Day 185

Two items crossed off the summer to-do list: went to church and cleaned out the garden shed. Both have been pressing for attention for some time. Church was comfortable. St. Paul’s is less formal that when I was a regular congregant. It is kind of folksy and welcoming. The shed was another story, not so welcoming. I took everything out and found a couple of deceased rodents. Took inventory, dumped unused items, and reassembled the useful ones.

PS

I think it was 1973 when I met Wendell Peterson in an event I wrote about in another place. He asked me to go to church with him. I was a baptized Episcopalian but had only a surface knowledge of the religion. I felt at home instantly, as though I was reuniting with distant family members. Wendell helped me figure out when to stand, kneel or sit. Soon I was singing in the choir, running off the bulletins on an awful gel mimeograph machine, and generally getting involved. Wendell only attended the service and then would hurry away taking me with him. It was when Wendell suddenly dropped out of church that I enjoyed the socializing after the service and became acquainted with the other congregants. I did everything a lay person can do including reading the sermons on the absence of the priest, delivering communion, carrying the chalice, and becoming the Senior Warden for two priests. I had two periods when I did not attend: one when I went to live in Sonoma for eight months, and after Marilla attacked me. I went back when I returned to Crescent City and when Marilla was replaced. I didn’t ever feel that I fit as well after that experience. I lost trust in some long time friends who made comments that indicated they weren’t sure what happened with Marilla. The fact that half the congregation left with me should have been enough evidence that she was the problem. When I went back I had no desire to do anything except attend services. I didn’t want any responsibility any longer. One Sunday, after communion, I went back to my pew and knelt to pray when big hot tears came. I wasn’t crying. Had no idea where they were coming from or what they were about. Hollie saw the tears and said, It’s almost over, meaning the service. No, I said, It is over, meaning my membership. I felt that I had been dismissed. I tried to go back a couple of times but felt out of place.

This year, on my birthday, I was thinking of the prayer for birthdays and remembered the many birthday blessings I had received there. Over the next couple of months I ran into members who were warm and friendly. No questions were ever asked about my sudden departure. Hymns would hum in my mind, and I would recognize where they came from and feel kind of nostalgic. When both Mike Tompkins and Pat Black entered into the picture, I knew that I was being called back. They didn’t invite or ask questions. They were simply themselves representing the church in the way they live their lives.

So, the ex-pat returned to find a tiny congregation and an informality that was unexpected. I was warmly welcomed and felt at ease and at home. I might just make it a regular thing.