Detoxing The Spirit

I do not know how long ago it was when I last attended the worship service. I was a visitor to this moderate-size congregation, and I came, along with my husband and daughter, only because I knew the pastor from way, way back when I was still in college. We were members of a different church congregation then, and he was leading the youth group.

To be honest, I did not mind coming in and leaving unnoticed to this group. I was quite relieved that no one asked for first-time visitors to stand up and be acknowledged. I wasn’t looking forward to be handed an info sheet and a welcome pack. All I wanted was to appreciate the service.

The service took place in a rented venue, a cozy little theater with a stage that could hold a musical performance. There were details of renaissance touches, wall paint that mimicked draperies and a faux entranceway to an imaginary hall. The larger-than-life neon sign of a harlequin outside the building could not have given any passerby a hint that some people actually prayed in this building on Sunday mornings.

No, the ambiance was not that of a regular church, not from its subdued lighting nor the cold draft of the centralized air conditioning. It was cold enough even for some members to welcome the pashmina shawls and styro cups of instant coffee offered by the ushers.

Right away, I connected to the theme of the theater’s interior, the way it mirrored the illusion of my life some years ago when I was a practicing, active believer. In my early teens, my social interactions involved Sunday church meetings and Bible studies, youth fellowships and summer camps, Christmas cantatas, discipleship training, even a month of foreign missions.

I could have spent the rest of my life in the mission field or being the wife of a minister, and the decision to do otherwise came from a desire to live an ordinary life. Eventually, different aspects of my life, personal or professional, excluded the spiritual. I could not even readily recall the name of the last church I was with, let alone a single name of any of its members I attended the service with.

The fellow who led the singing called out “God loves you, He loves you very much”. As I readied myself to hear more trite expressions, that was when I realized that I had estranged myself so much that I wasn’t willing to receive the basic truth of what he said.

Slowly, the gap began to close, and once more, I was getting reacquainted with The Being around which my existence could not have been bearable. I was practically anonymous here, left alone in my privacy with God. Forgiveness would be asked, an inner cleansing would need to take place, and renewal, sweet renewal, would be well on its way.

Though the songs were not familiar, I was soaking in their words. Tears were now streaming down my face, my hands were held out, surrendering, reaching out. I was awash with the urge to have the broken parts of my life fixed and to have the flame of faith once more burn.

I am what I am now, and at that moment, I was simply content to be where I was…reflecting on my life’s journeys right here in an unlikely place of worship.