Goin' to Church!

by Patti

I went to church yesterday for the first time since, well, last time I went to church. Which, I'll be honest since we're talking about church, was a loooooooooooooooooong time ago.

Me and church? It's not that we hate each other; it's just that... I have mixed feelings about it. I think church doesn't mind me; in fact, I'm sure it would welcome me with open arms should I actually decide to darken a church's door on a regular basis. It's just that , for me, church isn't just a place where you have to sit/stand/sit/stand/sit/stand/sit/stand/kneel/sit/stand/kneel/sit/stand for a good hour - it's a place of worship, a place where you are kind of suppposed to mean it if you are there. I'm not a halfway type of person; I'm either all in, or all out. And I just feel like until I can truly commit to being all in, there's no point in church for me.

S, on the other hand? Loves church. Her first, tender years in school meant weekly chapel and daily "Jesus Time", as she attended a little Lutheran preschool in our neighborhood. When she started pelting me with questions about Jesus and the bible, I started feeling like a big, fat hypocrite. Here were M and I, practically heathens in our non-attendance of church and all things religious; yet we were sending our developing, learning, curious little girl off into the world of church and religion, with absolutely no basis to back it all up.
S attended that preschool for five years, and now, six years later, she still misses the whole ritual of church and asks me to take her to church on regular basis. I mean, does that qualify for me for an express train to hell, or what?

The service I attended yesterday was for the baptism of my dear friend's little boy. It was a full mass cumulnating in his baptism, and I have to admit: it was kind of cool. Sure, it was an old school church with no air conditioning, and it was so damned hot one actually had to wonder if we were actually in hell instead of church (yes, I KNOW I'm going to be struck by lightning), but I have to say: despite the heat and the neverending sit/stand/kneel/sit/stand/kneel of it all, it wasn't bad. I made myself really listen to the pastor rather than cave to my tendency to let my mind wander and is it just me or does the pastor's assistant look like a muppet? And I found that in really listening, I actually took away a few little nuggets of stuff to think about. And the best part was looking over to S, all dressed up in her Sunday Best, and watching her listen. At one point, I leaned into her and whispered, "Do you miss this?" She smiled up at me and gave a little nod.

I looked to the back of the church, where M had found a seat since he came in a little late (of COURSE), and caught his eye. M  has a very complicated relationship with church - much worse than mine. He grew up with church a not once, not twice, but thrice-weekly part of his life. He had church for breakfast lunch and dinner. And then, once he was able to, he purged it and swore off of it for good. M believes in a higher power; he just does not believe in the institute of church, religion, and the guys who wear $3,000 suits while they preach to the "sheep".  The fact his married pastor was bedding nubile, wide-eyed teens while preaching to his flock about the sanctity of marrige didn't help matters. To M, church is a shady "business" that has millions fooled.

Take a bowl and throw in S, who longs for the ritual and community of church, mix that up with the anti-church M, who is fiercely rolling his eyes as the hymnal books are being passed down the pews, and toss in me, the cusses-like-a-truckdriver mother who has impure thoughts about Adam Levine WHILE IN CHURCH, and that is one fucked-up cake.

I'm still thinking about what to do for S. I have very strong feelings about teaching children to believe things you don't 100% commit to yourself. It just feels hypocritical to me. I also have very strong feelings about doing things just because everyone else does them, especially when often times they don't even know the real why of why they are doing it.

But I also have very strong feelings about my daughter. And since I have taken the stance from the moment I found out she would come to be that, while I intended to provide as much guidance and wisdom as my still-learning self could muster up, she would only pass through me - not be my property. This means I also have strong feelings about respecting who she is and wants to be, and if that means church, then I guess it means church.

At the end of the service, the childhood memory of my church-going years came back to me as all of the strangers became friends, hugging one another and shaking hands, wishing one another peace. S wrapped her arms around my waist. "Peace be with you, mommy."
I'm working on it, honey.