as being presented in a modern setting, and the hip coffee shop also serving Tazo Tea is called.... wait for it... The Blend. SO cool.
The problem was (well, one anyway) that I've seldom felt MORE disconnected from God. It's awfully hard to establish a meaningful connection when you feel like you're at the mall. It just seems like the place is trying TOO hard to secure parisioners. I'm no authority, but it sucks a little to have to put on a rock concert every single Sunday equipped with a concessions area just to get scantily dressed people to go to church. Don't get me wrong, a couple of people were covered up but some women were wearing sweaters that were tighter than my game day dance uniform back in college! I don't even know where to go to find a larger collection of wrinkly boobs just a-poppin out for Jesus. It's one thing to have casual service where there are jeans and what-not. And obviously people should be able to come as they are and not need fancy things to worship. But these people were fairly affluent or "very blessed by the Lord" if you will, so I'm pretty sure they can afford the extra strip of fabric to cover the old tatas. I'm no old fogey, but I'd rather save my sexy for the usual dingy bar.
The only other part I'll comment on because I simply have to was (yes, the biggest problem of all), the sermon. I really, truly don't mean to be ugly and to be fair, as a life-long learner, avid reader, and education junky I've always questioned the content and delivery of my education in all arenas. This one was no different. I felt like I lost a substantial amount of brain that day. The pastor's message was confusing and dumbed down beyond all reason. He spent most of the sermon talking about his kids and then he discussed a bible verse from Revelation talking about lukewarm Christians and God spewing them out of his mouth. However, it turned into a story so long and more than slightly off topic that I almost forgot why we were hearing it. Kind of like what I'm doing now. He likened it to working all day and sitting on his recliner with some oreo cookies and he picked up a glass of milk next to it but the milk was lukewarm and not cold so he spat it out all over (I bet his wife was pissed). Are you kidding me? That was the best you had to bring that scripture to life? Did you prepare for this at all Mr. Pastor? Does the audience even care? I didn't think so.
In a brief time (seriously, approximately 45 seconds from typing my last sentence), I was able to find an awesome website with biblical commentary that explains that very scripture and how foul the term lukewarm was back when the scripture was written. Several commentators spoke of this water in Laodicea and how unrefreshing it was that it was neither hot nor cold and therefore useless. Now I understand that scripture and why lukewarm christians would make Jesus sick! So, this dude from hi-tech, party time coffee, "cutting" rock music church couldn't take that time to make firmer parallels to its meaning? Instead, he chose to take us on a Journey to our own buttholes via oreo cookies and milk. Honestly, if every church was like this one, I'd throw in the towel. I didn't take Journey Church seriously because it doesn't seem to take itSELF seriously. They have a large following, so this apparently works for many, many too cool for ordinary church people, but it just didn't work for me. It felt far too "see and be seen" for my tastes (which are still being developed). After all, I still don't know what I'm trying to see, but I'm not sure I'd want to be found at Journey Church when I see it.
First, this church is the hippest place in Central, Louisiana. Seriously. It has everything!!! Strobe lights, a coffee shop, loud music, and more cleavage than a rock concert! In fact, their website describes the music as having a cutting, modern edge, their service as being presented in a modern setting, and the hip coffee shop also serving Tazo Tea is called.... wait for it... The Blend. SO cool.
The problem was (well, one anyway) that I've seldom felt MORE disconnected from God. It's awfully hard to establish a meaningful connection when you feel like you're at the mall. It just seems like the place is trying TOO hard to secure parisioners. I'm no authority, but it sucks a little to have to put on a rock concert every single Sunday equipped with a concessions area just to get scantily dressed people to go to church. Don't get me wrong, a couple of people were covered up but some women were wearing sweaters that were tighter than my game day dance uniform back in college! I don't even know where to go to find a larger collection of wrinkly boobs just a-poppin out for Jesus. It's one thing to have casual service where there are jeans and what-not. And obviously people should be able to come as they are and not need fancy things to worship. But these people were fairly affluent or "very blessed by the Lord" if you will, so I'm pretty sure they can afford the extra strip of fabric to cover the old tatas. I'm no old fogey, but I'd rather save my sexy for the usual dingy bar.
