Squirming...

I visited a new church today.

About 3 weeks ago someone called me and sang the praises of the church she and her husband were now attending. After I disengaged my 'religious' paranoid-meter I was able to finish the phone conversation. Did she really know that I haven't consistently been in church for almost 2 years? I felt like I was standing there in my underwear. After convincing her that I would consider visiting we ended the conversation and I headed out the door.

This weekend I finished the book, "home is always the place you just left--a memoir of restless longing and persistent grace" by Betty Smart Carter. At the least, I choked downed an unsettled feeling when I closed the back cover. Like a hubcap that rolls down a slow stretch of highway, I am still processing the why's and how's and where my head and heart have landed. The book made my long to find a place called home; a comfortable chair inside my heart. That's why I decided to visit the new church. Weeks ago my friend shared with me that several people I know also attend. I longed for familiar.

I walked into the converted storefront and took a seat at the back while the end of the first service concluded. Before I could slip out as one of the "first service attenders", I was noticed. The handful of people that I knew surrounded me and introduced me to a few people that they could snatch in to the small gathering. Someone grabbed the pastor and thrust my hand into his. Pastor P. had called and left a message a couple of weeks earlier in anticipation of my impending visit. He sounded energetic and young. My suspicions where confirmed.

An acquaintance from about 4 years ago grabbed me and proceeded to yank me up to the front row with her and her mother. There was no escaping. The room filled with about 75 people and the worship team started playing. That's when all heaven/hell broke loose. About 5 minutes into the first song the woman next to me, my acquaintance, started looking for a box of tissues. She then proceeded to lean over and share with me that her husband of 19 years had just left her for her best friend and she was having suicidal thoughts. At that point I remembered why I hadn't pursued friendship 4 years ago. Needy was an understatement!

As the music flowed into the second song, Pastor P. borrowed the microphone from one of the singers and started praying, inviting a stampede to the front. Don't get me wrong, I am not against enthusiastic displays of faith and worship, as long as they are sincere and original. 95% of the attenders stood at the front swaying like a herd of cattle. Skeptical could be my middle name. I have done a stint in the charismatic scene and can smell tendency for herd-instinct following a mile away. After all 'laid on hands' were retrieved and everyone snaked their way back to the seats we continued singing with just a few more interruptions.

The hair was standing up on the back of my neck and I wanted to go home and take a shower. But I have to tell you, there was a slight whisper in my ear. The majority of me wanted to stand up and yell "weirdo's". Propriety kept me in my seat. When it was all said and done, Pastor P. shared some things that poked some holes into the parched dirt of my heart.

Will I go back? I don't know. What I do know is that my heart is bruised and hurting. I want to find a place to belong. I don't want to have to define myself everywhere I land. I want to be known. Here's the litmus test--will someone call me? Does fellowship and family mean Sunday morning only or does it extend into the cracks of the rest of their week? We'll see.