Tongues

I'm not really a huge church girl. You might know that my mom was a Jehovah's Witness when I was little, and perhaps it soured me on religion a bit. Lloyd likes to go to church, so I go. Sometimes. We have tried many different churches. It's pretty hard to find one we both like because we both have specific, and mostly totally different criteria. Lloyd, for example, likes a church that looks like a church. He absolutely will not attend a service in a sheet metal building. He is also opposed to electric guitars at church. I, on the other hand, require a church that has a peaceful vibe. This is not always obvious right at the beginning, and is sufficiently fuzzy to drive Lloyd insane. We both agree on names: we will not go to a church with a weird name. Anything with the words 'harvest', 'blood', 'water', 'redemption', 'life' or 'pentecostal' in the name is not going to fly. We also both despise the 'greet your neighbor' portion of a service. It's pretty much a waste of time because we already have plenty of regular real-life neighbors we hate.

The church we go to now is probably the only one I have ever attended that I actually like. One of the great things about it is that everyone and anyone is truly welcome there. Oh, I know, all the churches SAY that, but if you look around, everyone looks the same because they drive out anyone who's different with their judginess. Just for instance, we tried the church on the corner that we can walk to. Some guy came up to me and asked me for my church history. I said, 'Same as anyone else, I guess. I used to go to a different church and now I'm here.' Guess that wasn't good enough because he kept pressing me, like I was a dog and he needed to see my pedigree. We never went back, and too bad, because it was super convenient. This is the same church where this happened. Perhaps I've just had extra bad church luck, but here's a story about an on-base church that I wrote. I was so cross about it I didn't even want to put it on my own blog and instead asked my wonderful friend Helen to post it for me.

Now we drive 3o miles to the church I like. Everybody really IS welcome there. On any given Sunday, here's what you might see for ushers: a retired logger with the boots and suspenders, an elderly church lady all done up fancy with a Queen of England hat, a teenager with tattoooes that just got baptized after kicking his drug addiction and a guy so gay he swishes audibly, or any other manner of motley misfits that would probably be cast out of another church faster than you can say 'Jesus loves everybody! Oh, jeans at church? What an INTERESTING idea! Bless your heart, dear!' This place does backpack giveaways for the entire community before school starts, passes out groceries all year, and puts on picnics and carnivals for the whole town. The kids love their classes, everyone is super nice, and the sermons are generally informative and compelling. That's another one of my criteria, I like to learn something. The pastor has a really refreshing viewpoint, and often comes up with something that makes perfect sense, yet is different than anything I've ever heard before. I know it sounds like it might be sort of out there, but it's a standard mainstream Christian church, in every respect. And no forced greetings!

So I was pretty surprised this week when the pastor announced, almost as an aside while making a larger point, that he speaks in tongues. Often, but only when he's by himself, and he calls it praying in the spirit. I've read a little about this; it interests me. I have questions: is it consistent gibberish? Does a particular word always mean the same word, or does it vary? Could you translate, say, an order at McDonald's into the spirit language? Does it share sentence structure and grammar with English? Or is it totally random, different every time? I really want to know these things, for a couple of reasons. I like words and language, for one thing, but it also seems similar to how stories come to me, just out of the air into my head, begging to be written down. I mostly ignore them, of course, because the writing down part is a buttload of work. I used to think the stories were a gift from God, because I read an article about how a famous songwriter, Alan Jackson maybe, got his songs from the ether in a similar manner. I was quite enthralled with my newly discovered gift until I read a book written by someone I knew who said her story had arrived in the same magical way. Her book was hands down the worst thing I ever read and DEFINITELY did not come from God, unless God, unbeknownst to us all, is a hack with a second grade vocabulary, subpar grammar and a nonexistent sense of pacing. As a result, I was forced to reassess the provenance of my own efforts, and so far have not come to a satisfactory answer.

