St. Raphael's - July 8, 2012

Last Sunday was a busy day. In fact, the whole weekend was cramped and things were jamming up against one another left and right. I had a lot going on at home, was in the middle of several projects and couldn't afford to let the day get eaten up with any two hour and twenty minute revival service. I just sort of wanted to get church, 'out of the way'. I wanted to have done it, but I wasn't up for any sort of expenditure of energy or resources on my part. I wasn't up for challenge or threat, or really any intrusion into the existing momentum of my Sunday.

With that criteria, really, the choice was clear. The Catholics. I knew I could count on them for a 58 minute service. God has ordained that you shall not keep parishioners longer than one hour, or perhaps it was only the pope. I called dad the night before and lined up the church that met my needs. In addition, this was not just an ordinary Catholic church. This was the yuppie, hippie, richy-rich-church-in-the-hills church. I wanted to show my dad this place to broaden his perception of Catholics, and perhaps broaden his perception of church.

St. Raphael's has a beautiful location in the hills overlooking town. Its exterior is well landscaped, with pots and beds of flowers that are tasteful and almost grand. The building is large and in good condition; a 1980's design with an all cedar exterior and a large bent winglike floor plan. The worship area occupies the wing angled to the north east, and the large and well windowed community hall occupies the western wing. The south walls of the structure are taller than the north with large windows gathering lots of light. If I were designing a community hall for my gatherings, (and I wanted to say include a theater or other 'worship space'), this building would suit my needs perfectly.

We walked in on time, maybe 10 minutes early. We walked in through the community center, it wasn't quite clear from the outside which of the two main doors led where. Lots of subaru's in the parking lot. Lots of folks who looked just like us. In fact, we were some of the best dressed in our slacks and dress shirts. There were several people in sweatshirts and jeans, several guys wearing shorts, it was very casual. Very white also. Very clean. Not a lot of diversity and very upper-middle-income. If one of our daughters was husband shopping - this might be the place to come. I mean, if you had to shop at a church.

We took our seats in the amply padded and comfortable oak chairs. The individual seating was arranged in rows in the worship space in a sort of free-form pattern. The musicians off to the left were warming up. A guy in a Denver Bronco's jersey was playing a guitar. There was a thin lady with long hair warming up on a flute. Some guy had a tambourine. Really. Another guitar. Lots of former hippies, now doing well filled the room. Lots of young families also. Lots of little kids. By the time things got started, promptly at 9:30, there were maybe eighty people in the room.

The worship area itself has a soaring ceiling with equally soaring windows facing south. The seating faces the sacristy to the north where there's a giant statue of Christ on the Cross against the wall behind the altar. The statue was done in birch or some other white wood and easily Christ is eight or nine feet tall and very dramatically carved with ribs and muscles modelled in the extreme; a very pronounced wreath of thorns on his head and huge nails in hands and feet.

The daily bulletin was the best we've had so far. One of those big sheets of paper, folded in half, it was four regular sized pages of detailed and thorough information, all presented in a professional desktop publishing format on nice, recycled parchment colored paper. Everything was very comfortable and clean and and friendly.

We sang a song or two, or rather they did, I was happily able to maintain my own thoughts and just sort of coast. We stood, we sat, we stood again and sang again, we sat and then stood again. We repeated the Nicean Creed and sat again. The sermon was delivered by one of the two priests present. One priest was from India and had very dark skin, I'd say southern India. He spoke amazingly loud but was absolutely unintelligible, with everyone, including me, thought was great. The other guy had white hair, a clean shaven face and some sort of polish name. He had big loose features in a sort of child molester friendly sort of way. He performed the sermon and it was about how we should all go out into the world and be Christ, do as Christ would do and spread the good word. But in a very non confrontational sort of way. Like, maybe we should allow the woman in the post office with the car seat and the stroller to go first in line. But we were all going to do this anyway, right? He said his bit and we all nodded and smiled and then the hippie band played again.

They played well, someone had some sort of maraca in addition to the tambourine. It was a whole former hippie ensemble. Any my mind stayed blissfully rooted elsewhere. The sun was coming in, it was a nice place to be, amongst nice people, to be lost in my own thoughts.

