I went.
"Was it hard for you to come?" Lady in Charge asked
"No, the coming wasn't hard." I start,
"The staying was." she finished my thought.
I laugh, hollow.
She's perfect in every way. The typical Gateway girl. Big, perfect, long hair. Perfectly applied waterproof mascara. Cute shoes. Really cute shoes. I couldn't pull those off.
Service starts. I'm distant. I'm skeptical.
Stupid missionary girl next to me has told me her life story while we were waiting to come in about how she married an abusive man and she really does understand. I find that hard to believe since she has a 7 year old daughter who she has left behind with friends TWICE, once for a year and a half, once for a year, so she can do missionary work. She says "Abraham almost had to sacrifice Isaac. God sacrificed Jesus. It is something I feel called to do." I think she's nuts. I think God wouldn't have given her a child and expect her to abandon the child while she "does his work in Australia." The only reason she tells me all this, I assume, is because I tell her I'm
disillusioned with church, and a synopsis of my past 5 years. Tonight is radical honesty at church night.
I sit next to her anyway. I figure she's probably the craziest person in the congregation - about 100 people or so - and it doesn't hurt to have the crazy within arm's length, in case i need to smack her.
We're on the front row and I was wrong. She's not the craziest.
There's a man a few seats down who is one of the annoying
Charismatics. Very verbal. Very spastic. He's jumping and yelling unintelligible things. Nice.
Crazy people - check.
Crazy charisma - check.
Fakeness - I want to check this one off, but outside of the waterproof mascara, I have no proof of it. Yet. Checking it off now would be premature. I feel assured I can check it off later, so I leave it on my list.
Worship starts. I'm annoyed because I don't know the songs. They are all Gateway originals. The bass player is confusing and I watch him. I can't figure out if its a girl or a guy - it looks like a guy, except his hair is
french braided. He's wearing skinny jeans with
high tops. I look for boobs. Since its kinda a heavier guy/girl, I can't tell if they are boobs or man boobs.
I turn my attention on the worship leader. He's obsessed with the crazy missionary girl. I make a mental note to stop calling everyone I see crazy in my head. that's really pretty judgemental of me and kinda mean. How should I know if they are crazy? I wouldn't like people doing that to me.
The worship leader is staring at the missionary girl. I wonder if he has a thing for her. Or if he just thinks she's fruity. Or if he's just looking at her because the light is in his eyes. The light really is kinda bright. It doesn't look comfortable. He finally sings a song I know. Turns out, I liked it better when I didn't know the songs. The familiarity of the song brings back a wave of emotion from other church experiences.
Altar prayer time -
that's odd, they are doing it before the sermon. I watch. I wait. I sing with everyone else. Supposedly there's going to be a stand up comedian tonight. Oh goody - Christian Comedy. He starts his sermon. Its
reminiscent of sermons I've heard before. Slightly entertaining, but certainly not "Stand up comedy." He keeps looking at me. I can see that he has "feelings" about people - prophetic senses of some sort, though they are undeveloped. I can see this in
alot of people I look at. Usually I nail them pretty quick. I see the looks he gives people, like he's hearing their thoughts or voices of spirits around their heads, like he's reading their eyes. I know that look. I've used that look - quizzical, thoughtful, pulling something out.
He finishes his sermon. He keeps looking at me, and I'm sure he "hears" something about me. And I'm sure I know what it is. I'm not budging and my body language and my eyes, which meet his fearlessly, say "I dare you to try. and if you're wrong, I'll tell you so, make no mistake."
Instead, he heads for a blond a few seats over. He tells her God thinks she's beautiful - trite, canned, I've heard it a hundred times. My thoughts are already critical and I chastise myself for thinking that way. Who am I to say what God's word for that girl should have been. I certainly wasn't looking for her aura. I wait.
The guy has three altar calls. Clearly, the worship team wasn't planning on returning to stage, so there's a little scurrying when he calls them back up. Clearly, the worship leader was having a latte in the foyer and someone had to go find him. Awkward. The lady in charge, who asked me if it was hard to come, starts and looks around a little frantic in a split second before she regains her polished composure. I caught it, but only because I've been in church since the week I was born. I doubt many other people did.
The guy has three altar calls. I know I said it already, but it bears repeating. Three. they aren't "come to the altar" altar calls, they are your typical "raise your hands to
receive it" altar calls. I am still staring at him, watching his every move. Trying to find his weakness and see through his facade. Its not hard. Its easy to see weakness in people when you want to.
The service is finally over. Missionary girl is talking to me when Lady in Charge comes over to talk to me. She gives missionary girl a look that says "go away" (in the nicest Christian way possible) and sits next to me. I can see that she feels she has read my aura. Problem is, she's already read my email. It wouldn't take too much work to figure out that I'm damaged, considering the information I've already disclosed.
She says "this is a place to find healing."
I'm fine. I'm not moving one inch. And I'm certainly not going to be searching for healing.
"God wants you to know that he knows you never left him"
I look at her.
"Bullshit" I say
She looks at me.
"No, you never lost hope that he was real"
I look down at the floor.
I bite my lip to keep from crying. Crying is so overrated.
"You can be healed here, you know. I know you've gone through
alot."
I look at her again.
Sincere brown eyes.
She really believes this.
I don't.
But I want to.
"I'm sorry for whats happened. Its not right. I know church has abused you. you're safe here."
Another line that doesn't ring true.
"Shit happens." I say.
She says "what happened to you is more like diarrhea."
Unexpected. I laugh a little.
She doesn't ask if she can pray for me, thank God. My walls are so high I can feel them safely enclosing me. It makes me happy. And sad at the same time.
She says she's glad I came and wants me to come back. I make no promises, just grab my stuff and beeline for the door. Thank God the missionary isn't waiting for me. I walk quickly out of the church and get in my car. I'm shaken. I'm irritated that I'm emotional. And I talk to God. "I'm not doing ANYTHING," I tell him, "You're going to have to do all the work."
Immediately I hear the voice in my head that gives the 'correct' God response to my statement.
"I already have done all the work."
I shake my head at the phrase.
"I know you sent Jesus to die. Fine. But he was half God. I'm not making even ONE TINY STEP. You're going to have to meet me. I'm JUST HUMAN."
The last words were yelled.
I sense that he's laughing at me.
I think that I wish God had a body here on earth so I could just punch him. Really hard. As hard as I could.
I imagine myself punching God-as-a-human. It feels good in my imagination.
I imagine a movie scene where I'm punching God, then the tears come and I collapse, exhausted and tired of fighting into his arms.
I'm annoyed that God always gets to be the good guy and I have to be the emotional wreck.
I drive home. I tell God on my drive home, while I'm smoking my cigarette, that I'm not willing to do anything. Whatsoever. I am not willing to change my life, I'm not willing to make an effort. I'm only willing to show up.
That's as much as I can give. If he wants me back, he's going to have to work for it.
I pull in the parking lot. I call my kids.
I think that I won't be going back to church... but I know I will.