Anyway, I am very interested in learning some more about the mechanics of how this tongues thing works but I'm definitely not going to The Holy Boa Constrictor Harvest of the Blood Redemption for research. If I get a chance I'm going to ask the pastor ALL about it, but maybe there's another way. Any of you guys speak in tongues? Or know someone? If you can answer the questions, feel free to leave me an anonymous comment if you don't want to come out of the closet. Also, let me know if you want to come to church with me! Seriously, the place is a hoot; you wouldn't be sorry.

Hell has Frozen Over and Monkeys are Flying out my Butt

Well, it's official. I just had my first 'I miss Osan' experience. If you must know, I've been sort of mocking all my Osan friends who have moved on and then pine for it. As you may know, or suspect, Osan is sort of dreary, and I have not missed it even once before today. Well, maybe except for the day the old lady annoyed me in the park in English instead of Korean. But it is a simple, pleasant life in some ways and it does have its little charms. Chiefly, all the fantastic friends and neighbors. The ones that don't say a single word when your kids streak down the hall or throw a tantrum in the post office. The ones that always have that weird spice you need on Monday when the commissary is closed. The ones that are always up for a stroll to Chili's for a margarita on a Tuesday night even if its 12 degrees with 3o mph winds. The ones that will take your kids off your hands with six seconds' notice for however long you need. I'm not kidding when I say that virtually ALL of my neighbors there fit that description, even the ones that secretly didn't like me. I guess I'm a little spoiled, you think?

Today I had a little chat with a neighbor, and let me tell you, she was NOT Osan-worthy. I've met most of our closest neighbors, briefly, but the boys have been playing with some kids up the street lately, and the mom came down to our end of the cul de sac this afternoon. Mostly to tell me, in a very humorless tone, that her kids aren't allowed to come in my yard, go on our trampoline or otherwise consort with us in any way beyond playing in the street. I could almost see the air quotes around 'trampolining'.

Sadly, I was not totally surprised by her dour countenance, because I had just been talking to her eight year old. Actual conversation:

8 year old boy: Where's Weston?

Me: He does an afternoon program at the church on the corner.

8 year old boy: I don't think that's a Baptist church.

Me: No, it's a United Methodist.

8 year old boy (smirking): Oh. See, we're CHRISTIANS, not Methodists.

Me: Uh-huh.

I can sort of understand her concern- I mean, sure, she doesn't want her kids to hop on the hell train down here at Casa de Evil Trampoline Jumping Methodist Church Attenders or anything. It didn't help that our black cat was torturing a mouse in the driveway at the time. Good thing she didn't look in the house or she would have seen the half eaten ramen bar on the living room floor. The one true Baptist-only deity probably HATES that. I bet there is a commandment and everything. Number eleven, most likely, and I'm sure it addresses uncooked foodstuffs in a very severe manner. Boy, is she going to be sorry when the earthquake comes and it will be NO TRAMPOLINE AND NO RAMEN for her! I don't know what her policy on mouse meat is, but Henry will probably share.

I'm going to try to turn the other cheek, because that's the Methodist thing to do. Also, more monkeys might hit her that way. And if any of my Osan pals are ever in town, CALL ME! I miss you guys.

Humiliation in absentia

So! Who's up for a good embarrassing kid story???? I've been humiliated in church before: you can read about it here. But today, I hit the benchmark for efficiency in mortification- I had my ass handed to me in front of the whole congregation, and I WASN'T EVEN THERE!

I didn't want to go to church today. Lloyd was annoyed with me, and we briefly bickered about it while Weston taped 'NO FITNG' signs to Henry the cat and Ranger the dog (seen here and here). Then Lloyd and and the boys went off to church and I lounged around in my underwear. Church problem solved, right? NOT SO FAST, MISSY! Because when Lloyd returned from church, he brought with him the most hilarious and embarrassing church story EVER.

Weston, who has always been a timid child, often will not speak up, even when someone talks directly to him. The church we've been going to has children's church up front at the beginning of every service, and he has been getting used to going up there but is still quite introverted. Shane, on the other hand, climbs right up on the benches up there and zooms around like he's flying, complete with sound effects, until someone scoops him off. This morning, the children's pastor was telling some little homily about how sometimes bad things can happen, and Weston chose that very second to pipe up. In front of the deadly quiet chapel he loudly contributed this little gem: "My mom and dad were fighting this morning because my mom didn't want to come to church!" According to Lloyd, the pastor said hastily, "Let's pray!" and then marched all the kids off without a backward glance.

