Thursday, February 24, 2011

Holy Cross Lutheran Church - Toms River, NJ

Not so long ago I was accused of being an ageist. I was asked to guess an elderly lady’s age. I believe I was off by only a couple years but the point is that I guessed too high! Thus, an ageist.

It was all in good fun.

But sitting in Holy Cross Lutheran Church, I thought of that accusation again. Besides two kids and a teenager, my boyfriend and I were the only young people sitting in the congregation. And I started wondering if feeling weird about this fact really did pin me as an ageist. Political-correctness paranoia crept up behind me, tapped me on the back and said, “You’re the only young one! And that shouldn’t bother you, because everyone is equal! But it does bother you just a little bit, doesn’t it?!!” … followed by an evil, triumphant laugh.

Honestly, I’m trying very hard to find a polite way to say that the 10:45AM service was pretty much exclusively elderly people. Maybe personifying paranoia isn’t polite. But it’s all I got.

I originally felt that I needed to tiptoe around this fact, the age of the group, because the world has taught me that it’s not kosher to point out groups of people and their defining characteristic. But that characteristic was so blatantly obvious in such a small space, that it would have taken more than I had in my possession to ignore it.

All I could think about was how young I felt sitting there and how out of place that made me feel. We stuck out like sore thumbs. I’m not saying anyone in the church made us feel that way. On the contrary, we both felt very welcome. More on that later.

“Oh my goodness, is traditional religion becoming a thing of the past, completely? Where are the new faces?” I said as we drove away. Or, I mean, I don’t remember my words verbatim. But, you get the idea. Where is our generation? Are we all too hung over for church? Are we going to more modern churches only? Are we simply uninterested?

I noticed age gaps at Plymouth in MA too. I didn’t mention this in my post because it didn’t stick out noticeably enough to take a large role in the general story of the church... Children ran in at the end of the service and there was a sprinkling of young faces. But for the most part, the congregation there was aging too.

Of course, at Holy Cross, there was an earlier service for 9:00AM with a Sunday School service scheduled for the same time. So to be fair, I could assume that the younger population (the ones with young kids) goes to the earlier service so they can listen to the message in peace while their little ones are tucked away in a classroom.

But I can only report on what I saw last Sunday.

As far as I can tell, the Lutheran branch of Christianity is fairly close to Catholicism. The service followed a predetermined pattern and every step along the way was outlined in the bulletin. (I was desperately figuring out how to discreetly find one of these bulletins after we arrived a little late when a lady came to us in our pews and delivered some, apologizing for having missed us come in.) Traditional hymns were sung and the congregation participated directly in the service through answering back certain lines such as “Thanks be to God” and verses of a Psalm read aloud. The congregation also made the sign of the Holy Cross and gathered (by pew) to the front of the church to receive communion toward the close of the service.

What stuck out to me to be the most different about the service as compared to places I have previously visited was the “Exchange of Peace.” Almost every church I have gone to has had their variation of this. It is a time to turn to your neighbors beside, in front of, and behind you to say a simple “hello.” At the evangelical, less traditional, churches I have visited so far (Millington, Stonecrest) this time is open to interpretation. At St. Vincent’s and Plymouth, people said “Peace be with you” or some variation.
But at all places, this time was limited to no more than I would say about a minute or two and people greeted only those directly in their vicinity.

Holy Cross was very robust about their greeting time. “Peace be with you” was still the popular greeting of choice. But the people of the congregation travelled around the sanctuary during the greeting time, making the rounds. Choir members came down all the way to the last pew. People in the last pew went down to the middle. One of the little girls from the first pew ran to the back to give a friend a hug.
At one point I wondered if we ought to travel too. And my boyfriend asked if we ought to and I said no. We had no one to travel to and I honestly felt a little awkward about the idea of traveling to people at random.

No, but really, I thought it would be better to stay put. And some of the friendliest and most welcoming members of the congregation came to us. We were greeted many times and the whole thing felt warm and heartfelt. I believe that if I were to become a member of this church, actively involved and part of the community, this portion of the service would quickly become my favorite.

The sermon was good too. The delivery was a little dry, but the message to “turn the other cheek,” was delivered with just enough of a challenge to avoid being too in-your-face without sacrificing the you-need-to-act punch.

Bottom line though, I would feel most comfortable worshipping in a place that I saw as vibrant and growing, with which I could vibrantly grow myself. And I didn’t see enough to believe that Holy Cross was doing that.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Positivity

I have been told that my honesty might get me in trouble at some point... that I might cause anger (whether or not that anger is directed back to me.) And that's probably true. Perhaps I've already angered or annoyed or offended some readers.

If so, I sincerely wish this wasn't the case.

