[10 of 100] Midnight Clear
It is a clear midnight here, crisp and cold and still. Tish got in this morning and so that whole section of myself that is tied to him is once more at ease. Much of the rest of the day was spent in present-wrapping and food preparation, and of course much petting of the dogs.
This evening, through a long string of circumstances, we ended up going to an Episcopalian church service. Many parts of the experience were very lovely--the vaulting space of the sanctuary, hung with brightly-colored banners and evergreen boughs and twinkling jewel-colored glass balls, candles with live flames, a magnificent organ, as much singing of Christmas carols as you can shake a stick at. I was truly touched by the greeting of neighbors, as the strangers in front of and behind me greeted me with real warmth and I embraced my mother and Aatish. And I have always loved the way that Christmas focuses on the symbol of the Holy Family, which in my humanist reading I have always read as speaking to the miracle of new life and the kindness of strangers and the way that love between adults can reach out and overcome scary life events, like finding out that your fiance is pregnant and the baby isn't biologically yours.
I am not a Christian, and I can't honestly imagine myself ever becoming one. Throughout the service I found myself both actively seeking parts of the liturgy that I could connect to and strongly noticing the moments that grated against my own understanding of what divinity means. I was pushed away by the language of judgment and the hope for heaven, but pulled in by the act of giving thanks to the Creator and by the "assurance of mystery." I missed hearing language that would recognize a female divinity, and felt a pang at the moment in the Lord's Prayer where we ask to be forgiven our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. There was an itch in me at the thought, repeated again and again, of submitting to the Lord's will because I have spent so much time and thought and intention in crafting my own Will into a more reliable guide. I am not often brought to a state of worship by the kind of experience one has in a formal church service. I found that I was uncomfortable with the idea of saying the Nicene Creed with the rest of the congregation, or with confessing my wrongdoing and repentence, so instead in those moments I kept a respectful silence, rather than say things within a sacred space that I could not hold to in my heart. Even so, being in that room with the devout, watching my mother's face as the services of her childhood were brought back to her in waves of memory and recognition, I was grateful to be there, feeling the pull of rituals, even if they are not my own.
This evening, through a long string of circumstances, we ended up going to an Episcopalian church service. Many parts of the experience were very lovely--the vaulting space of the sanctuary, hung with brightly-colored banners and evergreen boughs and twinkling jewel-colored glass balls, candles with live flames, a magnificent organ, as much singing of Christmas carols as you can shake a stick at. I was truly touched by the greeting of neighbors, as the strangers in front of and behind me greeted me with real warmth and I embraced my mother and Aatish. And I have always loved the way that Christmas focuses on the symbol of the Holy Family, which in my humanist reading I have always read as speaking to the miracle of new life and the kindness of strangers and the way that love between adults can reach out and overcome scary life events, like finding out that your fiance is pregnant and the baby isn't biologically yours.
I am not a Christian, and I can't honestly imagine myself ever becoming one. Throughout the service I found myself both actively seeking parts of the liturgy that I could connect to and strongly noticing the moments that grated against my own understanding of what divinity means. I was pushed away by the language of judgment and the hope for heaven, but pulled in by the act of giving thanks to the Creator and by the "assurance of mystery." I missed hearing language that would recognize a female divinity, and felt a pang at the moment in the Lord's Prayer where we ask to be forgiven our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. There was an itch in me at the thought, repeated again and again, of submitting to the Lord's will because I have spent so much time and thought and intention in crafting my own Will into a more reliable guide. I am not often brought to a state of worship by the kind of experience one has in a formal church service. I found that I was uncomfortable with the idea of saying the Nicene Creed with the rest of the congregation, or with confessing my wrongdoing and repentence, so instead in those moments I kept a respectful silence, rather than say things within a sacred space that I could not hold to in my heart. Even so, being in that room with the devout, watching my mother's face as the services of her childhood were brought back to her in waves of memory and recognition, I was grateful to be there, feeling the pull of rituals, even if they are not my own.