Naked at Church

I try to get to church early enough each week to take a deep breath and allow calm to enhance my spiritual experience.  I typically go to church by myself and because of that, I get the opportunity to exercise the spirit of my muse who asks, “Who needs me to sit with them today?”  Like many churchgoers, I begin the day in the spirit of warm acceptance, but sometimes I end the day with a bit of a chill. 

A little back story.  I have an autoimmune disorder that causes discomfort from cold temperatures.  During the summer months I avoid air-conditioned superstores and all restaurants that don't offer patio seating because after I spend an hour in air-conditioning, I am forced to spend an equal amount of time curled up regenerating heat to regain movement in my hips, elbows, knees and fingers.  And, awaiting that thaw can be awkward at closing time. 

Most weeks, I sit for an hour at church and solidify, then I spend the first part of second hour standing outside basking in the regenerating, (others might say cloying and oppressive,) heat of Oklahoma.  It’s a very pleasant time that I spend people watching—an activity that could be augmented by the addition of a bench.  But I understand that a chair might encourage exactly what a church is trying to avoid;  people feeling more comfortable outside the building than inside it.  

Church chic is a clothing challenge since I am compelled to wear thermal long underwear year-round.  It's an outdated fashion that hearkens back to the time period when women wore six petticoats and men withstood the chill by donning long underwear in the winter and leaving them to rot off in the springtime.  But I’ve made it work for me.  It’s not that hard to add a sweater to my ensemble, with long stockings and a wool cap and fleece throw.  

The church cold-challenge appears to be nondenominational; I’ve discussed this conundrum with my favorite survey group--the Walmart checkout line, and most women there are in agreement.  Churches can be frigid, some more metaphorically than literally.  I know first-hand that layering up protects, but it also prevents permeation and I’ve begun to ponder the value of shedding insulating layers and becoming more transparent.  Could God shine through me to others more readily?  And in this life, isn't that what I’m aiming for?  If only I didn't risk the chill.   

I've recently moved across the country and in my new church home, I've found a back row of support against the cold.  These are the white-haired ladies who, through age and wisdom, have shed the chill and have joined with me in my quest for warmth.   This particular Sunday is Mother’s Day and I’ve chosen fashion over wisdom.  I’ve donned a pencil skirt and Me, Myself and I spent the morning in the jacket-or-sweater debate, but I still have come to church woefully under-dressed.  

As I enter, I notice that the chapel has been pre-chilled and the thermometer is set at its coolest so I pick up my church bag and I make the trek from my front right corner pew to the left back bench, right below the thermostat.  I tweek it up two notches—not yet up to normal, just up toward normal and then I sit down.  Right in front of it.

 I’ve always found it interesting that the temperature of a church is affected most by those wearing the most layers.  I sit defending the thermometer and muse on the generalization that men are typically more warm-blooded than women and I wonder if it stems from epigenetic evolution...   I am comfortably considering my calefaction until suddenly I gird up my loins as the “suit” approaches.  He walks up, shakes my hand and says, “So I noticed you switched up the temperature?”  I grin and rehearse the entire argument that I’ve related above, ad nauseum.  He smiles and nods and I admire how well his eyes don't roll.  Then he moves on to greet more people and I sit warmed by the peaceful organ music.

 

I watch the congregation and note that most of the congregants are dressed for comfort and are wearing lightweights and shirtsleeves, but still I ponder on the meta-physical temperature in the church being managed by the layered.  I’ve spent years in leadership callings and I know that those days spent wearing the suit are definitely warmer when the pressure of leadership sweats you out.  But on a typical day, I suspect that most of leaders could benefit from a little more training in the leadership model that focuses on the well-being of others.   Perhaps all of us who are layered could be more understanding.  We could sacrifice ourselves and put other’s thoughts, feelings and discomfort at church before our own, not unlike another great leader of spiritual philosophy… Christ. 

Suddenly, I come to the conclusion that it must start with me. So, I sacrifice my comfort and my moment of selfishness and move to sit next to a person who is also alone and who may need to feel some warmth.  We may as well sit together in the overflow section. So there I am, watching as another suit walks over and tweeks up the thermostat. 

Oh I get it, I do.  I understand.  Maybe they ARE considering others first and are reacting to the furious-fan-frenzy-attack over in the menopause section.  (I skirted that flash of pleasure and skipped straight to the frigidity of the white hairs.)  The leaders may be more attuned to the feelings and comfort of others than I first imagined. 

            So it’s a matter of two things, my attitude and my motivations.  And the question for both of me may be, “Am I being more deliberate in considering others?”  It’s easy for me to pile on the layers and put up a shield against the chill, but in my church community, sometimes it’s about daring to go naked. 

That's My Reality, and Sometimes it Bites, and When It Does, I Write.