Inevitably, I am going to disagree with a lot of things I see when I visit different churches. And I'm going to write about those things. I don't mean to imply that I'm necessarily right (although, of course, like anyone, I will probably think that I am.) There are a million and one views on every hot button topic. And religion is a scalding hot button. So I understand that when I express my opinion about worship, messages, warmth of greeting, etc ... it could be misconstrued as haughty or condescending or judgmental or any number of negative adjectives you can slap on my intentions. After all, I'm making a snap, yes, judgment, of these churches.

I'm going once. And I'm saying: here's how I saw it.

And perhaps that's unfair in some ways. Because really, what do I know? I'm not some worship guru who has all the answers and wants to dole out those answers in huge sweeping gestures of false good will while secretly poo-pooing. (Although that does give me a funny visual of myself.)

I just want to be honest about my perspective, whether or not it gets me in trouble.

And when it comes right down to it, I want to find the truth.

So while I'll certainly be remarking on things I dislike about my various experiences, the point is to find the things I LOVE. I'm in this for a positive outcome. I want to settle down into something I can be fully passionate about. I want all the things I enjoy so far (the intensity of emotion during worship time at some churches, the devotion to tradition at others, the genuine care and concern for members of the congregation at still others) to come together in a way and in a place that makes me say, "Yeah, this is not only what I want to be a part of ... it's something I suddenly realize I need to be a part of."

And in the meantime I want to stir up positive conversations among my readers.

So...

Are you passionate about your religion/spirituality/relationship with god?

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Anonymity

I didn't go to church this past Sunday! :0

I was away from home again this weekend and the timing and planning just didn't work out. I toyed with the idea of going to a Wednesday evening service or watching a taped service online. But it just wouldn't be the same.

So I'm confessing my sin of having dropped the ball this time ... and moving on.

I'll do a couple general posts in the meantime. I have some thoughts on some topics that I need to address anyway.

First, anonymity.

I know I have a few loyal readers who read my blog because they know me and have some measure of sincere interest in me. My friends, my family, friends of my family, my nemesis, the cast of Glee, the Pope, etc.

But I really don't want my identity to be open book to anyone else who learns about my bodily existence through this site (whether it's someone from a church I've visited or someone who randomly happens upon the site via the internet or someone who finds one of my new mysterious Faith Appeal cards tossed away in a street somewhere and decides to take a gander.)

I'd prefer to remain unknown.

I'm aware that anonymity is not normal in the Great Era of Social Media. In a time when everyone who's ANYone is plastering tweets and facebook wall posts about every hour on the World Wide Web ... wanting to stay invisible is just plain weird.

But I have chosen to call myself the Newcomer and use a separate email account to correspond with the churches I have visited anyway.

Am I paranoid??? NOOOOO!! Why would you ask that? Do I come off as paranoid somehow??

No, I'm also not vain enough to think that anyone would genuinely care what my name is even if I did include it.

It's simply that my anonymity is an integral part of this project. I am the newcomer. I could be sitting right next to you in church next Sunday. I could be that stranger you get to use the Golden Rule on, or not. And you'll probably not see me again. I could be the calculator of that all too unfair and hasty first impression that inevitably has to be made. I'm a phantom guest, as the Massachusetts Council of Churches called me on their facebook page.

And ok, maybe a part of me is hoping that this will take off, which would shed a whole new light on the pros of anonymity. And ok, maybe that makes me a little vain after all. But who isn't?

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

The Plymouth Church, United Church of Christ - Framingham, MA

           I was up in New England visiting my brother, his wife and their beautiful baby girl this weekend.  The snow that is crushing their neighborhood makes the snow in New Jersey look like fairy dust. 

            Service this past Sunday served a threefold purpose.  One, I had to continue my search.  Two, my brother is looking for a church to attend in his area.  And three, my sister-in-law needed us to get my brother out of the house so she could prepare a surprise party for him to return home to.  He just landed an important job very much worth celebrating.

            So my mother, father, brother and I navigated our way around heaps of snow and headed to The Plymouth Church, a traditional Congregational church in Framingham, MA. 

            After finding our way to the side entrance (the front steps were closed due to snow) we floundered in a lobby-type area for a couple seconds before a very friendly woman spotted us.  She immediately offered to escort us through the basement hallways leading to the front of the church.  On the way she asked my brother if he had been there before as she recognized his face.  But while he had been there before, it had been months ago and he didn’t recognize her.

            If her friendliness and attentiveness to detail was representative of the entire church, I thought at this point, this was certainly going to be a welcoming place.

            And I wasn’t wrong.

            One of the first things the main priest did was extend a warm welcome to guests in the congregation and invite them to join the members of the church for a coffee hour after the service.  And he encouraged guests to fill out an information card (provided on the back of the pews) and leave it in the offering plate.  The back of the card read:

            No matter who you are or where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here.


