The Church of Jazz and Wallmart

I spent some time hanging out at the Jazz Fest this year (what else is new), and I suddenly realized that good church should be a lot like music festivals. And no, this epiphany had nothing to do with my beer-to-jazz ratio.

For one thing, people come up with catchy slogans at the Jazz festival. Such as: “I can’t decide whether that guy reminds me more of a hippy or a sex offender.” These catchy slogans hold just enough truth to get you thinking (‘you’re right: those neon mini-shorts and tank top are like something a hippie sex offender would wear’), are simple yet striking enough to get stuck in your head, and contain a hefty dose of judgmentalism. Exactly the way many sermons turn out, right? Good church will have sermons with catchy slogans. And, in order to preserve tradition, at least some of those slogans will be judgmental.

For another thing, the music at the Jazz festival is free, at least if you stay outdoors. You can wander in during the middle of a set, leave before it’s over, comment on the music, and eat snacks (you can also drink beer). Church is free, too, unless you go to one of those places where you have to pay for your seats. [note: although church is ‘free,’ donations are encouraged. You can donate to the festival by buying special passes that make you its friend.] I think a good church encourages people to walk in at various points, since that way the people who are ten minutes late won’t skip out entirely. Maybe if there were less parishioner glaring at perceived church-going infractions such as coming and going, we’d be a more welcoming place. Also, the potential for people to leave might encourage us to be more interesting and dynamic. We could have sock-puppets, for example.

Some churches have music that does make you feel like dancing, or at least responding in some way. I applaud them.

All in all, the Jazz festival welcomes everyone. Poor students and super-wealthy finance people, dudes covered with tattoos and professional swing dancers, children and the man in the neon shorts. Everyone just comes and enjoys the music and the atmosphere, and no one feels like they don’t belong.

In the opposite vein, I think churches should be less like Wallmart, which I’ve also visited lately (I bought suspenders and a hula-hoop. Don’t ask). Wallmart sucks out your soul. They don’t like you going unless you buy stuff. They really, really don’t like it when you try to take stuff for free. Wallmart tries to make you a conformist. They have very bright lighting.

In short, church should be more like the Jazz festival and less like Wallmart. It should probably also have a point, unlike this rambling post of mine.

Well, you can't please everyone.

Jell-O Couch / Potato

I was sitting on my couch the other day reading “The Study of Anglicanism” (long story) when I was reminded of what minor earthquakes feel like fairly far out from the epicenter. It’s been a while, I’ll give you that, but I still knew exactly what it was right away. It’s amazing how, momentarily, the ground you’re resting on feels like nothing less than Jell-O.

I apologize for not having written anything recently, O fictional audience of mine. But, really, I’ve been pretty boring. I’ve been watching a lot of Star Trek: Voyager. I like to pretend I’m a character on the show. Not Seven of Nine though – her outfit’s a little too conservative, don’t ya think?

At Bible Camp, we once put on a skit that was set on the bridge of a Star Trek ship. I can’t remember exactly how, but it was somehow religious.

Anyway, my couch and me have been pretty tight lately. This may or may not be related to the fact that my favorite pants have recently informed me I’m getting too fat for them. Unfortunately, this truth coincides with the fact that summer is ice cream season. It’s difficult to say who will win out, but I’m confident we’ll all come to an understanding eventually.

Thus has been my life. Oh, I’m ‘preaching’ on Sunday, if that’s what you call it. I think I might specialize in taking cheap shots at the gospel.

Happy St. Jean to all of you out there. It certainly is a break from Numbers, if not a celebration of our independent nationhood. Maybe we’ll all take a lesson from those people who challenged Moses’ authority and tried to steal the priests’ job whom God smote?

Padre Pio Et. Al.

On Sunday I went to my old parish to see an Italian film about the life of Padre Pio, a Saint probably most famous for his Stigmata. He's quite inspiring. But that's not what I'm going to write about.

Over a decade ago, I attended the ordination of a young man, Father T. Some time later, he was assigned to the church across the street, so I had numerous occasions to see him in his ministry. He is a good priest, and as we watched his congregation change that became ever clearer. I had him pegged as an excellent bishop in the future (he was trilingual, and who knows how far the Italian he learned so well could have taken him, politically?). He was well positioned to climb the ecclesiastical ladder, and he seemed to be a good pastor.

Anyway, he's been really sick. But I found out on Sunday that he intends to leave the priesthood.

I think that's always a shocking thing to hear. In the deepest sense, it isn't even possible: once you've been ordained, there's no going back, and you're a priest forever. I can't begin to imagine what it feels like. There must be such a sense of defeat, in a way, that you can't follow on the path you've chosen. What are you admitting to yourself? Does it mean you have to admit you never had a vocation? I think that's simplistic. God doesn't lead you through it for nothing, nor does the Church call and endorse you without reason. They also don't release you into laicisation without grave reason. Transitioning out of the priesthood bespeaks great inner torment. To be released from your vows is no easy thing...I think probably even harder than taking them in the first place.

Who can know what God wants with certainty? I do know how difficult listening to God can be. That He speaks and what He says can cause great turmoil in the heart, and also a great deal of doubt (ironically). As I continue my journey, I better understand what it means to be faced with the certainty that the life I once planned is no longer possible, that the people and community I believed I would be with forever can no longer be my home. I understand what it's like to give up things I have cherished and that were comfortable in search of something I don't understand; to choose uncertainty and doubt. I know what it feels like to disappoint the people who wish everything could stay the same. Still, I can't pretend to know what he's feeling. It really makes you stop and see that, when it comes to relationship with God, nothing is certain except that He loves you.

And sometimes the form that love takes is painful and complicated, heartbroken, and full of doubt.