Three young blond girls brought up 'the gifts', the bread and the wine. One was wearing a white dress and little leather high laced sandals. Another of the girls had her hair done with a pair of braids, one from either side of her head, brought around and joined in back over the rest of her long blond hair. They had a vague 'flower children' air. I watched the priest to see if he watched them but he was busying himself with the book. I'd like to say something that alludes to darker possibilities, but it really wasn't in the air. The sun was shining and the demons were absent.

The whole thing was perfectly uncompellling. Usually Dad and I take communion, but for some reason, neither of us did. I know my dad was as non-present as I was. The people around us went through the line and I was surprised at how many drank from the communal cup. But, if I had to drink from a communal cup here in town, that would be my cup of choice. Clean and friendly people. They looked as free of social diseases as they did of medical ones.

There was a brief period of announcements and the announcer asked for any visitors to please make themselves known. Dad and I sat quietly and everyone was just as happy that way. The recessional involved more tambourine and more flute and it was over. It was 10:28. Perfect, really. We were out the door, back into sunshine and a promising Sunday ahead. We had gotten what I wanted. We got church out of the way, like when you see someone you know at the store and you haven't seen them for a long time. You know you're going to have to catch up with them and a lot has gone on since you last saw them, but you don't really have the time or inclination to spend it talking to them. You meet eyes and are delighted to find that they are of the same attitude. You both nod and smile but then keep walking, both acknowledging the other in a pleasant way, and at the same time happily in agreement that the other is irrelevant in that moment.

St. John Baptist Church - July 1, 2012

I was up earlier than usual Sunday morning and called my dad before he had a chance to call me. We worked together on the phone; me on the internet, him in the yellow pages, to select our service of choice. I had heard that the Bishop was going to discuss Catholic opposition to Obamacare and thought that might be interesting - but we weren't too enthused about sitting through a Catholic Mass. We talked about going to the yuppie Catholic Church in the hills, but we'd already missed their mass times, likewise the Orthodox services.

We settled upon a Southern Baptist Church in South Fairbanks. Should be interesting, we thought.

We really had no idea.

We arrived in the parking lot by about 10:50 and decided to head on in to watch people arrive for the 11:00 services. The parking lot was small but full, spilling over in a jumbled assortment of sports cars and SUV's into a vacant lot across the street. There were no other Subarus in sight. The building is older and has some serious deferred maintenance issues. Peeling paint and water damage here and there on the aging exterior. We were the only ones walking in as we proceeded across the street and parking lot and we had the feeling that perhaps we had the time of services wrong or something - but then a car door opened and a young black couple also joined us in our parking lot pilgrimage.

Older black ladies in Sunday finery, a few younger black women with kids, one or two younger black men in dark suits milled on the stairs and in the hall before the doors leading to the worship area. We had everyone's attention, that is for sure. People milled in such a way as you had to sort of weave between them to get to the actual service chamber. At the top of the stairs, with everyone aware if not staring, we were greeted warmly and in sequence by three elder black women. All were dressed well and one was dressed in a white suit with a flat topped large white hat with flower and lace. 'First time attending our services?' she asked. 'Really?' I thought. To our affirmative she said, 'Welcome, welcome, make yourselves at home'.

We wove into the main worship area and took our usual seats about two thirds back on the right hand side. The hall was lit by a series of 1970's vintage large white globes descending from the ceiling. These had fluorescent bulbs in them and had a sort of pale light quality. The room was musty smelling, like an old church, a church much older than this one actually is. In the center of the ceiling, a large fan was busy stirring the warm humid air. The textured bumps of the ceiling around the circumference of the fan were thickly caked in shadows of sedimentary dust and fan grime. The small stage at the far end of the hall was crowded by a large podium in the center, a full drum set against the back left wall, a bass guitar setup in front of that, and three rows of padded seating for the choir. At the foot of the choir seating and behind the podium, three large ornate chairs, the center one 50% larger than its two wingmen.

