So, there I was, sitting in the front pew, having diligently sung for the Sunday service at Bethel Church. Breather time, while Pastor gave his message. I guess they don't want to put people off by calling it a sermon these days.

I spent the whole time trying to ignore the message (though I like the pastor as a person). I imagined what I would do afterward: wash the comforter at the laundromat (haven't been there in 20 years), eat at Subway (across the street from the laundromat), go home and clean the house, hang things from fishing line, generally foofify things...

But I couldn't ignore. Instead, my mind wanted to play at philosophy. Existential stuff. Cosmology. Eschatology (not as dirty as you might think).

For the first time I didn't feel guilty for sitting in church and dissecting the very underpinnings and assumptions required to soak up the message. I outlined it for myself:

- when I was small, I feared God, feared doing wrong. I also feared authority in general, like a small person will. However, I remember the picture of Esther in the book of Bible stories my grandmother would read with me. I remember the ark on the front. I still have that book and cherish the way it reminds me of those quiet afternoons in my grandmother's den, being read to before a midday nap, hearing her lilting Engle-Wegian.


- as a teenager, I felt guilty all the time, hearing for the first time through evangelical sermons that I was a failure, and only because Jesus died on the cross was I worth anything. I was miserable, and it fed into my already low self-esteem. All normal teenage urges were now dirty; I was worthless; life was shit. Unless, of course, I accepted Jesus as my PL&S and got baptized. I got baptized, but it didn't help. I felt joy in singing, in Christian horse camp, but not in life in general. I dissected the jargon, and got sick of everyone being "just, Lord, just your servant, Lord, and I just want to say that we just love and exalt you Lord, just everyday . . . " Where does one's grammar go when one is born again?

- as an adult, I tagged along with my second husband so I could sing in the worship band. He'd been a missionary, and though we didn't study the Bible at home, he was into going to church. (He'd also been a punk and a drug abuser, but those are other stories.) I wanted to believe, to feel, to belong, but ultimately I just couldn't reconcile my rationalism with the leaps of absurdity I was asked to make in order to be accepted. Jesus was cool, and we're down and all, but immaculate conception seems too convenient. Mary might've been raped, or out having fun, or meeting Joseph out behind the barn. I don't know, and neither does anyone else.

So I came, I sang, and I went to Subway. And I won't feel anything but enjoyment at being around friends on Christmas Day. A good meal and good company are all I need to feel fulfilled. I'm leaving the guilt and sin out of it.