My 'Friend': Jesus

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  Hamilton, New Zealand
Tuesday, July 8, 2008

I mentioned that I have gone to some pretty desperate measures to find friends here in Hamilton; I have done basically everything short of standing on a street corner stealing all the attention from the legally-allowed-to-be-there prostitutes by waving around a sign that says "HEY! I'M COOL! CALL ME AND WE'LL DO LUNCH!" But I have done something completely out of character. (Don't worry Dad, I didn't get paid to do it.)

....I went to Church!

For those of you who know me really well, going to Church for me is like going to the dentist for some people. It happens maybe once a year and usually because my adorable siblings might have a part in the service or because they batted their eyelashes at me to join them in the pews. Once a year I put on something pretty and drag my heels off to listen to the Christmas service which is normally better than the usual, however this year I was completely disgusted by the priest bringing up abortion (remember, this is a Christmas service) and going so far as to tell us that in his country (Vietnam) pigs eat aborted fetuses.

As you can imagine, that pretty much turned me off.

That and the fact that for the first time in years I actually listen to what was being said and what the congregation was answering back (words that are rote to me because they have been hammered into my head since I was a wee thing) and when my Dad asked me why I was remaining silent throughout the service I answered honestly, "Because if I can't believe in the words I'm saying, I feel like a fraud saying them." I had my First Communion when I was seven years old so technically I am allowed to go up and get the host but this Christmas I didn't. With some goading from Dad, I went up to get blessed instead.

Obviously, I have nothing against people who attend Church. One side of my family goes regularily and they enjoy it. I don't think there's anything wrong with that nor do I think there's anything wrong with me disagreeing with the principals of Catholic mass and not wishing to attend. We're all different, we all view 'G/god/dess' differently and some of us don't even believe in the 'Powers That Be' at all. Some people believe in aliens; some people believe in Voldamort; some people believe in dust. Whatever. As long as you are a good person, who cares how that goodness manifests itself? 

I consider myself extremely spiritual. I believe there is something bigger than myself but that something doesn't have a face, a sex, a name. I believe in the energy that we as human beings carry within ourselves and that the earth carries as well. I believe in many things and I respect all of those "rules" or "commandments" that every religion has in some form or another. I am spiritual but I am not an Organized Religion person. In general, my feelings towards The Church (Catholic, mostly) is strongly negative for many good and valid reasons that I won't go into because I could write a book about them. That is why I don't go to Church. I don't believe in the mass, I don't believe in it's values and I don't think it's fair for someone who doesn't believe to be in the presence of those who do. I feel like I'm cheating them out of their own personal experiences.

In Asia, I dipped into every temple I was able to. To take a breath, to reflect somewhere quiet, to be in the presence of Calm. I didn't feel like a fraud because I wasn't attending any service, I was merely acknowledging another form of that Something Bigger Than Myself and educating myself on other religions. So in the spirit of what pulled me into those temples, I decided to say "okay" when a girl from work invited me to her Church after I asked her where all the "cool kids" my age hung out.

I have been in Churches all over Europe. I have been to Mont Serrat (a very religious mountain in Spain), Notre Dame, the Vatican, Lourdes. My trip in Europe was full of the Catholic Church and me trying to figure out if I belonged there. I heard services in english, french, latin. I listened to choirboys singing like angels and watched priests swing their incense while chanting. I have been absolutely silent while I stood, knelt, stood, knelt, stood, knelt. I've picked up the bible in four or five different languages and wondered if they all said the same thing. I've been able to follow services in foreign tongues because I know it by heart in english. I could say the prayers in two languages without even realizing my mouth was moving. I lingered in the massive cathedrals, marveling at their awe and wealth. The stain glass windows painting pictures of a man so many people worshiped as a god but who was, in the end, just a man.

Catholic Church is solemn. It's quiet, sometimes peaceful, sometimes guilt-ridden. If there is singing it is fairly serious hymns full of warning and praise be to God. People dress up in "itchy church pants" and stockings. They have rooms specified for mothers so that if your child is crying you can quickly usher yourself out of the pew and into the glass room so as to not disturb anyone. There is ritual and things you can and cannot do. There are words you say because it's expected and when you aren't saying those words, you aren't saying anything. You do not talk to your neighbour unless it's an emergency and even then you whisper as quietly as possible. You do not rustle your dress. You do not do pirouettes in the aisles. You do not allow your children to run amok and tug on the priest's robe. No, no, no. 