The church was mostly empty at three minutes before eleven. A few young folks milled on stage, a very young man warmed up on the bass guitar. At one point he strummed the first few notes of the pink panther theme, trying to get the attention of some girl in the choir. At eleven, there were perhaps a dozen people talking and socializing amongst the faded and padded pews. Reading in the bulletin, the day's program was a long one. Several of the scheduled events, including the sermon, were marked with the words 'Please, no walking' in the bulletin. I didn't know what that meant. First time I've ever seen that in a bulletin and certainly not with the Jehova's Witnesses of the week before.

By five minutes after things were still mostly empty. There were perhaps thirty people in the room and that included the dozen members of the choir, all in their late teens or early twenties. My dad picked this moment to noisily whisper that in America, blacks have the highest percentages of faith and respond positively to all survey questions dealing with religion such as, 'do you believe in the devil', 'do you believe the bible should be taken literally and so on.' I cringed and nodded acknowledgement. The very large black guy in the row in front of us hopefully didn't hear. There was quite a bit of strumming and drumming from the stage as the two young men continued to warm up. Trying to lead by example, I whispered back much more quietly that I'm sure it correlates strongly with overall education. We could die at any moment. They'd easily be able to dispose of us and our solitary Subaru off the dikes somewhere. I felt as much like an 'outsider' as I have ever felt in Fairbanks, but not in a bad way, in more of an exciting adventurous sort of way. On the wall beside me, there was a large banner. Beneath the name of the church, it read, 'Since 1954' and featured a much enlarged black and white photo of an all black congregation standing outside the building in which we now sat.

At about eight minutes after, a taller and slightly harder and more fit version of Gwen Ifill took the podium and began speaking to others around her and members of the congregation over the PA system. There were many details yet to organize, evidently, and things were still coming together. People started to take their seats and we began to roll, slowly things coalesced into a service. She started with a few words and then we opened with a bible reading and a prayer. She announced, 'if you don't have a bible, please raise your hand and we'll get you one.' Dad and I didn't raise our hands. She announced this several times and the chapter and verse several times, but we were under the misconception that this was optional. Someone pointed out to someone else that we didn't have bibles so two were brought to us. Everyone waited while we found Malachi 2, verse 14. Everyone. Once we'd found it (I found it first in mine and told dad the page number but his bible was different so the pages didn't correlate so I handed him mine and looked for a bit but eventually just looked on). Everyone seemed satisfied with this and still a few hadn't heard the chapter and verse so it was announced again a few times. Finally, we all read it together and in unison. Then, a prayer was offered by two of the ushers, a father and son. The son, in his early twenties, was supposed to do the reading of the prayer, but he was a horrible mumbler and his dad chided him repeatedly as he read to speak up until finally his dad took over with smiles all around.

There was a lot of 'amen's and a lot of vocal encouragement in general from the pulpit and from the congregation throughout this process. At all times and anytime.

Then it was time for a hymn and things started kinda slowly, but still in another universe from the JW's or the Mormons. An elderly lady had taken a seat at the piano on the right of the stage. She was wearing a long down coat wrapped around her legs with the sleeves and back of the coat draped off the back of the chair. She wrapped the body of the coat tightly around her legs and then began to play the hymn. We all sang along (well, I read along while they sang). The choir members were sort of half enthused, a couple of guys were teasing a couple of the girls in front of them. But then the bass guitar came in, and slowly the drums started. Gwen loudly spoke/sang the lyric before the choir so everyone could follow easily - it grew and became some sort of musical harmonizing firestorm - and still the choir was only sort of half engaged.

And then the hymn was over and the next item in the bulletin was 'Selection' by the SJBC Praise Team. Six members of the choir came down before the pulpit and prepared to sing a song. They were still kind of kidding one another and talking, but then the piano started. One of the men began singing in a voice that was truly beautiful to hear. He worked with the other singers, in harmony and in solos, with a tenor voice - it was outstanding. The piano lady was some sort of Jerry Lee Lewis reincarnated with her fingers flying and pounding on the keys. Gwen joined in, other members of the choir joined in, and the congregation, as usual, joined in at will. I felt energized and excited and uplifted. It was awesome.

