Those of you who have been paying attention over the last year or two know I had a bit of a falling out with my home church.
Aw, understatement! Tres adorable. I decided I was done being treated, not just as a demographic, but as general dogsbody and Girl Friday, who would take on any project and produce results on demand— oh, wait, did we forget to tell you that we’d put you in charge?
I had a nice long bout of not-going-to-church, and it left me feeling very empty.
No kidding, really? I’d figured out when I was 19 that not going to church regularly left me feeling very empty and soul-hungry, but sometimes I’m a slow learner.
So, after a lot of research and pondering and Trimet Trip planning and forgetting to set my alarm, I finally pulled up my big girl pants and went to a new church.
And it’s… nice.
It’s not perfect. I’m not under the illusion that any church is perfect. As Fr. Andrew Greeley says, if God had wanted a perfect church, she would have left it in the hands of seraphs and not us mortals. The music can veer off into shoot-me-now land, and it’s significantly lower on the candle than I am…
But it’s a place I can be.