Out of Place

My entire life, I have felt on the edge.  In school, I wasn't exactly a standout.  I did well academically, but while there were those around me who had one subject they excelled at over the others, I didn't.  I was the jack of all trades and the master of none.

This has really continued into my adult life.  As I have gotten older, I have probably become more and more guarded.  With a hidden desire to find my place, this doesn't really help me reach that end.   I want to feel like I have a place, I am just not sure really how to find it.

My self-esteem issues as a child and young adult have passed into my adult life in some aspects.  I want to be accepted for who I am, even though I am still learning who that is.  I spent such a great deal of time being looked over that I am not exactly sure what it feels like to be looked at. 

Six weeks ago, I decided to make a major change for us as a family.  My son and I started to attend St. Paul's Episcopal Church at the advice of some wonderful people.  It was a huge change, but I believe change, when entered into at the best time, is a good thing.  When I first started attending, I was amazed at how friendly and welcoming everyone seemed to be. I was cautiously optimistic, really waiting for it to change.

It had been such a long time since I felt that warm, welcoming feeling that I had grown accustomed to cold distance. I am fairly confident that this isn't how you are supposed to feel in church, but it had become that way.  I felt like I was opening myself up to those around me (in our old church) and not feeling much in return.  My method of stepping out is to take a couple of steps forward and wait for the same to be done on the other side.  Over time, we meet in the middle.  I felt like I was walking across a never-ending chasm.  That no matter how many steps I took, I would never reach the other side.

Since we started attending St. Paul's, I have felt such a renewed lease on belonging.  I have begun to believe that the welcoming nature of the people in this church is at their heart, not just how it will be in the beginning.  A couple of weeks ago, I decided to ask for a nametag to be made.  St. Paul's does this so that people can get to know one another.  For me, making this small decision was the first step on a journey to be a part of something.   I feel like a piece of the whole.  In a world where most people fight to stand out, I simply want to fit in.   And at St. Paul's, I do.

Even without that nametag, I have never felt more welcome.  People I have never met before greet me weekly like I am an old friend.  My son has been cuddled and coddled and has been more open than I have ever seen him.  

Each week, I feel more and more like this was the right decision for us.  I know that this is just a small, small step on a much longer journey.  I am enjoying journey and following the road before me.

I can't wait to see where it leads.

Anticipation

I will be the first to tell you that while it's okay, Christmas is not my favorite holiday (truth be told, it's St. Patrick's Day, but that is another post).   Since my birthday is just a few days before, I grew up being overshadowed by this holiday.

As I got older, it really stopped mattering that my birthday got forgotten in the craziness that ensues with the hustle and bustle of the season.  However, the season still didn't come to mean much more to me than the motions: cooking, eating, shopping, visiting family, practicing for Christmas programs, etc.  In going through the motions, the meaning was lost for me.  I spent so much time trying to cram everything in that I felt like I don't get to enjoy it all.  I normally end the holiday season exhausted, wondering where all of the time went.

This year, it's a little different.  Since I left the previous church, practicing for a Christmas program is off the list.  Most of the gift buying and financial stress of the season is gone because we have minimized our Christmas shopping as a family agreement.  And so, the season is slower for me.  This opens the opportunity for a change in the way I see it.

About a month ago, the boy and I started attending St. Paul's Episcopal Church.  I have talked about how welcoming and wonderful the church has been.  I even requested that a name tag be made for me, signifying that I plan on staying.  In the Episcopal church, the time leading up to Christmas is known as Advent.   Advent is Latin for "coming or arrival."  It is a season of anticipation and preparation for the arrival of Jesus Christ.

As a family, we are starting a new tradition this year: the Advent Calendar.  As I research everything, I researched the "right" way to do this.  Essentially, there isn't one.  There also isn't a wrong way to do it.  As with most everything in the Episcopal church, it is all about finding your own way.  Among their combined Christmas Decorations, my mom and her fiancé found the Advent calendar to the right.  I had actually started to make my own, of which they were aware, and offered that one to us.   Answer?  Yes, please!

For our family, I have put a Bible passage on a card for each day.  I have also included a small goodie for Z on each day.  The plan?  Each night, we will dig into that day's pocket and see what surprises await us.  

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I am excited about the coming season.  I am looking forward to learning more about Advent as the Sundays of the season progress.  I am thrilled about starting a new family tradition.  And I am anticipating the coming days.  I cannot wait to see how the season unfolds and what it will bring to our family.    No matter how it plays out, I know that it will be wonderful.

