Amen
Yesterday, A---- and I went to church. Recently I've been on a bit of a kick about wanting to find a larger meaning in it all, and while I'm not sure I'm going to make the leap from being a non-believer to embracing a full religion, I am open to the possibility that I could find something within religion that I would find helpful. We went to Synagogue a few weeks ago, as well (I may write about that another day), but yesterday we decided to attend the Baptist church where A----'s cousin is the pastor.
We sat in the car for 10 minutes after we parked, trying to work up the nerve to go in. Funnily enough, we were more nervous about the fact that I was going to be the only white person there, than about being a lesbian couple in a room full of Baptists. Over the past year or so, we've developed a "don't ask, don't tell" policy with A----'s family that has worked quite well all around, and I think we imagined that as long as we weren't overt about our status as a couple, it wouldn't be a problem.
And I have to say, the welcome was warm. Several people came over to introduce themselves to us, clearly happy to have us there. And as the service got underway, I was moved by the music that seemed to accompany everything, and the responsiveness of the congregation to the prayers.
About an hour into the service (we'd been told it would be about two hours total) a pastor who was visiting from Louisiana stood at the pulpit to offer a prayer. Heads bowed, we rocked along with the cadence of his words and the accompanying organ, punctuated by "Amens" from the congregation. He was slowly building up to a crescendo, and I felt myself swept along, unclenching a little more. Today, though I can only recall two lines of his prayer.
Amen!
And like that, my blood froze. I felt A---- still next to me as well. We both stood there, deaf to the words that were being called out. I wondered how I was going to make it through another hour, clenched as I was again. I felt A---- nudge me, and I looked at her.
We walked out as the sound of the organ died out, and I wondered how it was possible that a pastor from Louisiana could be worried about homosexuals right now, given all the devestation that still haunts that state nearly a year after Katrina.
Drug Addicts. Homosexuals. I just can't make sense of it.
We sat in the car for 10 minutes after we parked, trying to work up the nerve to go in. Funnily enough, we were more nervous about the fact that I was going to be the only white person there, than about being a lesbian couple in a room full of Baptists. Over the past year or so, we've developed a "don't ask, don't tell" policy with A----'s family that has worked quite well all around, and I think we imagined that as long as we weren't overt about our status as a couple, it wouldn't be a problem.
And I have to say, the welcome was warm. Several people came over to introduce themselves to us, clearly happy to have us there. And as the service got underway, I was moved by the music that seemed to accompany everything, and the responsiveness of the congregation to the prayers.
About an hour into the service (we'd been told it would be about two hours total) a pastor who was visiting from Louisiana stood at the pulpit to offer a prayer. Heads bowed, we rocked along with the cadence of his words and the accompanying organ, punctuated by "Amens" from the congregation. He was slowly building up to a crescendo, and I felt myself swept along, unclenching a little more. Today, though I can only recall two lines of his prayer.
And let us pray for the drug addicts!
Amen!
And let us pray for the drug homosexuals!
Amen!
And like that, my blood froze. I felt A---- still next to me as well. We both stood there, deaf to the words that were being called out. I wondered how I was going to make it through another hour, clenched as I was again. I felt A---- nudge me, and I looked at her.
We walked out as the sound of the organ died out, and I wondered how it was possible that a pastor from Louisiana could be worried about homosexuals right now, given all the devestation that still haunts that state nearly a year after Katrina.
Drug Addicts. Homosexuals. I just can't make sense of it.
posted by Rebecca at 5:27 PM
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