When the spirit moves you

I haven't gone to church in a while. That's unusual for me. I like church, even while I dislike some of the politics, the crowd, or the sense of righteousness that often accompanies churchgoing in general.

I grew up going to Catholic mass. (Now, when I attend, it is an Episcopal service I attend.) As a child, we usually hit folk mass. I loved singing along. I also loved spotting Mr.Jr.Crush with his family in a nearby row. I had a terrible crush on him and folk mass was my special occasion to feel closer to him. Dad would stop and pick up donuts after church, so a sweet sugar high was the perfect ending to the morning.

I couldn't tell you much about my spiritual education as a child, just that I was taught that there was "right" and "wrong," that I should resist evil, and that I loved wearing white for my First Holy Communion. My mother made my beautiful dress for that day. My father bought my corsage. My Godmother chose the cross I wore. I felt holy and lovely and part of things greater than my small, awkward life.

Never superior or chosen, just part of things greater than myself.

Church these days feels a bit more complicated, of course. Still, I am drawn to sermons, to music and to light. While at times I am cynical, I still have faith that we are part of something greater than our small lives. The majesty of it all.

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