Although, I am a little concerned about the lack of Christmas Carols...

The Call

As I have previously mentioned. Z and I have gone to St. Paul's Episcopal Church the past couple of weeks.  As with all churches, St. Paul's requested that it's visitors fill out a little card and put it in the offering plate when it passes by.  

First week, I was again caught up in "what-if-I-insult-someone-by-making-a-mistake" mode that I forgot to fill it out.  So, week two, I dropped it in.

I have visited other churches before, and the process to which I have become accustomed is for a member of the congregation to either call, send a letter, or stop by my house.  It's perfectly fine, very standard, so not a big deal.

Earlier this afternoon, my cell phone rang.  A little tied up with a customer issue, I let it go to voice mail.  Imagine my surprise a little while later when I checked the message and heard the warm and friendly voice of Father Polk Van Zandt, the rector of St. Paul's.   It was such a pleasant surprise.   I know church leaders are busy, so I understand why congregation members serve as the ones who reach out.  To have a church where the minister personally calls those who come to visit it such an amazing thing to me.

Father Polk, whom I did not get a chance to meet officially on Sunday due to a hungry child, is fantastic!  He is so very nice, was willing to answer any and all of my questions, and made sure that we had felt welcome in the services.  I assured him we did and mentioned how wonderful Ione had been to Z and me.  As I was speaking to him, he asked about our family's church background.  I gave him the denomination background and decided to go for what we have come to call in our family the "deal breaker."

Okay, I am going to be very transparent here.  I am cynical.  I have trust issues, and I know that.  It stems from learning that people I once trusted are not as okay with my marriage as they initially say they are.  Because of work, hubs doesn't normally get to attend church with me.  It became easy for people to simply forget about the fact that my husband is African.    However, all we have to do to remind them is show up together and the tension is palpable.

And so, when I was discussing my decision to seek another church, I told Father Polk it was due in part to wanting to ensure my son grew up feeling like he belonged. To note, the other church didn't single him out, but my experience has been that the attitude towards the parents will eventually land on the child (or children).  I simply refuse to allow that to happen to him. I told Father Polk about our biracial, multicultural family.  This is normally where a pause occurs and then I get a canned answer that it doesn't matter when it clearly does.

Not today.  There was no pause. No hesitation.  I got a "it doesn't matter, we are all children of God."  And it was a heartfelt, honest response.  That never happens.  That is not the reaction to which I have become accustomed.

But it's nice.  Welcome even.  It is the reaction I always expect and am always disappointed when I don't receive it.  Because, deep down, even though I anticipate the rejection, I always hope for the acceptance.  I always pray that we will be welcomed warmly and that it truly won't matter that my family is different.

Today, we were.  And it didn't.

The Body of Christ

For anyone who has been to a Baptist church in recent years, well, ever actually, you are very aware of the frequency of the Lord's Supper (rarely called communion).  It doesn't happen more than four or five times a year.  Normally, you can count on the Lord's Supper once per quarter to be relegated to a Sunday evening service.  Now, I point this out not to be critical of the practice.  I am simply relaying it in order to draw a comparison later.

For the last two Sundays, Z and I have been visitors at St. Paul's Episcopal Church here in the Boro.  At St. Paul's, Holy Eucharist (Communion) is observed every Sunday and Wednesday.   In my desire to learn more about the Episcopal faith, I found a most wonderful reason for the frequency (beyond tradition, that is):

"God's saving act, reconciling the world to Himself, is so important and yet so hard to internalize that it bears repeating."

There is also the matter of wine versus grape juice.  I know the reasoning from the Baptist side. The fruit of the vine is interpreted literally.  As in, it came off the vine, went into a cup.  No time for fermentation.   Since I am not well versed in the Episcopal faith, I am going to take it at face value that the word wine in the Bible translates literally to wine.   It is pretty much semantics for me, as I think it is important to focus on the symbolism over the contents of the cup.

Reality or not, there was always an idea for me that I couldn't participate in the Lord's Supper in a Baptist church unless I was a member there.   St. Paul's makes it very clear that if you have been baptized in any faith, you are welcome to take communion.   So, on Michael's recommendation, I took communion the first week.  I am so glad he suggested it, and so glad I listened.

I am going to give you my personal take on communion.   Even with its prior infrequency, the act of observing the Lord's Supper has always been a moving experience for me.  I wish I could adequately express how taking of the bread and wine (juice, whatever) transports me to those moments before the betrayal and the ultimate sacrifice provided for insignificant me.  To a time when a man destined for greatness was trying to tell his best Earthly friends that his time with them was growing to an end.   Teaching them to create a ceremony that would allow them to remember those last glimpses of his greatness before he left to be seated at the right hand of the Father.

