Peace be with you

It’s hard for me to do new things. I find tremendous comfort in routine, and hesitate to change, even when it’s unavoidable. For that reason, I’ve lived in my new house for almost 5 months, and haven’t started going to church. I find the search process exhausting, to be honest. I did it in grad school – some were too liberal, others too traditional, some sang too much, some congregations were overly aloof. Others just didn’t feel right. There’s a certain sensation when I’m in the right church, and I spent a long time looking for it. I eventually returned to the Methodist church where I started my search. It was familiar, and so I stayed there.

When I moved here, to this place which is not part of the Midwest, rather undeniably southern (so I’m a liar in my profile), I was worried. I’d heard some churches, and there are many down here, were intensely conservative. So I was paranoid about even visiting and making some sort of blatant error and offending people during worship. Anyway, I continued to half-heartedly research churches online, then made excuses for why Sunday morning found me at home in pajamas, reading blogs or books, and watching football.

I sent email to some friends last week. My first paragraph read “I'm unhappy some of the time, without really knowing why. I don't know if it's growing pains - looking around and wondering how I got here and if I'll still be looking around in 10 years and thinking I somehow stumbled into my life. Because there's really no reason to be upset or sad right now."

My friend, who I lived with or near for 4 years of undergraduate study, wrote back with some general platitudes, but her last paragraph read “One thing I've been meaning to ask you and I keep forgetting - have you found a church there that you are attending and like? I know that [post-doc] away from happy church stuff is an unhappy [post-doc].”

And that’s why it’s important to have people who know you. When I first heard that the Holy Spirit lives within each of us upon acceptance of Christ, I pictured Him taking up residence in the center of my chest. I feel weird even writing that out, but that’s how I make sense of it. It’s where I feel flutters of happiness when I sing my favorite hymns, the place that doesn’t feel so tense and panicked anymore after I pray. So I think of that little place as being ecstatic when He gets to talk to God – when all my attention is focused in worship or prayer. And He gets sad – despondent and lonely – when I neglect my spiritual life.

I found a local Methodist church online months ago and often drove by it on my way home from work. I could hear the Holy Spirit chirp “Let’s go! Let’s see how it is!” every time I glanced over, but inertia kept me from getting ready and going on Sundays. This morning, I missed the early service, though my plan had been to go. As I watched Sex & the City on DVD, letting minutes ease by, I continued to note the time I had left to get ready if I hoped to make the later service. I continued to think of the email - my friend gave me a solution to my general unhappiness, one that has always worked for me before, and I wasn't using it.

At the last minute, I quickly finished drying my hair and curled it, dressed and put on my heels. I strode quickly to the garage after throwing a few treats for the dog, eager to leave before I decided it was too inconvenient to go, and headed off to church. I pulled into the parking lot, and promptly introduced myself to the woman who was also walking in. She began to drawl her way through information – special advent worship times, Sunday School classes, volunteer opportunities, choir concerts – her pleasure at introducing me to the church clear. I took my program at the door – a direct entrance into a small sanctuary – a sharply vaulted wooden ceiling, single aisle and 2 rows of 10 light wooden pews.

I smiled at a woman seated on the aisle, slipped past her and sat down. Looking around at the large wreaths up front and the Christmas tree all dressed in white, I quickly wrote my check for the offering and read through the bulletin so I wouldn’t make foolish mistakes. My parking lot friend (whose name escapes me – I make a terrible Southerner) came over to provide a bit more information, introduced me to several more women, then hugged me. Before I could sit back down, another woman decided to give me an embrace of welcome as well. I returned to my seat, a bit out of my element among the many conversations and disproportionate amount of winter gear for the actual temperature, smiled at the baby seated one pew forward, and settled in.

Service was lovely, but I was most grateful for communion - a structured way to admit sin, ask forgiveness, and take strength to do better. All of us marched slowly to the altar to get bread and wine, and as I was waiting my turn, I watched a grandmother with 2 young girls. She ushered them in front of her – their blonde hair a contrast to the hat she wore. I assumed she was undergoing or recovering from chemotherapy – she looked physically frail. The three of them knelt together to pray – her arm wrapped around both of the girls. The nearest child wrapped her arm around her grandmother’s waist in return. The farthest reached back and held the hand placed on her arm. The cohesive display of strength and weakness was striking to me. The supported each other, and were in the presence of God asking for help. I prayed for them, almost missing the cue for us to stand and proceed forward.

What I remember is that I didn’t feel the familiar tightness in my chest that normally accompanies seeing a cancer victim. While those patients and their families certainly have my sympathy, I’m also filled with anger at the unfairness of the disease and frustration at the medical and research community, myself included, to make swift progress to help. Looking at this woman, I felt strangely peaceful – sure that she was being cared for, knowing I was doing all I could to help in my small but fervent prayer. Leaving, that spot in my chest wasn’t so tight and miserable. I felt peaceful and centered.

That sadness – the general discontent, the hopelessness that my life isn’t improving in any real way, the lack of direction, the unwillingness to meet new people because I’d rather be left alone – is something I’ve dealt with many times before. It always eases after I start going to church again. I’m just not so sad anymore. I’m more gentle and forgiving; I didn’t feel the need to glare at the woman who was driving 10 mph under the speed limit in the far left lane, though she was also talking on the phone; I have faith that work will teach me something valuable and that I’ll be glad I chose this job over some of the others; I feel comforted, connected and peaceful. I'm also able to start seeing all the hope and joy that I missed while I was focused on the negative.

The other amazing factor is that even when I'm ignoring God, he sends messages. My friend, not at all spiritual, prodded me to go to church, succeeding where my family had failed. I'm blessed with feeling God in a very emotional way - I get miserable without Him, so I'm reminded of needing to direct attention toward the Holy Spirit. The rewards are immediate and profound - I always long for this peaceful feeling inside. Lastly, I'm grateful for the welcome - having a positive experience in a new place, experiencing peace that I haven't felt in some time, and upon returning to my car after the service, smelling perfume other than my own from welcoming hugs.