Yesterday morning my husband and I attended an Episcopalian church service at the invitation of a friend who worships there weekly. Mostly we went to hear that friend sing during the service, but part of me was hoping, as I always do when I go to any church -- this was only my fifth or sixth time since I'm Jewish -- that God would also be there. Once again I was disappointed by his absence, and by the total lack of spirituality I found there.Don't get me wrong, it was a pleasant experience. The parishioners all knew one another and were happy to be together and sing songs in praise of Jesus, standing up and sitting back down at the direction of the leader, who in this case was called the Rector. She was a cheerful young woman who wore a long white smock over her black pants and shirt and a satiny shawl around her neck, setting her apart from the rest of us as a direct conduit to Our Heavenly Father. But the black plastic Crocs clearly visible on her feet dispelled that idea and marked her as an ordinary lady who shops at the mall. I am pretty sure she too has never met God, despite "taking Jesus as her savior."
Towards the end of the service the congregants lined up to receive the little cracker and sip of red wine that represent the body and blood of Christ. Mitch and I passed, but we did partake of the coffee and some delightful blueberry cakes laid out afterwards. They were representative of nothing but were still quite tasty.
This morning when I woke up I prayed alone in my own bedroom. There was no music, no singing, and no book of prayers to recite, but I'm pretty sure I felt God there with me.
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