Then, back to their seats and the next item on the bulletin was 'Welcome/Visitor'. It was time to welcome visitors. ! Visitors were asked to stand and introduce themselves. The congregation had grown to about forty people and we weren't the only whites in the room. There was one young white girl up front. There was no way we could not stand, in fact, most of the congregation were already looking at us. We stood and a few other folks stood - and Gwen said we could start with the tall gentleman back there on the left. What she meant was 'tall white gentlemen', and everyone knew it. I introduced myself and said I lived locally and was 'unafiliated'. We were supposed to also announce our church home. 'Amen, well, we've got something for you' she said. My dad's turn. To make sure we're not taken for a gay couple dad always makes sure to point out we're 'father and son'. 'Well, we've got something for you too', she said. And we went on. There were only a handful of other visitors and most of those were family members from down south, Memphis and so on. And then it was announced that it was time to greet the visitors, 'take your time, mill around, go on', Gwen said. So, everyone came to greet us. And by greet, I mean hug. It was thrilling to hug all those black people. Pretty ladies, big ladies, men, children. It had a certain invigorating and cleansing effect on my soul. I felt like I was dipped in the love waters of the Lord, a bit like some kind of inverted David Livingston - gone to some distant land and found salvation rather than being the deliverer of such, it was delivered unto me by these waters of humanity.

The informality of the service, the warmth of the people, the energy, beauty, and power of the singing combined with the physical experience and sincere greetings - it was inevitable that I felt adopted into the tribe. Like a hot shower on a cold wet day - it was deeply satisfying. No church experience to date has come close.

I could relate every detail, it was all so richly memorable: the diminutive sassy young woman who read the announcements super fast and as she walked back to her seat with some swagger and sway said, 'short and sweet', to which everyone laughed and there were a few, mm-hmm's, a couple more moving, rolling 'selections', another reading or two, and the 'tithe and offering' which involved the deacons donning white gloves and passing brass platters. There was Lafondah and her boyfriend from Napoleon Dynamite, but they weren't together in this scene. Napoleon's brother just sat in an over sized dark suit in the front row, greasy hair and bad teeth. All of this was building toward 'Word of the Lord...no walking please...Rev. Dr. Lawrence J. Ellison, Pastor' in the bulletin. At some point, almost mysteriously, there appeared an older black man with tightly cropped gray hair in the large chair behind the podium. Through all the singing and admonitions, which grew ever more energetic with the deacons passing out fans in the aisle and women in their hats waving them energetically; this man sat thoughtfully and never made eye contact with anyone. He sat removed from the singing and sweating and dancing and carrying on about him. He made little notes to himself as thoughts occurred to him. In his white suit, he was a lighthouse amidst the raging sea of his followers. Finally, Gwen introduced him, her husband, the good Reverend Doctor Ellison. He took the podium and I realized the coat of his white suit was long. To his ankles. And his collar was purple, like a nehru collar, upright and short. Huge cuffs came to his elbows and they were purple with giant gold crosses embroidered on them. 

They had been married twenty years this past Wednesday and they complimented one another profusely. 'Her eyes so beautiful, her skin so fair', he said. To which my dad loudly whispered, 'so fair!' to me, with irony in his whisper. They carried on like this for a while and everyone loved it. But, I think also they were purposeful about it. Modelling love and adoration for the congregation. People had continued to arrive and now we were up to about 50 or 55 folks. There were some men present, but mostly, it was women with kids. There were few couples, few family units. Maybe four single men in the congregation, six in the choir, and maybe four couples with kids. The rest were all women, young or old, some with kids, some with grand kids, others wearing work uniforms or fancy Sunday dress, I can still remember their faces. Beautiful people.

