The search for church (continued)

PORTLAND SPIRITUALIST CHURCH

A few weeks passed before I could stomach another church session. By chance, I stumbled across Portland Spiritualist Church (719 Main St., Westbrook, the U/U Church) through an Internet search of churches in the area. After reading their principles, definitions of terms, and the phenomena of Spiritualism, I was enthralled with the idea of inviting "spirit friends" to join my endeavors. You see, Spiritualists believe that the existence and personal identity of an individual continue after death, and in their services a medium channels messages from your dead loved ones. It’s pretty much like a combination of a yoga meditation session and the John Edward Crossing Over television show.

I don’t know what happens to people when they die, but I’m pretty sure no dead people were hanging out in the church. The medium’s messages were not well received by the congregation. It seemed like no one knew what he was talking about, which lead me to believe that occasionally a better connected medium must host the service or people wouldn’t keep coming back.

Besides that, he was a horrible speaker. Nothing in his sermon made sense. He had a few comments that had absolutely nothing to do with each other. I left incredibly disappointed. Although I’m curious enough to return and hear from a different guest speaker/medium, I probably won’t go back because my ass went numb 20 minutes into the service. The pews were solid wood with no soft red velvet padding. I refuse to carry a cushion to pad my ass at church.

FIRST PARISH CHURCH

At this point, I wasn’t sure where to go next. My roommate suggested First Parish (425 Congress Street). She had gone and raved about the Unitarian religion and the people at the church. She’s not a churchy person, so I was intrigued about what sort of religion could convert her.

The next week, five of us (three adults and two children) headed over for the 10 am service. We arrived a little late, but no one seemed to care. They were all very excited to be back. (Apparently, Unitarians break for the summer. Really, who wants to go to church on a sunny Sunday?) Like most churches, they began with a welcoming prayer, hymns, more prayers, an offering, and announcements.

Perhaps the pulpit was large enough to hide him, but the long-haired announcer, looking like David Coverdale (from Whitesnake) in a suit, seemed to appear out of nowhere. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention. (Stepping through a church door, I am afflicted with a sudden and temporary case of Attention Deficit Disorder.) Whitesnake announced the Canadian wedding of two gay members. Before he could finish, applause erupted and echoed throughout the room. I was moved to tears. Never had I been in a gathering of people so joyously celebrating gay marriage.

It couldn’t get any better, I thought, until White Snake closed his announcements with a JRR Tolkien quote: "The road goes ever on and on/ Down from the door where it began . . ." At least I think that’s what he quoted. I was very much in magnificent shock having heard a positive reference to Lord of the Rings at church. I shared knowing glances with my family. Even the kids recognized the quote.

Whitesnake joined the choir, seated to the left of the pulpit, for a delightful version of "Dona Nobem Pacem" with near-perfect four-part harmonies. The somber hymn prepared us for meditation/prayer time, more a moment of silence, followed by a short prayer. Instead of closing with "blah blah blah in the name of God," the pastor said "blah blah blah in the name of all the helpers of human kind." I liked it. Whoever those helpers are, they probably contribute a lot more than God.

Before the pastor began his homily (or moralizing lecture), the choir joined us in singing "This Little Light of Mine," hymn #118. First, the musical director/pianist encouraged the congregation to loosen up. He suggested they could even go as far as swaying their hips or snapping fingers.

Hold me back, friends, you know I’m gonna let it shine.

After the congregation shone their little lights, the pastor, dressed in what looked like graduation robes, approached the pulpit with several hats in hand, which he used as a visual demonstration for "A Place to Hang Your Hat," the title of the homily. His lecture was short and sweet, literally. It was simple enough for the kids to understand it, but with a hint of deeper meanings to contemplate, if so inclined. He held my attention, and I never questioned his message. It was, indeed, universal.

Relieved that the homily was no more than 15 minutes, I browsed the bulletin for the next listed item. Water communion. Are they too cheap to get some fricking grape juice? No, I’m too assumptive. Water communion is a ceremony, adapted from a Native American tradition that occurs at the beginning of their fall season involving absolutely no breaking of bread or drinking of wine/grape juice. In this ceremony, people line up to pour water from wherever they spent their summer into a bowl. As they poured, each person told the congregation a little about where they collected the water and why it was meaningful.

Most people were naming international places, some I’d never heard of. My initial feeling was jealousy, because my salary certainly doesn’t allow for a vacation outside of the New England, but I soon softened. Whether the person was pouring water from the rivers of some exotic land or from Sebago Lake, they were sharing summer memories. The tradition is rather refreshing.

Of course, there was one more hymn and prayer for the road. I left feeling a surprising sense of unification with this congregation, like I might even come back the following week. Assessing my original checklist, I found that I was moved like Jack in Fight Club, and I didn’t hate anyone. Although I didn’t have any mystical visions, my daughter, Winter, had a clairvoyant moment. During Water Communion she drew a picture of a rose for our friend sitting next to her. Right after she handed it over, the congregation began singing a song about giving a rose to a friend in the wintertime. Maybe it’s coincidence, but the Portland Spiritualists would probably disagree.

The really cool thing about the Unitarians is that you could be a believer in Spiritualism (actually a legitimate religion), and you could probably learn about it at First Parish. They teach about other religions, giving you the pick-and-choose option of designing your own belief structure. An organized religion teaching you how to find your own spiritual truth, rather than forcing you to believe a shared truth to be accepted?

I think I’m down with it.

Amy Martin can be reached at amartin@phx.com