So back to this Church I went to. Firstly, it was in a warehouse. Secondly, I couldn't even hear my friend for how loud the music was. And she was right, all of the twenty-something people I haven't been able to find seemed to be here. There was a stage set up with a live band, a bunch of chairs and not a cross in sight. The minister was wearing jeans, trainers and a t-shirt that my brother would have picked out for himself. I think my mouth hung open for a good ten minutes.

"Not what you're used to, eh?" My friend asked.
"Uhh... not quite. It's so loud!"

Then the band started and they played four songs; the songs all talked about praising 'the Lord' and all of those religious things but the difference was that if I heard these songs on the radio, it would take me a minute to realize they were Christian. Everyone was standing up, dancing around, pirouetting in the aisles and little kids were running around like maniacs. I was standing there stunned as the band continued to enthusiastically 'praise the Lord'.

I felt like I was at a Christian rock concert.

And then the minister, who is called Toby and not 'Father Toby', started saying that he felt there were people in the congregation who had had an earache, who had not been well lately, who had severe migraines etc. He asked those people to come up to the stage. Here's where I began thinking "uh oh."

Before I left the house, I was joking with Andrea that I was going to be 'healed' and I smacked myself on the head. I didn't realize that that WAS the type of church I was going to. Well, bring it on Billy Graham. I've seen this stuff on television and let me tell you it's much more entertaining LIVE!

"Are you okay?"

I must have had a what...the...f%^$?!!! look on my face. People were shaking. They were falling on the ground. Some were crying, some were laughing. It was weird.

"Uhh... yeah. This is just a little... umm....intense."
"I was thinking that too. Sorry!! We're full on tonight."
"You certainly are. Probably because I'm new. You're pulling out all the stops to impress me."

Side note: My friend doesn't appear at all crazy. She doesn't constantly talk about Jesus and she wasn't one of the "worshippers" in the aisles waving her hands and sobbing maniacally. She seems pretty 'normal' for lack of better words and within the first five minutes of knowing her, I liked her. I think that says something.

Toby went on to preach and he talked so fast that I only understood some of it. Damn accents. What it seemed like was that he was trying to evoke the 'spirit' to come down into the room and be present. He was telling us that we should feel 'him' all around us and feeling 'his' healing come into our bodies. After that he said that 'God' was telling him there was a couple in the congregation who'd been trying to have a baby and that they would be successful soon (praise the lord!) and that there was someone who had been thinking of suicide recently and that everything would be okay (praise the lord!).

A little later on, he did another 'healing session' where he asked everyone who felt unloved or like they didn't belong to come up to the front. I was surprised to see half the congregation up there. I was still trying to fight the urge to inch my way backwards. I kept telling myself this was another experience, this was just another form of worship and these people - though a bit intense - were enthusiastic about their religion and it was nice to see the happiness on their faces as they sang instead of misery.

"Uhh...Emma....is that boy having a seizure?!"

I have seen seizures. He looked like he was seizing. I was one second away from pulling chairs out of this kid's way and calling 111 (New Zealand's 911) until I looked down at him and saw he was laughing. That's when I had to sit down. "...JESUS." (How ironic, that my swear word was the name people kept calling out.)

"Wow." says Emma. "That even freaked me out. I'm so sorry, this is really full on! I wouldn't be offended if you want to leave or anything."

I looked around at the random people sprawled on the floor; crying, laughing, breathing. I watched as Toby 'invoked' the spirit and touched people with it. I was reminded of the crawling, sobbing old ladies in Lourdes at the Grotto, kissing and touching the wet stone surface. This wasn't calm, it was frenetic. It was chaotic. It was obsessive. If people put this much energy into loving themselves and bettering their lives, they wouldn't need to be 'healed'.

"It's okay," I said. "I'm not going to leave. I appreciate the experience though this isn't really my.... uhh... thing."

She understood. She knew I came from a more or less conservative Catholic background and I think she was terrified that I would be offended. I just told her I was going to find the most reserved Catholic Church I could and I was going to take her there with me. Haha. Payback.

The moral of this story? It was certainly an interesting experience. I was glad I pushed myself to go and see that there are people who can be joyous and enthusiastic while worshipping 'God'. The look on Toby's face while he was preaching and his energy really stuck with me. Yes, it was a bit intense and no, it isn't my thing (I much prefer the Calm in Asia, thanks) but there were people that really believed in what they were doing. They weren't there out of guilt, obligation or force. They were there because they wanted to be.

Toby came to introduce himself to me and said, "I see a bright light around you and sometimes you feel like a glass wall that people look right through. God wants me to tell you that people do see you, very clearly and that you have a distinct purpose here. You are going to do great things."

I smiled and said, "Thank you, I think so too."

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