I did something different today.
J’s family decided to attend my BIL’s 10:30 mass (1). As I
have made it abundantly clear that I will not be setting foot in a Catholic
church (weddings and funerals excepted) I elected not to attend, even though it
was the BIL’s birthday. At some point in the past few weeks I decided to
maintain a stand on this position. This is becoming something of a tradition in
my maternal family, as I am not the first cradle Catholic woman to walk away
from the church with nary a backwards glance.
Instead I attended a Friend’s Meeting. My first one.
I have been kicking around the idea of attending Friend’s
meeting for years. In the past year I learned that there was a meeting in
Pittsburgh, but until today I had not gathered the courage to actually walk
through the door.
But when J asked me what I was going to do today, I told him
that I was going to the meeting, then the Arts Festival. I planned on attending
the 9:00am Meeting (2), but Toddler Alien, who appears to be emulating the
sleep habits of his aforementioned uncle (which is to say that he is sleeping
far less than ideal for a child pushing 3), had the sort of breakdown that
required a nap to restore him to good humor.
I stayed home, even after J insisted on waking Toddler
Alien. After refereeing an argument about clothing (Toddler Alien dislikes shirts with collars,
J was not about to take him to mass wearing a Charles Darwin Origin of the Species t-shirt, cuteness of the frog be damned), the two of them headed
off.
But I did not want my statement to be a lie. I decided to
attempt to attend the 10:30 Meeting. I placed some conditions on the attempt. I
would drive by the building, so I knew where it was located. If I could find
the location until after 10:30am, I would not interrupt.
I found the place. I drove past it twice, searching for a
parking space, as I felt odd using the parking lot next to the building.
It was scary, walking into this strange place. Scary, taking
a step that I have spent so much time contemplating, but not doing anything
about.
I was welcomed. I made a nametag. I walked into the meeting
room. It was quiet, with windows open to the fresh air, the natural light. It
was so, so silent. I sat down on a chair in a row to myself. After a few
minutes, I sensed people sitting next to me.
Minutes passed. I contemplated on why I was there, on that
day. What was it that made today different for other Sundays? Probed my
conscience and my feelings, to figure out.
Two people spoke. One spoke about physics, and the search
for truth. The other spoke about the difficultly in determining the mind’s
truth. Between the two, I had a moment of clarity, that I was there, on that
day, to begin learning how to speak and live my truth without anger or fear.
I watched the light, meditated on why it seemed so brilliant
in one corner of the room. At the conclusion of the meeting, as the elders
managed announcements, I stroked the walls. Brown velvet walls, absorbing and reflecting
the light.
In the end, I stayed for the meal. I ate some salad, some
fruit, a jelly sandwich. I spoke with a woman, another former/lapsed Catholic,
who asked me, intently, why was I
there? I told her the truth – I had heard many good things about the Friends
from a former professor, that I had a lot of anger and needed a someplace to
work it out that would not tell me what to do.
All day, today, I have carried an unfamiliar kind of peace
with me. I am not different, but I am not the same person as I was at 10:25am. I
do not know how to label this feeling.
(1) BIL is a RC priest.
(2) Fewer people, no social hour afterwards. I wanted to be
inconspicuous.