The first Sunday at St. Paul's, I was so afraid of making a misstep that I missed the preparation of the Eucharist.  This week, I didn't feel quite so nervous.  After having been so welcomed among strangers, I truly felt that no one would laugh if I happened to make a mistake.  And so, this left me freer to watch the process.

There is such...beauty in the preparation.  Instead of following along with the words, I watched Father Colin as he spoke them and prepared to provide these gifts to us.   At the pinnacle of preparation, he lifted a communion wafer, larger than those to be provided to the congregation, announced "The Body of Christ," and broke it in half.

I can still feel the chills that ran down my spine and hear the echo in the silence that followed.

When it was time to go forward, I didn't hesitate.  I didn't feel odd, I didn't feel out of place

I felt blessed.

Secret Garden

I have spent my entire Christian life in one Baptist church or another.  They have ranged from the ultra-conservative Missionary Baptist of my grandfather to the sort-of contemporary Baptist church of my teen years.   For the last several years, I have attended one more out of habit than any particular connection to that denomination.

I decided a few months ago that some habits need to be broken.  So, on the suggestion of my BFF and with the support of new friends I have met through her, I took my son to St. Paul's Episcopal Church this morning.

The usher (female, I will get to why that is important later) handed me the bulletin, which had the entire service. She greeted my son, which many adults fail to do.  When she asked if I knew where to go, I told her it was our first visit. Her response?  GREAT!

She then introduced me to Ione.  Ione would be my guide through service today.  Ione asked about my family, background, etc.   Not only did she show me around, she gave me great insights into the Episcopal way of worship.  She reasserted what the church believes.  She told me that there should be no worries about making a mistake.  It's not about perfection, it's about worship.

Ione took Z and me to see the nursery (just in case) and Z was hooked as soon as Nick (the nursery worker) showed him the trains.   I initially had no intention of leaving Z there. However, I found myself kissing him goodbye with a pager in my hand.  Ione also sat with me through the service, guiding me from start to finish.  She, along with other members of the congregation, were so warm, friendly, and inviting.

Today was All Saints' Day.  It is set aside to honor all of the named and unnamed saints. I will leave it at that, since I have already mentioned that I am NO expert on the subject.   What I can tell you is that the service itself is the epitome of beauty.  The sermon, delivered by the youth minister, was about how important it is to come as you are and come in love for Christ.   He spoke of his Great-Grandmother, led to Christ by a neighbor friend, who wasn't perfect.  She didn't know how to worship, didn't realize the alter is for kneeling and not sitting, had never been to church.  But she came to church with an open heart, leading to a life serving Him.  Her son became a minister, his son became a minister, and his son (the youth minister) followed as well.

At no point did I feel out of place, awkward, or unwanted.   Following sage advice from Michael, I took communion.  I know I wouldn't have done it if I felt even mildly out of place, and I didn't.  These people, who had never met me, welcomed me warmly and greeted me openly.

The feminist in me was also singing during this service.  A woman is the music minister.  Women served as ushers. Young women served as acolytes.  A woman read the scripture during the service.   This might seem trivial to some, but when you come from a background where women are limited to singing, playing piano, and working with the children's ministry, it is amazing to see woman in places of prominence during worship.

The only "down" side I can point out is that hubs and I would be the only interracial couple in the church.  But, you know what, I don't think we would even notice.  My son, who is clearly biracial, was welcomed by everyone, even those of older generations who snub us when they see my family.  Not at this church.  No snubbing. No ignoring.  Just genuine care and concern.

And speaking of Z.  The most amazing thing happened.  My son is VERY introverted.  It takes weeks or months for him to get to the point where he will even make that noise at the back of his throat in the affirmative or negative when asked a question.  Today, when I went to get him from the nursery, Nick was asking him questions about a piece of plastic fruit. Benign, I know.  But the amazing thing is that Z answered. Not just vague noises. Words.  Full sentences.  Speaking.   For any parent whose child is painfully shy, you know this just never happens.

While I do have some questions about the Episcopal faith as a whole, I will be going back.  I want to learn so much more about these welcoming, beautiful people and their church.  Maybe, after some time, it will become my church.  I am excited to find out what the "Secret Garden" (thanks Michael) has to offer to me and my family.

If today is any indication, there are so many beautiful flowers to discover.