Sunday, November 24, 2013

Shine Like A Little Candle

Recently, I received a phone call asking me if I’d help with a local church’s anniversary. Apparently, someone had suggested my name because of my early affiliation with the church as well my background as a local historian. In a way, I think they were surprised when I said, “Yes.” 

To some extent, I surprised myself as I am not a regular church goer. The Presbyterian Church of Canada would call me “an adherent”—a phrase which always reminds me of something that gets stuck on the bottom of one’s shoes—but if I am an adherent, one could be forgiven for thinking that these ties are tenuous at best. Nevertheless, it is my parents' church and the church of my childhood.  

Notice the Blogger's Hat
The fact is that my values are largely Sunday School values. From pre-school until the age of twelve, I attended regularly. At the time, it was by convention and parental edict rather than a personal choice on my part, but I have taken to heart the “Do Unto Others” lessons that I learnt there. Two hymns from that era still resonate with me: God Sees the Little Sparrow Fall and Jesus Bids Us Shine. I like the idea of, and believe that there is, a higher consciousness at work in the world; one that watches over and cares about us. Likewise, the spiritual advice that we are meant to shine like “pure clear lights” in a “world of darkness”—“you in your small corner and I in mine” still makes a lot of sense to me. The world would be an infinitely better place if we all did that.  

When it came time to join the church around the age of twelve, I balked and refused to do so. The argument that all my peers were joining and my mother’s teary pleas didn’t sway me. Truly a child of the 1960’s, I cited two major flaws in the church at that time: 1) They published the amount of money each church member gave in a little booklet for all to read and 2) They did not allow anyone to take communion unless they were an adult member of the Presbyterian Church. I argued that when we gave, we were meant to do it in such a way that one hand didn’t know what the other was doing. As for communion, I said that, under the current rules, Christ himself would be excluded from it.  
 
A Hat Encore
It is noteworthy that both of these practices no longer exist; at the tender age of twelve, I was already a deep thinker and ahead of my time. The mandatory Church clothes that we had to wear—one’s best dress; hat; gloves; purse have given way to more casual attire. I suspect that the sermon on the “evils of Marilyn Monroe” which was preached from the church pulpit during my childhood wouldn’t take place these days either. As a child, I didn’t know who Marilyn was, but I thought she must be a terribly bad person.  
 
During church services in my childhood, it was not uncommon for me to experience what is known in yogic philosophy as Kundalini.  The best way for me to describe it is an electric current moving up one’s spine. Somehow, I knew that this was connected with the sacred or more specifically, God moving through me. Other times, I would sit there quietly counting the many light bulbs in the ceiling. The self-discipline that was required to sit still in one’s seat for an hour each week was useful training for later in life—a kind of sitting meditation that to this day allows me to hear the still, small voice within.  
 
Another Hat Encore
Having said that, I felt equally close to God when I climbed up onto the roof our house at the age of five; carrying a basket of purple grapes and staring up at the clouds in the sky. I spent two days up there on the roof, coming down only for meals and bedtime. During the busy time of harvest on the farm, no one noticed that I was gone. At an early age, I learned that one does not need four walls or a church in order to feel close to God.  

At mid-life and feeling burnt out, I quit my job, walked the Camino in Spain and then, enrolled in Knox College. It puzzled people as to why someone who had drifted away from the church might decide to attend Theological College. All I can say is that I envisioned (incorrectly) that it would be akin to a lively Irish pub filled with folks like Bono who would sit around discussing the “Big Questions” of life. Questioning was at the heart of my own spiritual journey; I was taken aback to find myself in the midst of those who seemed certain in their answers. Needless to say, I fit in like the proverbial square peg and lasted only one term there. 
However, my time at Knox was not a complete loss. Thanks to a class taught by The Rev. Dr. Stuart Macdonald, an extraordinary Professor of Church History, I had the opportunity to learn about the Quakers which was the faith of my Great-Grandmother’s family. During that course, I learned that the Quakers were known as “seekers” or “Children of the Light;” that they believed: that knowledge of God is direct and inward as opposed to coming from an outside authority; that the Light is within all people (not just Christians) and has the power to transform us; that spirituality is an inner experience. Since my time at Knox, I’ve known that, while I might have been raised a Presbyterian, I am Quaker in my thinking and have more in common with the early Christian mystics who went into the desert than with those hard-working souls who make all those delicious church suppers. 
 
So why then, you might ask, would I agree to help the local Presbyterian Church with its Anniversary celebrations? To be truthful, they asked for my help; it happened to require my particular skill set; and so I said, “Yes.” Sometimes, it’s that simple. I think it is to their credit that, given my lapsed status, they were willing to work with me.

At the first meeting, I offered to do research and assemble an Anniversary booklet; I have created a blog on the church’s history as well. In doing so, I’m developing a new appreciation for the church of my childhood and am re-discovering a wonderful community of people that I’ve known for many years.  

Will I become a full-fledged Presbyterian member any time soon? Not likely, but who knows? It’s hard to imagine that I will ever recognize a spiritual authority other than God speaking directly to my own heart, but it has been said that God works in mysterious ways. In the meantime, I am grateful to have been raised in the church and for the lessons that I learned there. Well, other than that Marilyn Monroe thing. I’m sure God will forgive me if I don’t take that one too much to heart.

3 comments:

  1. Even back then you had the 'cuteness factor' going for you. You must have really liked that hat...

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  2. Thanks, Carol. Cute and feisty. What a combination, huh?! I think it was my only hat and that's why it kept re-appearing in the photos. It was that era when you had one good outfit, wore things until you outgrew them and then, passed them on to younger siblings. I expect you remember this too.

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  3. Yes I do. Although I didn't really pass them on to a sibling because my only younger one was a brother...and I don't think he would have looked too kindly on that! I was mostly the recipient of the hand me downs, and that was fine with me. Probably why I still shop at Value Village etc.

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