Sunday Church
The Boy used to be a regular church goer. I'm not sure what caused him to stop going, but I remember it happened a little before we started dating. And then all of a sudden a little more than a week ago, the Boy asked if I would check out a local church with him on Sunday.
I wasn't raised Christian and had only been to church a handful of times in the past. Aside from the first time in preschool when my cousins from Texas (avid Christians still to this day) visited, all of my church experiences have been disastrous. Knowing this, I was fully supportive of going to church with him on Sunday, but reminded him that I was trusting his judgement.
The Boy wanted to attend the evening session at 6PM. A little beforehand, I changed into a nice, below-the-knee pink skirt and white top, while the Boy paired khaki slacks with a button down shirt and combed his hair neatly to the side. As a final touch, the Boy grabbed a bible, ironically, the one given to me by a former friend in a cult.
We walked down the street and over a couple of blocks to the Episcopalian(?) church. The church was probably under construction, as we sat in what looked like a classroom with 30-40 fold out chairs lined in a square on 3 sides. There were about 25 people in attendance, at least half of them my mom's age of various ethnicities (multicultural's good). Aside from the pastor, the Boy was the only other attendee carrying a Bible. All of the relevant verses for this session were printed out in a newsletter for everyone's convenience.
Most of the session consisted of singing church songs and then reading a few verses in between. I wasn't too familiar with most of the tunes, but tried to sing along. I found it quite charming that the Boy knew the words to most of the songs and sang loud enough for me to hear everything. I had a hard time following some of the readings because it was all new to me, and the pastor didn't explain much of what anything meant. Somewhere in the middle of the session, the pastor said a prayer for peace around the world and then instructed everyone to shake hands with everyone else and say "peace." So for about five minutes, everyone walked around the room, shaking everyone else's hand amid constant murmurs of "peace." Then we went back to singing songs.
In the last 15 minutes of church, the pastor asked everyone to get up and form a semi-circle around a table where he stood with bread, two large ceramic goblets, and a flask. It just happened that we caught a session where they were going to break bread. I watched as he took the bread out of its plastic wrapping and started to rip off little pieces until there was enough for everyone. Next, I was expecting him to break out the little shot-sized plastic cups to fill with grape juice. But instead, he began emptying the flask into the two ceramic goblets.
What?! All 25 of us are going to share 2 communal goblets?! But I don't even know any of your names! None of you knows my name! How do you know I don't have mono?
The pastor took the first sip out of one of the goblets, and then the two helpers took their sips. The pastor then went around the circle, placing a piece of bread in each person's hand while blessing it. His helpers followed, holding the goblets up to each person's mouth to take a sip. I looked over at the Boy to see how calm he was about sharing a cup with a bunch of strangers. He avoided eye contact, and now one of the helpers was approaching me with a goblet that about ten people had sipped out of. The helper looked confused about what to do, as I stood there frozen, not having eaten my bread.
Just put your lips on the goblet, but don't drink.
With that, I popped the bread into my mouth, chewed and put my lips onto the goblet. It was then that I had one of those moments where your brain decides to completely ignore your will. My lips parted slightly, and I tasted not grape juice, but some intensely strong, syrupy alcoholic beverage.
This isn't grape juice! It tastes like mead. At least I'm not at the end of the line.
I wasn't raised Christian and had only been to church a handful of times in the past. Aside from the first time in preschool when my cousins from Texas (avid Christians still to this day) visited, all of my church experiences have been disastrous. Knowing this, I was fully supportive of going to church with him on Sunday, but reminded him that I was trusting his judgement.
The Boy wanted to attend the evening session at 6PM. A little beforehand, I changed into a nice, below-the-knee pink skirt and white top, while the Boy paired khaki slacks with a button down shirt and combed his hair neatly to the side. As a final touch, the Boy grabbed a bible, ironically, the one given to me by a former friend in a cult.
We walked down the street and over a couple of blocks to the Episcopalian(?) church. The church was probably under construction, as we sat in what looked like a classroom with 30-40 fold out chairs lined in a square on 3 sides. There were about 25 people in attendance, at least half of them my mom's age of various ethnicities (multicultural's good). Aside from the pastor, the Boy was the only other attendee carrying a Bible. All of the relevant verses for this session were printed out in a newsletter for everyone's convenience.
Most of the session consisted of singing church songs and then reading a few verses in between. I wasn't too familiar with most of the tunes, but tried to sing along. I found it quite charming that the Boy knew the words to most of the songs and sang loud enough for me to hear everything. I had a hard time following some of the readings because it was all new to me, and the pastor didn't explain much of what anything meant. Somewhere in the middle of the session, the pastor said a prayer for peace around the world and then instructed everyone to shake hands with everyone else and say "peace." So for about five minutes, everyone walked around the room, shaking everyone else's hand amid constant murmurs of "peace." Then we went back to singing songs.
In the last 15 minutes of church, the pastor asked everyone to get up and form a semi-circle around a table where he stood with bread, two large ceramic goblets, and a flask. It just happened that we caught a session where they were going to break bread. I watched as he took the bread out of its plastic wrapping and started to rip off little pieces until there was enough for everyone. Next, I was expecting him to break out the little shot-sized plastic cups to fill with grape juice. But instead, he began emptying the flask into the two ceramic goblets.
What?! All 25 of us are going to share 2 communal goblets?! But I don't even know any of your names! None of you knows my name! How do you know I don't have mono?
The pastor took the first sip out of one of the goblets, and then the two helpers took their sips. The pastor then went around the circle, placing a piece of bread in each person's hand while blessing it. His helpers followed, holding the goblets up to each person's mouth to take a sip. I looked over at the Boy to see how calm he was about sharing a cup with a bunch of strangers. He avoided eye contact, and now one of the helpers was approaching me with a goblet that about ten people had sipped out of. The helper looked confused about what to do, as I stood there frozen, not having eaten my bread.
Just put your lips on the goblet, but don't drink.
With that, I popped the bread into my mouth, chewed and put my lips onto the goblet. It was then that I had one of those moments where your brain decides to completely ignore your will. My lips parted slightly, and I tasted not grape juice, but some intensely strong, syrupy alcoholic beverage.
This isn't grape juice! It tastes like mead. At least I'm not at the end of the line.
As the pastor said his prayer for breaking bread, I silently prayed for the sound health of everyone in attendance.
Church ended about 5 minutes later. I was curious to know what the Boy thought and if we would be going back. I knew when he grabbed my hand, said a brief, but friendly "hello" to the pastor and then bolted out of there, dragging me along.
posted by LANYTransplant at 9:44 PM
4 Comments:
so you a convert?
Haha. No.
interesting. i thought episcopalian was basically an americanized anglican church...meaning, catholic without the pope. most of the churches that only use one or two goblets have the congregation dip their piece of bread in the cup of wine/grape juice, not drink out of it. weird.
i guess the retreat i invited you to in high school was odd too, eh? ") i laud you on your efforts to support the Boy. glad you didn't get sick. (you didn't, right?)
Nope, didn't get sick. At least the high school thing used little shot sized cups for everyone.
Post a Comment
<< Home