Into the Woods

part 2

I walked into church with only minutes to spare before what was to be a very special service. The outer sanctum, or lobby, or narthex in proper church terminology, was still crowded with smiling people greeting each other and pretending to be a real community. I joined them, smiling and hugging and answering the much-repeated question, “Are you alone?” I was indeed alone. We had spent our Saturday traveling to see family, had returned rather late, and the girls were too tired to function at a level required for leaving the house in good order at nine forty-five in the morning. I was really only there for the families of two babies who were being dedicated that day. I dutifully cooed over their outfits before entering the inner sanctum, or nave, in a stream of lingerers as the music started.

So many people now! We had been here the Sunday this church opened its doors to the public for the very first time. There had only been about twenty of us then, there were at least four times that number now. A lot of them were college students who only attended during the school year, but many families I didn’t know crowded the other side of the aisle. I felt a twinge of spitefulness, acknowledging the ugly truth that a small part of me had hoped to see the church fail after the way I had been treated in recent months. My eyes scanned the congregants, who mostly looked happy to be there, channeling sympathetic energy towards the few who looked like they had been dragged there by their parents, grandparents, or spouses. None of the dissidents were making eye contact, all sitting slumped like Adam hiding from God in the garden, naked and afraid. I strode past them all, head up, back straight, short legs reaching long. I was tired, too, but I was here; and I’d be damned if I was going to make myself a target by looking uncomfortable. This was no place to show weakness. All I wanted was to get through the service and back home to my family. I stood when everyone else stood and sat when everyone else sat. I answered “we will” with everyone else when we were asked to promise that we would help ensure that the babies being dedicated to God that day would grow up to follow God. I was too tired of fighting to be resistive. I was so tired.

After the babies had been returned to their mothers and the families dismissed from the stage, the congregation was asked to participate in praying over a very small girl who has having a minor surgery performed that week. I relaxed. Yes, I could do that. Gathering as a congregation to pray for someone’s wellbeing is something I appreciate about church. Pressed together, my hand on the shoulder of the person ahead of me, trying not to worry about anyone being sick, I felt the tangible presence of Love flowing through us as a whole, all directed at one needful recipient. That, to me, is the very essence of community. For a few brief moments I felt as warm and held as the little girl in her mommy’s arms. But it was soon over. The pastor’s prayer ended and we all returned to our seats to sing one last song before the sermon started. I almost left. It hurt too much to know that love was here and feel so little of it directed at me because I had placed myself firmly outside the pastoral influence. The woman who usually sits behind us has a face like The Book of Judgment and never misses an opportunity to turn it on me as punishment. I moved to sit in the back next to a friend who had come in late, but she seemed distracted. There was no one else nearby that I knew well.

I really was here alone. I have always felt most alone in a crowd of strangers.

But, I was forgetting how much I can enjoy being alone, and how necessary it is for me. I was forgetting that other people are not the only ones I can connect to. I was forgetting that love can be transmitted in unexpected ways.