I have never been so glad to have skipped something in my entire life. Maybe next week Lloyd will stay home with me.

The Search for Truth

We’ve been looking for a church lately. Sort of. We don’t know where we’re going to be living, and looking for a good church is really hard work so we don’t want to put in a lot of effort just yet. We always have a hard time- Lloyd and I are both picky but about different things. He likes an old-fashioned type church with hymns instead of contemporary music, and he likes for the building to LOOK like a church. He will not set foot in a metal-sided building that calls itself a church, no matter what. And no overhead video screens; he hates that. I have to have a nice peaceful-feeling place with no yelling and not too much of that ‘greet your neighbor’ crap. I like sermons that teach things about the context of the time and place. And I’m not a fan of fancy rituals, so an Episcopal church is out no matter how much fun their parties are. We agree on only two criteria: the pastor has to be sincere, and we won’t go to a church with a weird name, like ‘Holy Redemption Water of Life’. The warning words are ‘Redemption’, ‘Harvest’, ‘Blood’, ‘Life’ and ‘Water’. Just so you know, if you see any of the red flag words, and the church is in a metal-sided building, stay clear for sure: There are definitely snakes in there. Maybe even more than one kind. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. And of course, it has to have a good program for the kids. Usually we end up with a Baptist or United Methodist church.

Not wanting to try a bunch of new places, because I REALLY hate that, we have been going to the church we went to a long time ago when Lloyd was first stationed here. Some people love going to new churches and even do it for fun, but I loathe it. All that talking to new people who are ridiculously friendly, the not knowing when to sit and when to stand or where the bathroom is, and the worst of all: not having any idea when it’s going to be over. The old church is a pretty long drive, but the kids like it. Lloyd doesn’t like the music but I had no major complaints until this week. I know what to expect, the sermons are interesting, it’s always over on time and the part where you have to say good morning to your neighbor is mercifully short.

So, what’s the problem, right? It’s political. Twice during the service, I heard comments that were clearly meant to disparage any political views contrary to those of the church leadership. A Christian church is supposed to be for everyone, regardless of their political viewpoints. WWJD and all that. I lack the arrogance necessary to act like I know what God thinks, but I am snotty enough to put my opinion on my blog, so here goes: Taking a political position and ascribing it to God is like thinking he cares who wins the Super Bowl, or whether the cartoon is Tom and Jerry or Little Einsteins. GOD DOESN’T CARE, PEOPLE! He doesn’t care if you’re a capitalist or a socialist, a Libertarian, a Democrat or a Republican or anything in between. Capitalism and Democracy are no more sanctioned or directed by God than are the Dallas Cowboys. God doesn’t care about whatever puny systems we set up to govern ourselves. I guess Democracy and Capitalism are marginally better than some other systems that have come and gone, or that operate in other parts of the world, but they are nothing to write home about. We should be trying to create a system where there are no starving children or people dying because they can’t afford or don’t have access to medical care, and where millions of gallons of expensive poison don't destroy delicate and important ecosystems instead of trying to stamp out other ideas in the misguided name of God.

I can barely stop myself from going off on a tear about people who still think that our great white forefathers were destined by God to come to the new world and slaughter the natives in the name of manifest destiny, then exploit the natural resources and less fortunate labor pool in the name of a God-sanctioned political/economic system that fills their pockets. They were chosen by God to rule the world, didn’t you know? So anyone who thinks otherwise is going straight to Hades, and you better vote for the guy that’s going to cut the capital gains tax and those profit-cutting environmental and safety regulations, and then bomb the hell out of anyone who gets in their way, or else don’t come to their church anymore. OKAY BY ME! On second thought, maybe I should check out those nice Episcopalians again. I hear they have the best wine and they're generous with the portions.