Tuesday, October 2, 2012

ANOTHER TESTAMENT

No one wants a slut in their congregation. I’ve been pushed out the door of more than one church due to perceived inhibitions in sexual conduct, consequently judged indecent and unworthy of tolerance. After a lifetime, if you want to consider 27 years a lifetime, I decided instead this past Sunday to purchase and read the Sunday New York Times. My premise for psychological growth has for at least the same interval of time been to identify and let go of, or rid myself of relationships to individuals, communities and institutions that have proven poisonous to my sense of dignity and self-esteem. There are a couple of old saws that are applicable here: looking for love in all the wrong places, and that there is something inherently hypocritical in organized religion. In the desperate sloughs of despond in my journey through life, I’ve resorted to Sunday worship, seeking community and relief from the heap of burning ashes my life had become…and this more than once. I’ve been a congregant in Baptist and United Church of Christ, Methodist, Episcopalian, Presbyterian and even Unitarian churches; and with the possible exception of the muddied reception I got at Judson Memorial, I’ve been ostracized in one way or the other from all of them. There is a managerial imperative in being installed as a priest. The word of God needs to be shaped in such a way as is appealing to the majority of those who attend services, this, if for no other reason, than to insure financial viability. Secondarily, there need to be identified those who will volunteer their efforts and time in service to the congregation’s, or at least the presiding priest’s agenda. I think I was over doused in the work ethic to the point of being singed. Headlong I hurtled into committee attendance and even committee formation, also organizing forums on social issues, attending training courses on congregational enrichment, and very briefly, filling in for Sunday School. The returns on all this effort remain questionable. I have one true friend, a woman I met at Park Slope United Methodist. A true eccentric, she teaches medieval history at a military academy and as avocations, sings lieder, writes historic novels and quilts. I’ve spent more than a few happy hours with her at her home in Brooklyn. With her playful quirkiness, she existed far enough outside the complications of church social life that I could find some meaning in an association with her. My last attempt at connecting with a church community in Newburgh, one that I’d first been involved with for 10 years, then left, then went back to only to leave again, and then finally thought I had made a firm determination on, proved to me beyond a doubt that I could not navigate the bizarre social conventions leading to visibility as a ‘church lady’.