For the first time that I can remember as an adult, I went to a church service by myself. Why did I go? Part of it is my parents - they encourage me, but don't force it by any means. When times are tough, the answer of "it might be helpful to find a church" is sometimes given as advice. The other reason is that I had time, for once. I could always make time, but with Labor Day coming up and my fourth consecutive weekend without having to work (a minor miracle that I dearly hope continues, and one that I'm determined to continue as much as possible), I had the emotional space for something else in my life.
I had seen the church in the Cow Hollow neighborhood on the 22 bus route a few times and thought that it was a small, kind-looking church. Sometimes you can just tell, and I was right. After the informal Sunday-evening service, the choir guy (choir director?) came up to me because I was obviously new. He had family from Alabama, so we connected a bit. Some of the parishioners had recently been to Bayou Le Batre, Alabama to do hurricane relief work, too. I admit, it did feel like home when I saw the familiar old "The Episcopal Church Welcomes You" sign outside and heard familiar songs and prayers. This church certainly has a San Francisco flair - the short sermon was about how there are two Christianities these days - one that believes that acts of service are what defines a good Christian, and another - "a little to the east and the south of the country," according to the priest, that holds up purity and rules as the way to serve God. This quip about the Southeast wasn't made in any overly-judgmental way, but I noted it and had a "I'm not in Alabama anymore" moment.
There were about 20 people at the service. A couple who was probably homeless also joined. The priest asked if anyone needed any special blessings (we were all standing up in a circle at this point), and the husband asked for prayers to help his wife and him because they had faced tough times. We all put our hands on the couple and the priest said a prayer. I was touched, and I think the couple was too.
Where does my church story end? Well, I don't think it does end. I am going to go back... sometime. Regardless of what you (or I) believe, religious services can be a moment for reflection, reminiscence, and guidance. For me, it was a moment of community - one that I am familiar with, and one that felt a little like home. Having just come off a very difficult past few months at work, a bit of community was what I needed - perhaps was yearning for just a bit.
Sunday evenings in Durham: back porch music on WUNC, the local NPR station. Sunday evenings in SF: Acoustic Sunset and Lost and Found on KFOG.
Today - I'm encouraged.
Photos of the church:
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