I'm a believer without being a conformist. I'm spiritual without being institutional. I pray when the mood strikes me and I don't feel any less Heaven bound for not dressing up and setting in a butt numbing pew two hours a week. I think one of the purposes of a church is to keep people focused. If they don't have a designated time and place to worship, their enthusiasm will wane and they'll just forget to care, maybe. It's all speculation. I believe that a lot of good people get what they need out of going to church, but there are also a few pious screwballs in the bunch.
I think with a little willpower and self motivation spirituality can be yours anywhere at all times. Don't get me wrong, if church works for a person, I say go. Definitely! Although I have no desire to join one (unless it be for strictly academic purposes) or to follow someone else's ideas on what is righteous. I do find churches and religions fascinating. The dynamics of Catholicism enthralls me. The tradition, the mechanics, the secrecy...
My own spirituality was sparked in a church. As a child, I went to a very small Baptist church in a speck on the map village. I sort of stumbled into religion. The preacher and his family lived three or so miles down the road and along the way he'd pick up kids that wanted to attend. I had fun at that church and probably without realizing it, the foundation of my belief system was fostered there.
I may be biased, but from what I remember the people who attended this church were genuinely nice. My fondest memory was of our communions. We periodically had communion in a relaxed atmosphere. We'd all stand up and gather close. Two members would walk around with platters, distributing 'the body' and 'the blood'. Being a small church, one lady, Mary Hamilton, was designated to bake 'the body' portion of our communion in the church kitchen, while 'the blood' was simply grape juice.
My cousin and I loved communion. The bread/cake stuff was delicious. It was like a really sweet unleavened bread. We'd worm up to the front of the group and pick the biggest chunks on the platter. That was some tasty Savior.
One time I'd gone to the kitchen after the service to help Mary clean up. I remember having ulterior motives.
I asked her "Mary, how do you make the communion bread?"
She looked at me wisely and said "It's the body of Christ."
I stared at her stunned for a moment. "I know, but the bread itself, what is it? It's really good."
She smiled and said, subtly stressing her words, "It's the body of Christ, dear."
I got it then. Mary had no intention of relenting that the stuff we took for communion was anything less than a mysterious representation of the actual body of Christ, let alone sharing the recipe with me.
I guess she didn't know or care that I was a kid who caught on fast and had never been one to entertain fanciful theories. I'd never even believed in Santa Clause, for Heaven's sakes!
That was years ago and Mary's long passed. I think of that little exchange once in a while and chuckle. But I sure wish I could've gotten that recipe out of her.
Hey all you lovely readers! I was puttering around the kitchen this morning when from the radio came one of the hippest, most melodiest songs to ever be crooned from a velvet throated master.