            To the tune of my brother’s slight disapproval, I did not fill out one of these cards.  This was the first time I had to decide whether or not to request further contact with the church I was visiting.  But I decided that I would prefer to keep to my method of being the one to contact the church in my own way ... after posting about them.

            Although I would have genuinely enjoyed receiving a hand written letter (which my brother and his wife received after their first visit.)

            After singing hymns and listening to the sermon I was invited, along with the rest of the congregation, to take part in Communion.  To tell you the truth, I capitalized that for no other reason than that it’s a Big Deal.  This time, unlike at the Catholic church in Stirling, I was encouraged to, not warned against, participation.  I believe the words were:  “All are welcome to this table.”

            Instead of having the people walk up to the priests to receive communion, Plymouth’s method was to have ushers take plates with broken bread and pass them around to the people.  It felt more like a supper that way.  At the Last Supper, Jesus served his disciples.  They didn’t line up to have him place bread in their mouths.  I preferred the idea of inviting everyone to the table and humbly serving them.

            But when my brother passed me the plate, I didn’t take the bread.

            I didn’t want to take part in a sacred religious ceremony when my heart wasn’t in it.  I think there should be some kind of compromise between “you’re not allowed to take this if you aren’t Catholic” and “anyone, anywhere, anytime is welcome to take this.”  Of course, I don’t think anyone should be physically barred from eating ANYthing.  But I think there should be some kind of disclaimer. 

            Communion is important.  If it doesn’t hold meaning for you, don’t participate.  Don’t disrespect its value. 

            I would have felt like an imposter.

            Instead, I sat in the pews and read the sections of the gospels that describe the Last Supper.  Fun fact: the breaking of the bread is recorded in all gospels but John.  I couldn’t get communion out of my mind.  I wondered how it evolved into the inextricable tradition that it is today in most Christian sects.  Was it simply that Jesus said to eat the bread in remembrance of him?  And this was taken to mean: remember forever in exactly this way?  Was it simply a fascination with the bread being Jesus’ body and the wine being Jesus’ blood?  Was it recorded that the disciples repeated this Last Supper among themselves and that it should continue to be done?

            I’m going to have to look into this.  Watch out for a communion post.

            Getting back to Plymouth church and the snow of MA…

            The sermon was about being the Salt and the Light of the Earth.  For anyone not familiar with this popular sermon, here is the passage from the Bible.  Matthew 5:13-16:

    13 “You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.   14 “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.

            The resulting message is to go out and spread the word.  It’s a perfect attitude to have toward … newcomers!  

            The priest explained all the different uses for salt.  Salt as a seasoning.  Salt as a healer (for sore muscles.)  Salt as a breaker-upper of all the horrible ice outside.  Then he briefly mentioned the obvious benefits of light.  He was wonderfully vague about what exactly it means for a PERSON to be salt and light.  Yet I was wrapped up anyway in the little poetic parts of the sermon.  When the priest said that the light streaming through the windows and the salt on the ground is a big metaphor for our need to be a shining example today, I thought, “Oh… how nice.”

            I was so far away from wanting my brain to be buzzing this weekend that I actually didn’t understand why my parents and brother claimed later to have been bored and underwhelmed by the message.

            I get it now.  Blame lack of sleep or the persistent migraine I had been hammered with for days, but I was completely content to listen to the nice man talk about the nice salt and light all morning long.

            Snap back to reality, to quote Eminem, and whoops, there goes gravity.  No, really.  Back to reality.  I would like to have the Bible interpreted, not just restated prettily.  I think this message from Matthew is one of the worthiest messages I've come across so far.  If any church is to be taken seriously, they have to show that they are walking the walk.  When outsiders see a genuine beauty coming out of a church they are more likely to be drawn to it.  And I have no doubt that Plymouth church does great things to be an example and helping hand in their community.  They have a commendable Outreach Program that testifies to this.


         But when a message like this is taught, I would like to have the Bible interpreted, not just restated prettily.  The verses I quoted above are abstract and beautifully poetic.  My idea of what a sermon should be is not an elongation of that poetry but a class on what that poem means.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

First Church of Christ, Scientist - Bernardsville, NJ

            This week I experienced a “first.”  For the first time in my life, I went to church alone.  And, being the relatively introverted, shy girl that I tend to be, I was nervous about it.  On the drive over I had butterflies in my stomach as if I were headed to a job interview.  It’s silly, but true.

            My nerves prompted me to wait until the last minute to leave my house.  And so I was late.

            Walking up to the small white church I could hear the organ music already starting up and I immediately felt a twinge of regret that I’d be interrupting with my late arrival.  But as my foot hit the first step leading to the entrance, one of the doors swung open and an elderly lady smiled and personally ushered me in.  Late was OK.  She handed me a hymnal with a pamphlet marking the page the congregation was currently singing from.