The only other part I'll comment on because I simply have to was (yes, the biggest problem of all), the sermon. I really, truly don't mean to be ugly and to be fair, as a life-long learner, avid reader, and education junky I've always questioned the content and delivery of my education in all arenas. This one was no different. I felt like I lost a substantial amount of brain that day. The pastor's message was confusing and dumbed down beyond all reason. He spent most of the sermon talking about his kids and then he discussed a bible verse from Revelation talking about lukewarm Christians and God spewing them out of his mouth. However, it turned into a story so long and more than slightly off topic that I almost forgot why we were hearing it. Kind of like what I'm doing now. He likened it to working all day and sitting on his recliner with some oreo cookies and he picked up a glass of milk next to it but the milk was lukewarm and not cold so he spat it out all over (I bet his wife was pissed). Are you kidding me? That was the best you had to bring that scripture to life? Did you prepare for this at all Mr. Pastor? Does the audience even care? I didn't think so.
In a brief time (seriously, approximately 45 seconds from typing my last sentence), I was able to find an awesome website with biblical commentary that explains that very scripture and how foul the term lukewarm was back when the scripture was written. Several commentators spoke of this water in Laodicea and how unrefreshing it was that it was neither hot nor cold and therefore useless. Now I understand that scripture and why lukewarm christians would make Jesus sick! So, this dude from hi-tech, party time coffee, "cutting" rock music church couldn't take that time to make firmer parallels to its meaning? Instead, he chose to take us on a Journey to our own buttholes via oreo cookies and milk. Honestly, if every church was like this one, I'd throw in the towel. I didn't take Journey Church seriously because it doesn't seem to take itSELF seriously. They have a large following, so this apparently works for many, many too cool for ordinary church people, but it just didn't work for me. It felt far too "see and be seen" for my tastes (which are still being developed). After all, I still don't know what I'm trying to see, but I'm not sure I'd want to be found at Journey Church when I see it.
How Did Those Presbyterians KNOW?!
I should start by saying that before I nervously arrived at this church, all I knew about Presbyterians came from the book Angela's Ashes. That is, that they come from North of Ireland and have Presbyterian hair that you have to let your grandmother spit on to make it behave. Ha ha! This isn't why I was nervous. I'm neither from North of Ireland nor a Presbyterian so I was in no danger of these grooming tactics. I was nervous because I had a feeling that if God had a retinal scanner at the door, it would surely alert security about my breech.
University Presbyterian doesn't have a retinal scanner. Instead, they have a beautiful courtyard surrounded by red bricks that opened to smiles and a kindly old fella at the door greeting everyone... even me. Luckily, I picked a church my super sweet friend attends regularly so I was in good hands. I'm not sure if it makes sense to be in good hands at a church, but I was all the same.
The scene inside was breathtaking. It was light and incredibly airy with large windows looking out onto trees. No stained glass, darkness, or a bloodied and anguished Jesus. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but that setting does put me in a very dark mood. Possibly due to several viewings of The Omen as a child. Anyway, the walls were light green and everything was just so fresh looking. I felt like we should have arrived in carriages. And then I saw that there was a LADY pastor! WOW!!! Times have changed. And she was amazing and articulate and very well prepared. I honestly felt like an intellectual sitting there. It was truly a survey of scripture. They even had a list of people to pray for for various sufferings or celebrate with. I'm still not at a point where I hold much weight in prayer, but I don't think that having an entire congregation funneling well wishes and love to any thing on the planet has ever had a bad outcome.
I got a little emotional at the beginning when we opened with a Prayer of Confession that seemed to have been written for me, even though we all said it out loud together. This part really got me:
"Deliver us, O God; we are overwhelmed by the carnage... created by us in our daily mindlessness, in our careless heartlessness, in our sloppy stewardship. We are embarrassed by messy attempts to cover up what we have done."
