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Since last week's posting with my wish list for a new church, I've heard from someone who occasionally cleans in her own church building. She reports that recently she found a pile of fingernail clippings in the sanctuary. I never thought I'd have to say this, but I'm adding this to the list: it's important that my future church be fingernail clipping-free.
We had to “pass the peace.” I’m
worried that I won’t be able to avoid that. Unfortunately, other than those
awkward moments of muttering “peace be with you,” no one spoke a word to us. It's a paradox: I
don’t want to be instant BFFs with anyone in a church I visit, but a word of
greeting would be nice. I guess.
Since last week's posting with my wish list for a new church, I've heard from someone who occasionally cleans in her own church building. She reports that recently she found a pile of fingernail clippings in the sanctuary. I never thought I'd have to say this, but I'm adding this to the list: it's important that my future church be fingernail clipping-free.
June 17
Presbyterian (USA)
We chose this church because the
denomination is on my list, and because Ben was somewhat familiar with the
church, as it’s the meeting place for his weekly counseling session for men
with domestic abuse issues (he’s a counselor, not a counselee).
When we entered the stone-and-brick
building, I noticed that peculiar smell some old churches have. I think it’s composed of
velour pew cushions, mildewed plaster, and old peoples’ sloughed-off skin cells. And old people proved to be the operative
phrase; Ben and I are 65 and 62, but our presence that morning decreased the
average age of the congregation by several years.
Neither of my two previous
denominations—American Baptist and Free Methodist—are particularly liturgical,
and both Ben and I appreciated that aspect of the service quite a bit. Aside
from a few awkward moments when we weren’t sure what to do (stand? read aloud?
say “may the force be with you”? curtsey? cross oneself? yodel?), we liked the feeling
that we were participating in something firm and established, comfortable and
familiar to (most of) the participants.
Some additional positive points: I appreciated that the music wasn’t ‘led’ at all—the organist played an intro, and people
just sang. There was a soloist who accompanied herself on the piano, and was
probably invisible to most of the congregation from her position. Her song was
lovely and performed beautifully. There was no applause.
The message was…well, it was okay. The take-away: God loves you. That’s dandy, but I’d hope
that the messages are a bit meatier and more challenging on other Sundays
(their regular minister was on vacation).
Although we weren’t able to observe
every item on my list, from a perusal of the bulletin, it seemed that the
church is active in the community, with volunteer projects including contributing
to a homeless shelter and food deliveries to the poor and elderly.
We had to “pass the peace.” I’m
worried that I won’t be able to avoid that. Unfortunately, other than those
awkward moments of muttering “peace be with you,” no one spoke a word to us. It's a paradox: I
don’t want to be instant BFFs with anyone in a church I visit, but a word of
greeting would be nice. I guess.
All in all, it was a pleasant enough
morning. We’d be inclined to go back if there was just a bit more diversity—we
don’t really feel drawn to be the youngest in a congregation of elderly white
folks.
Gonna give this one a 6.5 out of 10.
Thanks for the update. Keep trying.
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ReplyDeleteHi there!
ReplyDeleteHi!! :)
ReplyDeleteI'll add my vote to the "no fingernail clippings" category. Eww. Some liturgy is lovely, and I appreciate the order it provides. Passing the peace gets better, but it's still not my favorite, better than the awkward rushed speed-greeting approach of more casual turn to your neighbor and say hello. Hihowareyouareyounewohwhereareyoufromandhowlongareyoustayingwe'resogladyoucamewillyoustayforSundaySchool?
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