Askew

The football game spanning two days continued to throw me for a curve. My weekend routine wasn't ruined, but for whatever reason I've felt a bit off today.

I woke up later than usual--no alarm for me this morning, thank you--but still had time to make it to a church service. I've been considering Donna's advice to give the liturgical traditions a look as they might offer what I'm not finding in my church search. Today seemed as good as any to follow through since I didn't have time to make it where I've been attending but could visit an Episcopal church with a later service.

I was raised Methodist, switched to another denomination when my parents wanted to find a church with a thriving youth program as my brothers and I reached those ages, and have been going to Methodist churches since college. I'm still a member at the church back home and came to appreciate its pacifist tradition, but it's not really an option for me here.

I realize I'm being coy about naming the denomination. There's nothing sketchy about it. It's mainline Protestant and often confused with other similarly named denominations. Both of my parents are ordained ministers. Since Google's search engine seems to have taken a liking to this site of late, I'm avoiding naming it to lessen the likelihood that they or their parishioners might stumble upon my blog.

I noticed a big difference upon entering the doors to the chapel at the Episcopal church. The old triptych behind the altar, something I associate with Catholicism, is about as far away from the modern art cross in the middle of the sanctuary where I've been going on Sundays. I slipped into a seat at the end of the last pew, looked up, and found that my view was obstructed by an enormous pillar. In my mind it was too late to relocate, so I hoped that I'd be able to see most of what would take place. (I could see about half.) I assume that the congregation puts up with several "bad" seats in the small chapel because the church is on the National Register of Historic Places. (There was a hole cut in one pew for another pillar, if that gives you any idea.)

When it was time for the first hymn, I paged through the book vainly searching for it. I knew I had the right one, but the page number didn't correspond. Finally I figured it out--ah, there are three numbered sections--but the hymn was over by then. Likewise, the rest of the service had me feeling like a foreigner in a place where I could understand the words but not the customs. Holy Eucharist, Rite II? No clue. I also had no idea what the pecking order was with those leading the service. I'm not used to canticles, someone carrying a cross on a metallic pole, making the sign of the cross, or kneeling. The passing of the peace was literally that. Was I breaking some code when everyone was shaking hands and saying, "Peace" while I greeted them with a "good morning"? The sermon wasn't as formal as the rest of the proceedings, which threw me for a loop. That it was being given by an openly gay deacon only continued the head-spinning nature of the experience.

And then there was Holy Communion. I've taken it by intinction and in the pew with ushers passing collection plates full of bread cubes and tiny cups of grape juice, but this was something altogether different. Wafers, drinking wine from a chalice, kneeling at the altar... I elected not to partake, mainly because by this point I knew I was not accustomed to this method of worship and didn't want to draw any more attention that I might have already.

I wasn't entirely sure which way I was supposed to go when the service was over. The Mother, a cheerful, young-ish blonde, greeted me warmly and said that she didn't know me. (There's a change for once.) By this time I was flustered but managed to spit out that it was my first time at an Episcopal service and that it was quite different from what I'm used to. I didn't say that I felt like I was watching a movie--maybe a scaled down Scorsese film.

The service was about as much on the other end of the continuum as possible from the contemporary service I've been attending. This is undeniably a church service whereas the other is like a churchy stage production. I'll take hymnals, which also include the music for those like me who can read it, over words projected on screens. I left today feeling different--in a good way, I think--yet I don't know that what I experienced is for me. It might be a nice, sober alternative every once in awhile to the loosey-goosey Methodist service, though.

I should have been more pumped up for the rest of Sunday since the National Football League schedule began in earnest, but my team doesn't play until tomorrow night. Again, the day was lent this strange quality of not being what it was supposed to be.

I knitted some and slept some during the snoozer Steelers-Browns match-up, wandered out for exercise, and soaked up the last day before classes start. Perhaps all this "off-ness" has been beneficial. I usually get quite anxious before the beginning of fall quarter--I don't know why--but I've been preoccupied with making sense of today to get worked up about tomorrow.