IF I believed in signs, this one was addressed to me and put in with a sock full of rocks then hurled at my head. OUCH! This is exactly why I've been begging people to attend to church with me. I am one living, breathing mess! I am presently upset with myself over no fewer than 15 major mistakes I've made and some of them can never be fixed or forgiven. I don't even try to cover up what I've done anymore because I seem to make it worse. That confession hurt and my eyes burned trying to fight back tears of guilt and relief that maybe other people feel this way. But they had something I don't have: JESUS. I left feeling satisfied with a well-spent hour, but I didn't leave with holy spirit. Instead, I left alone but maybe just a little less overwhelmed. I'll keep looking. Finding God is the only thing I haven't tried yet, so I am very excited that I'm FINALLY on the journey. I want to be just like those Presbyterians. I want to be on a team. I want to plead, "Oooh Ooooh!! Ooooh Pick me!!!! Pick me!!!" until God picks me. I don't even care if he picks me last.
University Presbyterian doesn't have a retinal scanner. Instead, they have a beautiful courtyard surrounded by red bricks that opened to smiles and a kindly old fella at the door greeting everyone... even me. Luckily, I picked a church my super sweet friend attends regularly so I was in good hands. I'm not sure if it makes sense to be in good hands at a church, but I was all the same.
The scene inside was breathtaking. It was light and incredibly airy with large windows looking out onto trees. No stained glass, darkness, or a bloodied and anguished Jesus. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but that setting does put me in a very dark mood. Possibly due to several viewings of The Omen as a child. Anyway, the walls were light green and everything was just so fresh looking. I felt like we should have arrived in carriages. And then I saw that there was a LADY pastor! WOW!!! Times have changed. And she was amazing and articulate and very well prepared. I honestly felt like an intellectual sitting there. It was truly a survey of scripture. They even had a list of people to pray for for various sufferings or celebrate with. I'm still not at a point where I hold much weight in prayer, but I don't think that having an entire congregation funneling well wishes and love to any thing on the planet has ever had a bad outcome.
I got a little emotional at the beginning when we opened with a Prayer of Confession that seemed to have been written for me, even though we all said it out loud together. This part really got me:
"Deliver us, O God; we are overwhelmed by the carnage... created by us in our daily mindlessness, in our careless heartlessness, in our sloppy stewardship. We are embarrassed by messy attempts to cover up what we have done."
IF I believed in signs, this one was addressed to me and put in with a sock full of rocks then hurled at my head. OUCH! This is exactly why I've been begging people to attend to church with me. I am one living, breathing mess! I am presently upset with myself over no fewer than 15 major mistakes I've made and some of them can never be fixed or forgiven. I don't even try to cover up what I've done anymore because I seem to make it worse. That confession hurt and my eyes burned trying to fight back tears of guilt and relief that maybe other people feel this way. But they had something I don't have: JESUS. I left feeling satisfied with a well-spent hour, but I didn't leave with holy spirit. Instead, I left alone but maybe just a little less overwhelmed. I'll keep looking. Finding God is the only thing I haven't tried yet, so I am very excited that I'm FINALLY on the journey. I want to be just like those Presbyterians. I want to be on a team. I want to plead, "Oooh Ooooh!! Ooooh Pick me!!!! Pick me!!!" until God picks me. I don't even care if he picks me last.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Fake it till I Make it
Hmmmm... I've noticed two things in viewing this blog. One, it's been over a year since I thought about it and two, I did an astoundingly poor job of fulfilling the self-imposed obligations of this blog (probably because I forgot about it). Oh my goodness what a year it's been! When I explain, anyone reading this will surely understand how this project slipped my mind.
Since creating the blog, I trained for and ran a marathon, my father died, I learned the existence of the word "cremains" (due to said paternal death), my stepfather died (run over by a truck, and no I'm not kidding), I left my husband (there, it's out for the world to see), and I started my life over. I also spent a large part of the summer experiencing some pretty severe panic attacks resulting in scary heart palpitations and abnormally sweaty armpits accrued in less than 10 minutes of sitting in an air conditioned room.
