It was Easter Sunday this past week, and my friend, E, invited me to attend church with her and her family.
Some background; I would say that E is the most religious
friend I have, of which most of my squad tends to be neutral or agnostic. When
we worked with one another back in the day, she was keen on carrying out a
religious inquisition of my soul, believing I was damned if I did not join her
camp. I would parry her attempts by demonstrating my allegiance to the Eldar
God, Cthulhu. Light hearted banter filled with blithe remarks and pithy
comebacks, but often this would result in spirited discussions about life, the
existence of a higher power, and death. Discussions I thrive from.
As a seeker of knowledge, I took her up on her offer
to check out her church during Easter. I considered it a big deal as Easter is
a big deal for the faithful, and was flattered to have been invited.
I wore my Sunday’s best, and drove out to St. Charles. The western city is to me as the shadow place was to Simba and the good animals of the pride land (lion king reference). Typically, I never venture across the river, unless to hang out with a friend or for a work happy hour or lunch. When I first learned about St. Charles, it was jokingly referred to me as God’s Country. It is somewhat homogenous and vanilla when compared to St. Louis, it being the heart of suburbia, lacking the diversity of restaurants and culture that can be found in STL, but my closest friend from the area is from there, so it is what it is.
I get to the church, which was as if a traditional church
had been merged with a community center. Turns out I’m early. I decide to sit
on the bench just outside the entrance and get some reading in before my friends
show up. There is a woman who was sitting on one side of the bench. I asked her
if it was alright if I joined her on the bench, to which she said absolutely
and enthusiastically waved her hand to the open space beside her. We chatted
for a brief moment. She never asked me exactly what I was doing there, but she
seemed somewhat curious at my arrival. It was obvious by my attire that I was
going inside eventually. While I was sitting there, I received a lot of curious
glances. I found it amusing.
E and her family show up, and they’re not at all dressed up
as I had expected for Easter. I am wearing a dark blue suit and a complimentary
blue tie. We go inside and are greeted by several people. A lady I meet
recognizes me as “the Sunny from E’s FB wall”. I can’t help but blush and
wonder what sort of crude and inappropriate discussions this woman was witness
too. After a moment, we go into the actual prayer hall area and sit down. E and
her family like to sit at near the very front, which put me in direct contact
with the Pastor and other people who run this operation. They introduced
themselves and asked me a bit about myself, and thanked me for being there with
them on that day.
As a side note, I will say that stuck out quite a bit, as I was the only observable colored person in attendance beside a little black kid, who Micah at one point gave a high five too. I was not uncomfortable in the slightest, as everyone I had encountered was tremendously pleasant.
The service, once begun, was interesting. I wasn’t really sure what to expect, but it was praise-worship heavy. I think that’s an interesting difference between a Sikh temple and a Christian church. The activities that occur within the prayer hall of a Sikh temple are more of an individualistic, meditative experience. The community and bonding tends to happen in the langar hall, where people are making food together, sharing a chai, and kids running around being kids. You can take breaks during the prayers in a Sikh temple and go out for a chai or whatever food they have laid out for people and just hang. During the service at E’s church, it was more of a communal-worshiping experience with the other church goers. A lot more formal.
Later in the service, who I assumed was the head pastor gave
a talk about Lazarus and Jesus. I thought it was an interesting story. Jesus is
informed that Lazarus is sick, but doesn’t do anything to help his friend until
after he has died. He then resurrects Lazarus with his divine powers (of which
I learned about in the book, Lamb), as a demonstration of God’s power to all in
attendance at Lazarus’s grave. I believe the story was focused on those of us
that face suffering in life, which is really everyone at some point or another.
When faced with real suffering, a person’s faith shakes and crumbles. I think
the story was to challenge people, saying to them to not despair when faced
with suffering, because God will have your back. Suffering is universal, but it’s
not the only side to the coin.
Anyways, that is my interpretation of it, at least. I walked
away feeling good about myself, and was grateful to be included in someone's
Easter activities. E always made mention that church is a great place to pick
up woman, but there was only one person who caught my attention while being
there. Further research must be done to prove this notion true.
