Cult…ure?

Mom was brought up in church. Married over two decades to someone who was not and never did attend, she’d quit going. After the divorce, she found her way back and seemed to settle into a worship groove of her own. Mom would often sit alone in her chosen pew; back left on the aisle end. For years she took on program hand-out duties at the door but she did not immerse herself much further in the cult…ure.

I am utterly uncomfortable in church. “Greet your neighbor” feels just like a directive to smile and wave.

For twelve years Mom worked very hard to afford sending me to one of the best, and bougiest, private Christian schools in our area. Although it caused her to clash with my father about the annual college-level expense especially during the last 4, my high school years, she gave me the choice.

One of my classmates had transitioned to public high school. Recalling her bragging about turning in C-graded papers written in our private middle school but receiving As and Bs on them there, I was off put. Plus, we were required to attend Chapel and Bible class. I enjoyed learning about scripture. However, there were times of feeling like Jesus was pursuing me and I was afraid. Maybe that was a beginning realization of the gravity of the matter. It most certainly was a nod to my lifelong distain of anything that feels like ropes on me. Yeesh…queue the Spirit Cimmaron Stallion music!

Throughout our dementia journey these last five years I was compelled to make sincere attempts to find a church home for myself. One flat out rejected me when I confided that sometimes I have doubts, infrequently wondering if it’s all just a story. But at Mom’s funeral, even though I’ve been divorced many years, the pastor of her church where I got married over 30 years ago told me it’s just as much my church as it was Mom’s. What a gift! And how much more clearly I see it as such in light of the earlier rejection.

Unfortunately, that didn’t work out for me either. Maybe since Mom was never accepted into nor desired to be a part of the cliquey-ness there, only the Pastor really seemed to feel that it was also my church. I attended in person a few times with my daughter and son-in-law (henceforth known as “SiL”). We sat where Mom used to. I gazed at the beautifully crafted stained glass windows just as I did when I walked down those aisles.

Currently there is one other local church, a completely different denomination, that I have some interest in visiting but the fact is; I usually prefer to attend online. From home. In my comfies. Which I’m aware is frowned upon. But I’ve finally decided to reject that thinking mostly because I’m so grateful for it.

Now, if I can just keep my mind on the message, the lyrics, and worship instead of the one choir lady’s wonky wig, the other’s ear-splitting octave, or the inevitable AV issues…

~K