A word about CHURCH
Faith, for me, has always been something of an amoeba -- constantly changing shape and moving about. In fact, if ever I've found myself feeling that my faith was something stationary or something concrete, I'm usually quick to discover that I've momentarily misplaced my faith or I've inadvertently replaced it with something ELSE.
I've been subbing (with the intention of becoming permanent in the position) as pianist at Irving Park United Methodist Church in the Old Irving Park neighborhood of Chicago since the second Sunday in August. I've never really been a Methodist -- nothing against them, it's just that no one in my family was reared as a Methodist so it never occurred to me to attend one of their churches. The whole experience has been quite ecumenical for me.
On many of the monrings when I would be on the hour-and-a-half trek to the church, my mind would begin to wander as I stared out at the passing houses and apartments. Being that it's a Sunday, inevitably, my thoughts would turn to MawMaw. Hers was a faith that moved all over -- it had to be. She grew up in a Baptist church, but married into my grandfather's denomination (Church of God of Abrahamic Faith). At times, on the occasions when I actually went to church with them, I could tell that the services were not exactly MawMaw's cup of tea. Then, on those endless weeks over water when no church would even be in sight, I think that she and I both would have clammored for the doors of Blood River COGOAF if given the opportunity. And yet, faith was there with us in those moments of strife and peril. I think it was due largely to MawMaw that I learned about a faith that moves -- sometimes following you, other times guiding you.
Three Sundays ago, as I sat on the front steps of Irving Park UMC waiting for someone to open the building, I was rummaging through one of the pockets in my music bag when I happened upon the "program" from MawMaw's funeral that my sister-in-law gave to me, recently. I'd forgotten that it was in there. I opened it up and there was probably my favorite picture of her... a big smile on her face that was so rarely captured in a picture because of her reserved nature. I cried, suddenly, remembering her and my missing her. The streets were quiet in the little neighborhood and there wasn't a lot to focus your ears on except for an occasional plane flying overhead or the rustling of leaves in the breeze. I looked up at the sky, partly to stop tears, and I just stared for a while. I've recently learned how to harness a peace that comes from knowing MawMaw is in a better place and that -- at least for her -- everything is better. Gazing up into the cloudy sky, I found myself focusing on the patches of blue that seemed to shine through the murkiness. I wondered, in spite of some beliefs I have of the afterlife, if MawMaw was actually looking down on me and trying to make me feel better -- helping me to focus on the "purty blue" and the "cheep cheep" of the little sparrows in the little garden next to the church, playing beneath the cedar tree.
Since that Sunday, I've found myself feeling more and more happy about being able to share music on Sundays -- even more than I used to. Today's service, was so special to me... and I really have a hard time describing why. Everything seemed to speak to me -- even the constantly repeated things that happen every day in a Methodist church that should eventually become boring or tedious to me. I accompanied two ladies who sang "His Eye Is On the Sparrow" and I found myself very moved by the words. Then, for the offertory number, I played "For The Beauty of the Earth." It's a very "NEW AGE"-sounding arrangement and is quite challenging in spots. While I was playing it, I suddenly felt this rush of peace come over me -- very strong and yet gentle. In the sounds of those racing chords and parallel harmonies, I was brought back to that Sunday when I cried on the steps. This time, I really felt that MawMaw was in there with me, and we were experiencing a moment of true praise, together.
We can't hold the Holy Spirit in one place. Its presence can't be confined in a building -- no matter how large, how small, how plain, or how ornate. We can't control the seeming whims of its coming and going nor can we predict it. All we can do is be open to it... to have faith. Faith is what keeps that spirit in us and causes it to move when we move and to change and to continually comfort us in our unpredictable paths.