Not even the daunting and prolonged period of puberty can match the changes I've undergone this year. I'm still relatively optimistic about my life by nature, but I can feel myself dragging a little lower every day. What have I done to combat this? Well, I've written approximately six sentences in my journal, I took exactly two guitar lessons, I've been running like a demon, I attended one counseling session that I couldn't really afford, and I attempted to pray the other day. Now let me tell you, the catastrophe of this prayer is probably what sent me back to this blog. It went a little something like this:
"Um... dear God. This is Kim. I think you know who I am because a button probably flashed with the name of the caller. But then again, since I haven't called in about ten years you probably don't have my number because I changed it like nine times and never texted you the update. Ok... this isn't going well. I fully recognize that I'm a douche for contacting you just because my life is a mess. I don't know how to do this so I'm gonna try to find you then we'll talk again. If you want to. Peace Out."
That may be the worst prayer ever. Dead atheists pray better than that. I didn't feel anything after the prayer except stupid. I felt like I was talking to myself actually. But then I found this blog while looking for a friend's blog and it looked cool but it had my picture on it. I don't believe in signs, but I'd like to. That could be a pretty good one. So from this moment on I'm going to recommence this blog. The purpose may have changed a little though. I have never been in more need of SOMETHING in my entire life. I've had some pretty dark times as a child, but I talked to God then. Over the years, I've rationalized away the relationship I had with Him.
So what's the new purpose of A Religious Experience? Instead of being an unattached observer of faith, I desperately want to become a person who actually HAS faith. Faith in anything at all. I'll still attend as many churches as possible until SOMETHING happens. I've completely lost my direction. If I was a compass, I'd be dirty/partially buried in poop with a cracked glass and absolutely no needle at all. I'm in autopilot, making a series of circles over an uncharted world while occasionally dropping bombs on people I love. Jesus help me!!! And I presently mean that as merely an interjection. But I hope that by the end of this experience, I will have been able to help myself and maybe even become homeboys with the J-Man. Sigh. The trip starts tomorrow. See you on the other side.
Since creating the blog, I trained for and ran a marathon, my father died, I learned the existence of the word "cremains" (due to said paternal death), my stepfather died (run over by a truck, and no I'm not kidding), I left my husband (there, it's out for the world to see), and I started my life over. I also spent a large part of the summer experiencing some pretty severe panic attacks resulting in scary heart palpitations and abnormally sweaty armpits accrued in less than 10 minutes of sitting in an air conditioned room.
Not even the daunting and prolonged period of puberty can match the changes I've undergone this year. I'm still relatively optimistic about my life by nature, but I can feel myself dragging a little lower every day. What have I done to combat this? Well, I've written approximately six sentences in my journal, I took exactly two guitar lessons, I've been running like a demon, I attended one counseling session that I couldn't really afford, and I attempted to pray the other day. Now let me tell you, the catastrophe of this prayer is probably what sent me back to this blog. It went a little something like this:
"Um... dear God. This is Kim. I think you know who I am because a button probably flashed with the name of the caller. But then again, since I haven't called in about ten years you probably don't have my number because I changed it like nine times and never texted you the update. Ok... this isn't going well. I fully recognize that I'm a douche for contacting you just because my life is a mess. I don't know how to do this so I'm gonna try to find you then we'll talk again. If you want to. Peace Out."
That may be the worst prayer ever. Dead atheists pray better than that. I didn't feel anything after the prayer except stupid. I felt like I was talking to myself actually. But then I found this blog while looking for a friend's blog and it looked cool but it had my picture on it. I don't believe in signs, but I'd like to. That could be a pretty good one. So from this moment on I'm going to recommence this blog. The purpose may have changed a little though. I have never been in more need of SOMETHING in my entire life. I've had some pretty dark times as a child, but I talked to God then. Over the years, I've rationalized away the relationship I had with Him.
So what's the new purpose of A Religious Experience? Instead of being an unattached observer of faith, I desperately want to become a person who actually HAS faith. Faith in anything at all. I'll still attend as many churches as possible until SOMETHING happens. I've completely lost my direction. If I was a compass, I'd be dirty/partially buried in poop with a cracked glass and absolutely no needle at all. I'm in autopilot, making a series of circles over an uncharted world while occasionally dropping bombs on people I love. Jesus help me!!! And I presently mean that as merely an interjection. But I hope that by the end of this experience, I will have been able to help myself and maybe even become homeboys with the J-Man. Sigh. The trip starts tomorrow. See you on the other side.
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