We all have our take on
organized religion. Much of our
perspective is probably shaped by our religious experiences growing up.
I don’t normally talk
about religion because it is such a hot button issue. And, in my experience, if you tell someone
you are not religious, a cloud falls over the conversation. It is as if suddenly their view of you
changes, you are judged not for what you are, but for what you are NOT.
But in doing some spring
cleaning recently I got to thinking about it all.
You see, we have a PEW on
our porch. A real, live, honest to
goodness CHURCH PEW. We got it for free
when a neighborhood church decided to close and let itself be replaced by
affordable housing (which is something in short supply around us). I saw a posting saying that they had pews to
give away, and for some reason I felt like I really needed one…
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| Our pew |
It was an odd addition to
our house, really. I don’t “do”
Pinterest, so there are not quaint, crafty items in our décor. In fact, there really is no décor… With us, if it functions, it stays. (Full disclosure – just this month we have
been talking about replacing our purple velvet sofa that we have had for over
19 years, so I guess there is a limit even for us…) But something about the idea of a pew on the
porch called to me…
And when we went to the
church to see it, I couldn’t believe it.
It was basically the same pew I grew up sitting on every Sunday
morning!! It had the hymnal holder on
the back, the rounded top, it even has the teeny tiny communion cup holders! It was painted in some spots, whereas the
pews in “our church” were all stained wood, but this was as close to “original”
piece of my childhood as I could imagine getting. And it even had a purple cushion, which
matched our porch!!!
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| Hymnal holders and small spots for tiny communion cups |
One borrowed truck and
help from a new neighbor later – the pew found a home on our front porch.
Let me say this: the pew brought back a lot of emotional
baggage. It made me think of the hours I
spent sitting in a very similar one. Some
of the memories were happy – standing next to my Grandma Thompson and singing “This
is My Story, This is My Song,” at the top of my lungs… Quietly making small pen marks on the front
of the bulletin, then giving it to my cousin Kristine and watching her hunt for
them. Holding my mom’s hand, removing
one of her rings, and putting it on my own finger. The smell of communion grape juice and the
clinking of the tiny plastic cups it was served in. And staring at the wooden ceiling, wondering
if a big plank fell, who would be
crushed… (yes, I did that every Sunday,
I guess I was a weird kid).
But the pew also brought
back a lot of really bad memories. I
don’t need to go into all of those here, but suffice it to say, the bad
memories are what flooded in.
The really horrible
memory, the one that I replay and regret to this day, is one that happened long
after I moved away. I was visiting my
family and went to church with them. The
“pastor” stood up in front of the entire congregation and proclaimed that gays
should not be allowed in the military. I
sat in that pew. I sat there while he
“preached” hatred and divisiveness.
And. I. Did.
Nothing.
I don’t think I ever
walked back into that building again voluntarily – that is to say, if it wasn’t
a family occasion that warranted my attendance.
So, why a pew on my porch?? If the memories of sitting in a similar one
cause such angst, why relive it at my own home?
I am not sure, really.
Since bringing home the
pew, I have called that part of the porch “The Church of the Big Yellow
House”. But now I realize that is wrong. “Church” holds a lot of negativity for me,
and the name alone leaves people out.
I think perhaps CHAPEL is
a better moniker. A chapel that welcomes
all – gay, straight, black, white, American, immigrant, married, single,
childless, reproducer, clean, high, sick, healthy, any religion (or no
religion), any age, any anyone.
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| Stained glass soon to be hanging in the Big Yellow Chapel |
The pew somehow brings about
a sense of peace. Sitting on it, reading
a book, watching traffic, drinking wine, thinking.
I am glad that I have
grown. Now that I am older, I like to
think I would not sit silent if a “leader” espoused divisiveness and hate from
a pulpit. I would like to believe I am
now a person who, when confronted with a bigot who “preached” that people who
are gay are anything but equal, would be strong enough to stand, and with a loud
but likely wavering voice, pronounce that he was WRONG, and that US Air Force
Senior Airman Zach Wheeler, my nephew-in-law, is proof of that. And, if I could not find the courage to
speak, I believe that I would indeed have the strength to stand, take a deep
breath, and exit as he continued to speak, hopefully leading out more
like-minded people who believe that love is love.
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| Thank you for your service, Zach. You are a very welcome and loved part of our family. |
So yeah. The Chapel of the Big Yellow House is open
for the season. You won’t find any
pulpit or religious materials in this chapel.
But if you want to stop by and sit a spell, let me know. I can make room for you (and maybe even serve
you a cold glass of lemonade while you sit and breathe).
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