"All You Need Is Love..."

Well, today is Maundy Thursday, although don't ask me what a Maundy is because I have no idea.  And when I learn what it is, I'll forget until I learn it again next year.  We arrived to tonight's church service slightly frazzled from being 10 minutes late - babysitter had lost track of time - but settled in right away with that wonderful, familiar comfort of being surrounded by our church family as we all partook in prayer and earnest listening.  My husband's demeanor changed almost instantly upon sinking into his chair, as he reached for my hand and held it tight in a wordless expression of appreciation for his incredibly lucky wife.  As the service continued, he rested his head on my shoulder, a gesture significant for its irony, considering that our roles 99% of the time are me as the drama queen flailing with emotion and him as the rock.  But when this man so known for exuding a steady and unshakeable strength laid his head on my shoulder like a child to a parent, it felt like an admittance of vulnerability, and for once, I felt like the rock.  It felt good.  I smiled to myself as he uttered quiet words of love to me that no one else could hear, and adorned my shoulder with several soft kisses.  It reminded me of our little son who had insisted on giving me a big, wet kiss before we left the house tonight, and I couldn't help but smile to myself at how similar their styles of loving were: so simple, so unconditional, so unafraid.  I felt the warmth of knowing that these two men, big and small, loved me with every fiber of their beings, and I was whole.  And not just because of their love, but because of the love of this church, and of each wonderful person in it, and most of all, God.

The associate pastor went on to give a sermon that moved me to tears, and I was shaken to the core at his message of us "standing by Jesus in his moment of need".  I had never thought of Jesus as needing anything, frankly, least of all from a screwup like me.  After all, he is Jesus.  But as the associate pastor went on to explain, I was reminded of my calling.  He spoke of those people who willingly shun God, who turn a blind eye to him, and who mock him or walk away.  And I shuddered to recall that I had once been one of those people.  And he spoke of how it's our duty to stand by Jesus by helping these people so that their views might be opened and they might know him.  And how many Christians find feeding the hungry or finding shelter for the poor to be an easier method of support.  But not me.  I do feel the calling to break into the minds of my once-fellow atheists, and see if I can't crack a door for them.  It's a tricky, tricky goal, since the smartest atheists have very convincing arguments and counter arguments to all things Christianity.  It's hard.  But as Tom Hanks says in A League of Their Own, "the hard is what makes it great".  So yes, I'm excited to continue my journey to ohhhhhhh so subtly encourage atheists to consider things differently, to graduate them away from the idea that "prayer" is a bad word, or that Jesus was a great teacher and nothing more.  I wouldn't even call them baby steps, the steps I make.  More like ladybug steps since they're so infinitesimal.  But they're something.

The women's choir gave two soul-shattering performances, the latter of which had tears streaming down my face in buckets.  We took communion and then, at the pastor's recommendation, stood in a gigantic circle, holding hands.  We prayed together, saying our prayers aloud, and I was overwhelmed by sudden flashbacks of a Godless life.  I was flooded with memories of the sheer selfishness and hum of distraction that I had once allowed my life to become, of the empty person that I was, a shell who attracted other empty people.  Mean people.  Hurtful people.  (Speaking of the associate pastor's question "Have you ever had your love rejected?"  I laughed out loud at that one and wanted to yell out "How much time do you have?")  I remembered a life that was solely about the pursuit of pleasure and nothing more.  And then I snapped back to present day, to this incredible group of people in this building that is truly my home away from home, with a pastor leading it who was the first person to ever meet my baby boy besides my husband, and to my amazing husband, of course, who always manages to act as the steady vessel of God.  God.  This was all made possible because of God.  The fullness in my heart, the love of my son, of my husband, and of all of these affectionate, empathetic, forgiving, non-judgmental people -- all of this fullness and warmth was thanks to God.  My heart burst at the thought, and I spoke a prayer of gratitude aloud, hearing my voice crack as I fought furiously to keep from crying.  I scanned this massive circle of souls and stopped on each face, knowing almost all of them, and knowing I had a friend in each of them.  A music director who rekindled my love for playing cello and encouraged me to play for the church and for God; a married couple preparing for another trip to help children in Africa, with perseverance I could only dream to have; girlfriends who I have laughed with, lamented with, and admired as I watch their continued journey through momhood.  And our leaders.  Our mind-bending pastor and associate pastor and their rock solid wives who are every bit as strong, inspiring, and inviting as they are.  People who have watched our son grow from a newborn.  The list goes on.  But I was moved tonight.  I knew it would be an emotional service.  Maundy Thursday always is.  (And what is a Maundy?  I have to go look it up now!)  But I love that no matter how many years in a row we do this, it's a little different each year, but always inspiring.  To think that this time six years ago, I didn't even know these people.  It's unthinkable, since they surely feel like family to me.

So this is just a very longwinded post of thanks, God.  Thank you for putting this amazing congregation in my path.  Thank you for my husband, and for my son.  Thank you for your sacrifice.  And Happy Easter indeed.