A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || April 19, 2001 || 10:52 pm

“I have no problem with faith. It’s religion that fucks me up.”

Jett Superior, “Oh, Go On And Speak Of Controversial Topics

I went to church last Sunday for the first time in a long time. The fact that it was Easter was simple coincidence. So was the fact that I had a beautiful new, delicately embroidered getup to sport around. With gold sandals. *Later on I kept the outfit on and wore it with Timberland sandals. I was not immediately struck dead. The Fashion Powers That Be must go easy on big national holidays. And Oscars night, but that is another entry entirely.*

In all seriousness, it truly was a coincidence. I’ve been swearing to do it for months now and finally kicked it into gear this past Sunday morning. I am not one of those idiots who see fit to only go to church when a major Christian holiday comes a-knockin’. Those people leave a horrible taste in my mouth (when I eat them for breakfast, tee-hee). It makes me think of those grody relatives who show up to the reunion right before chowtime; arriving emptyhanded, they proceed to decimate a largish hunk of the potluck schlepped in by everyone else. Then they leave before cleanup. Every family has ‘em.

So does every church. That’s why I am so stridently defending myself in this respect. I am not one of those. I am there for the long haul. I carry my share of the burden. I bake as many pies as anyone; I just happen to carry them outside and share with passers-by. My fellowship is outside the norm. It encompasses my children’s friends, fellow musicians, anyone open to a frank, calm (and let’s hope intellectual) discourse, internet pals…you name it.

So I went to church, and was pleased. Some places you feel when you hit the door, some feel you. A rare few do both and the place that we went to on Sunday was one of those.

There was a real joy and heartbeat to the joint. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel like there is a clear, pure space inside of you, light and warm, shining forth into the room. Everyone else there has it too, and everyone’s space is shining and the rays are all touching one another and blending seamlessly into one. A bunch of tiny hearts beating sympatico that make up one larger beat.

I hardly ever cry, especially in public. To be completely honest with you, it leaves me feeling defenseless to any who may witness it. There has to be some deep-seated, clinical-type reason for this, but let’s not delve too deep for now, okay?

So I make it a point not to gad about doing the Big BooHoo, alrighty? And there in that sanctuary, in the midst of all that singin’ and praisin’, I felt helplessly moved to tears. Big, fat, juicy drops welled over my lower lids, despite my frustration and efforts to make it not so.

I question anyone’s ability to disacknowledge that a higher someone exists, to write off a wonderful characteristic like faith as flighty or invented. Miracles happen. The voices in one’s self do not always require medication. They require a microphone. Or a pen. Or a word processor. Or a brick wall. Something. I say this all because a woman approached and asked to pray with me.

I was immediately filled with revulsion, but I sensed a genuine need as well. She wrapped a massive arm around me and began to sear me with her words. She spoke aloud the stuff that was hidden deep inside of me, oh-so-carefully buried from view. Things that I was sure I had given evidence of to no one.

Despite the Baptist damage that I suffered as a result of organized religion, I have grown to know that there ARE in fact works of the spirit inexplicable to man. I have had some amazing things happen in my short time drawing air. And at least three of them (more, if I were to really think on the matter) rank as strikingly profound. I am thankful that I was given the capacity to be open to them at their respective moments.

She melted away into the congregation; I didn’t even find out her name. I didn’t need to….what she was sent to tell me had nothing to do with her, so it was just as well. The significance of not being able to pin a name to her doesn’t escape me; with a name, the human mind attaches the message to the messenger.

I have been extraordinarily relaxed and focused this week….*

*despite later events, which I’ll catch up on this weekend.

Nobody worked it out »

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