            When I entered the sanctuary my entrance was noted.  Several heads turned as I rushed my butt into the back pew.  The lady in front of me turned and gave me her hymnal, which I stupidly accepted after having placed the one I just received on the pew with my jacket.  I was a little flustered.

            I counted less than 25 heads, including the organist and the two ladies leading the service.  I was clearly new.  And very young.

            After a couple of hymns, the two women standing behind the podium remained in place.  Given my past experience I was waiting for them to step aside for a male preacher.  But then one began to read the “explanatory note,” which I found later was printed in the Christian Science Quarterly tucked inside the hymnal I had received twice.  I’ll reprint it here:

            “This Note, approved by Mary Baker Eddy, is read in Church Services before beginning the Lesson-Sermon.

            Friends:

            The Bible and the Christian Science textbook are our only preachers.  We shall now read Scriptural texts, and their correlative passages from our denominational textbook; these comprise our sermon.

            The canonical writings, together with the word of our textbook, corroborating and explaining the Bible texts in their spiritual import and application to all ages, past, present, and future, constitute a sermon undivorced from truth, uncontaminated and unfettered by human hypotheses, and divinely authorized.”

            The passages the two proceeded to read were printed on p. 22 of the quarterly.  One read from the Bible.  The other read from Mary Baker Eddy’s supplemental textbook.  This was done in six sections.  Offerings and a couple more hymns followed.

            A note on Christian Science as I currently understand it:

Mary Baker Eddy (1821-1910)
            Mary Baker Eddy founded the religion.  On the wall behind the podium was printed “God is Love.”  To the left was a quote from Jesus Christ.  To the right, a quote from Eddy.  A couple of the hymns were written by Eddy.  Christian Science churches nationwide (I’m not sure if it’s worldwide) have the same exact service scheduled.  Each year consists of 26 lessons, which are each repeated twice without variation.  The lesson this past Sunday was on Love.

            Here’s where it gets murky for me.

            Christian Science believes that matter does not really exist.  We are spirits only and every physical problem is an illusion that can be overcome through direct communication with God.  This is why Christian Scientists believe they can be healed without medical help.  Any medical problem is merely in the mind.  And if the mind can be properly trained it will become clear that those problems aren’t really there.

            When it was clear that the service was over I had the mind to grab my jacket and purse and simply speed walk the ten steps to the door with my head down.  But that would have been horrible and rude of me.  And I really did want to learn more.  I was just scared, quite honestly.

            Instead of dashing, I very slowly stood up and casually reached back for my jacket.  The lady in front of me used that time to turn around and introduce herself to me.  I explained that I was new as if it wasn’t obvious and she said she hoped to see me again.  I then moved slowly to the area right behind my back pew where the few people of the church were gathering.  One of the women who had led the service was the next to approach me.  I explained again that I was new.  And she agreed that I was, in fact, new, and that she had noticed the new face from the podium.

            She asked if I’d like something to read to learn more about Christian Science.  I said, “Absolutely,” and was lead to a back room laid out like a small bookstore.

            I am now in possession of Mary Baker Eddy’s “Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures,” an issue of The Christian Science Monitor, The Christian Science Sentinel, a couple quarterlies, a list of websites, the schedule of Christian Science’s AM radio station, an explanatory pamphlet called “Unlock the Power of the Bible” and a CD of Bible lessons.

            One woman nervously said, “Let’s not overwhelm her.”  I assured her that they were not.  This was exactly what I had been afraid of all along.  But now that it was actually happening, I was not at all taken aback.  Of course, I did joke about it later when I got home and dropped my goodies on the kitchen table. 

            But I believe this is what should be done for a newcomer.

            If I were interested in Christian Science I’d be so grateful to have so much to explore and so many welcoming faces to return to.

            As it is, however, I don’t think I’ve found the truth and I don’t think I’ll be returning.  Everything seems to keep breaking down into two for me with these posts.  There are two major problems that prevent me from wanting to explore Christian Science further.

            One:  Mary Baker Eddy is far too revered.  Of course it makes sense that different sects of religion might originate from a human.  But the level she is on is disconcerting.  Her textbook is read along with the supposed word of GOD.  It is called the “Key to the Scriptures” as if God’s word cannot stand alone without her.  Who do the Christian Scientists think she is?  Their explanatory note claims that their sermon is “uncontaminated and unfettered by human hypotheses” and then HALF the sermon consists of ONE human’s … hypotheses.  The contradiction is unbelievable.  If I’m going to find truth enough to devote my life to, I’m absolutely certain that that truth is going to come from a perfect source.  A God I can accept.  Not another confused human.



            Two:  Matter does exist.