Yonder Breaks a New and Glorious Morn

We went back to the Methodist church my whole family claims to dislike. I should have know that meant they actually liked it a great deal. The service tonight was lovely. And the minister asked my dad to help with communion.

Apparently this is a courtesy given to visiting ministers. I thought it would have been more appropriate if he’d been placed on a horse in the sanctuary in honor of the church’s circuit riding heritage, but alas, apparently I’m the only person who’s ever thought of ceremonial horse-riding for Methodist ministers.

This, over here to the left, is a sight I spent most of my life, it feels like, looking at–the back of a pew and the tops of hymnals. Going to church, especially the singing, always makes me cry. I feel like I’m visiting a place I can never go home to. And I feel deeply ambivalent about that.

I like where I am now and I’ve met cool Folks who have greatly improved my life.

But I do miss it.

They read the part where Eve fucks it up for everyone and it just made me so sad. Oh, damn it, this old story. I’ve been gone almost twenty years and you’re still going on about that.

It made me sad.

Just affirmation that my problems with the Church aren’t solved by time.

But it was good to go, like running into an old boyfriend, and seeing that he’s doing what he wants to be doing. I’m glad for the Church and glad I didn’t end up there.

2 thoughts on “Yonder Breaks a New and Glorious Morn

  1. I cry too. Especially during the songs. The loss feels deeper, though, than an old boyfriend I’d long ago written off.

    Also, don’t the candles make you cry at the end of the service, all those pinpoints of light against the darkness?

    I wish someone could take the best insights of Buddhism, the most touching rituals from Christianity, the coolest, kindest things Jesus ever taught, and roll it into one non-toxic religion. It would also have to forego Christian karaoke; for me, my rump religious feelings are mostly about awe and wonder, and Christian karaoke is like kryptonite to those feelings.

    Merry Christmas, Betsy! May it mean to you whatever you need it to mean.

  2. Visiting a place you can never go home to is probably the best description of the human condition, that ambivalent nostalgia, I ever read.

    And that old story about Eve? I now read it as evidence of how the purveyors of a new religion needed to justify their sky-god. Metaphorically historically.

    in your private self think of all those Northerners, welcoming the sun, and all those Babylonians and ancient Palestinians, loving the moon.

    And like Sungold, my wish for you is that you may make Christmas mean whatever *you* need it to mean.

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