The Reverend Doctor had us all read, in unison, the section from the bible on David and Goliath. I, of course, enjoyed the hell out of that. David hitting the Philistine in the forehead with a slingstone and then cutting his head off with his own sword - that was my kind of Sunday reading. But then it sort of got worked up into how David wasn't wearing Saul's armor - David was wearing the armor of the Lord. You need the armor of the Lord when you go out in this world, the breastplate of righteousness, the helmet of faith, and so on. He worked and worked and got to a sort of James Brown state, all the while Gwen was cheering him on with, 'what you say?', 'now you say'in it', 'amen', 'I hear you','say it now', and so on. As he spoke, the piano player pulled her coat tight about her legs and began a tremulating background fill, slowly the bass guitar and finally the drums were involved too. It was a feverish Baptist tent service - but he wasn't really James Brown and I was actually alienated a bit by that performance. He made his point, talking about trying to use 'Coke-ANE' or 'Crystals of Meth-Maphetamine's' as your armor instead of the armor of the Lord, that he feared no bullets from a 'Colt .45 automatic' because he wore the armor of the Lord...but it took him 35 minutes to get there. By then we'd been there in church two hours. When he finally ended, I was glad. I had no idea things were about to take a darker turn.

The next and second to last item on the bulletin was 'Invitation to Christian Discipleship'. I didn't really know what that meant but Gwen took the stand and began by asking people to come forward and join their church, accept Jesus and join their family. She said, 'if you don't have a church home, come forward'. The atmosphere got heavier and heavier - obviously Dad and I were (white) elephants in the room. We had foolishly announced that we were both 'unafiliated' with another church. At this turnabout, I felt betrayed. Really, I was sick. There was no way I was going to go forward, so it was just a matter of waiting in that uncomfortable space - in that game of spiritual chicken. The experiences at Bible Baptist came rushing back to me. And then, I thought again. Maybe this was just part of the Baptist travelling-tent-revival culture. They did this all the time and it was part of their thing. I didn't like it, but was able to find a way to feel less uncomfortable while I stood there, feeling everyone waiting for (me to go forward and fall upon the alter) something. Finally, Gwen asked us to sit and asked anyone with special prayers to come forward.

It was a bit like witnessing. They would come forward with an experience and talk about how they needed help with something and the Reverend Doctor would say a few words. He was excellent at this and knew everyone and had warm uplifting words to say, usually getting the congregation to laugh. The big guy in front of us went forward and said he was having some tough times. The young woman who was with him and sitting directly in front of me was crying. He asked for help and prayers and the Reverend Doctor said he'd already talked to the young man and knew everything was going to be fine, but also wanted to ask the young man to stop worrying about himself and start worrying about others, so called him to serve as a deacon. It was good - seemed effective at relieving some sort of weight on the couple and in the room.

Finally Gwen took over again and we began communion. As they were getting ready, the Reverend Doctor came over and asked dad and I, 'are you gentlemen baptized'? We both said yes, and he said, 'well then you are welcome to participate in our communion ceremony', and he departed in a swirl of white and purple. I noticed, up close like that, that he had a badly wandering eye. So, we processed around the pews and picked up our little plastic cup of what looked like wine. 'Rose', whispered dad loudly when we took our seats. The cup was sealed on top, like a thimble sized version of the orange juice containers on an airplane. On top of the cup and sealed under a thin layer of peel away plastic was a small communion wafer. We waited until all were seated and then had communion together. It was grape juice - a little on the stale side.

There was another hymn, and we were instructed how to depart. Everyone leaves to the right, walks forward and says goodbye. The choir, piano lady, drummer and guitarist, deacons, other officers (including the lady in the white hat), and finally Gwen and the Reverend Doctor - everyone lined up and we walked toward the alter and along the line, hugging and shaking hands and saying thank you and goodbye to all. Several asked us to make sure and come again next week. Gwen was extremely kind and generous in person and I complimented her and thanked her for allowing us to come and she could not have been more gracious. The Reverend Doctor welcomed us to come back again, and I was sad inside knowing I never would. 

Out the door; half eager to get out and half sorry for the passing, we found half the congregation milling on the narrow steps. We wound through the mass and made our way out into the brilliant sun. It was quiet outside and the space big and bright. I walked sort of half removed and half awakened, disoriented almost, on the way to the car. Like waking from a nap on a hot and sunny afternoon, the world was different from the one we had departed two and a half hours earlier. A few steps and once again we sat in the Subaru in the parking. After a quiet moment I turned to my dad and said, 'well, I don't think an enlightening lecture on evolution has much to offer for those folks.'