I went to church yesterday. Probably the 2nd time in the last two years. Covid upended everything, including my sporadic church attendance. I tried their Zoom church during the early days of the pandemic and felt comforted by the familiar hymns and chants. But, it was good to be back in the physical building, sitting amongst fellow members, breathing a sigh of relief and comfort.
I joined the church when my child was probably around one. Like many parents, we were looking for a place to help reinforce values and community. Neither of us parents were religious, so we were looking for less God and more humanity. Ritual and a call to service, not worship of a God and fear of an afterlife. We found it in the Unitarian Church. I loved sitting in the pews, speaking the covenant, “Love is the spirit of this church, and service is its prayer. This is our great covenant: to dwell together in peace, to seek the truth in freedom, and to help one another.” I appreciated hearing the sermon and reflecting on it for the rest of the day, the week. Church felt like taking Vitamin C to armor up for a week of life. I loved working at the Winter Shelter, getting up at 4:30 to help cook up eggs and grits in the month of February. It felt good to help others.
So, yesterday when I went back to church, it all came flooding back. The ritual. The warmth. The community. The service.
The sermon included a reading of Sandra Cisneros’ “Eleven”, a short story many teachers know and use for their reading and writing instruction. I have a special love of Sandra Cisneros as she was the first Latina writer I was exposed to, finally seeing myself in published works. The story is about how, when you are 11, you are also all the ages that came before, 10, 9, 8 and so on. Sometimes you are scared and cry like your 3 year old self. Sometimes you are brave and curious, like your 8 year old self. After reading the piece, the reverend pulled out Russian nesting dolls and passed them around to the kids, encouraging them to open up one that led to another smaller doll inside till alas the kids got to the littlest doll, the baby. She asked the kids if they ever felt like younger versions of themselves. Most said no, proud to be the age they were, a couple admitted that sometimes they feel like a younger version of themselves.
Like a good sermon, I have been turning over the ideas, words in my head ever since. I almost never feel like my 54 year old self. In my mind, that person should be more savvy to the world and know what to say, do and think in most situations. But my 12 year old, 25 year old me, still full of uncertainty lives strong in my mind. My 5 year old self that wants a stuffie and a nap comes out some days. Like the narrator in Eleven, I too want to be 102, so I am wise and experienced to know what to say and do when strife arises.
This is my favorite blog post today. You are right, we are all our younger selves at some point. What a great sermon, a great connection to nesting dolls, a great link to Eleven, and a beautiful way to view your 54 year old self. Well written!
Wow, thank you for your comments. They mean a great deal to me.
So many connections to this wonderful post. What you look for, and find, with the fellowship of the Unitarian Church reminds me of my good friend inviting me to attend functions with her at hers. (It reminds me a lot of Quaker meetings.) I, like you, am not religious, but my values align with yours. I remember walking a labyrinth the Unitarians had created for a New Year’s Day , the perfect meditation. Also, Sandra Cisneros is one of the great ones. I have heard her speak at a poetry festival (her poetry is lovely). Her spirit shines. I love. “Eleven” and “Skinny Trees” from House on Mango Street. This post is a rich read for me. Thank you.
I am so glad for all the connections. The labyrinth sounds lovely and what a treat to hear Sandra Cisneros read. I will have to re-read “Skinny Trees.” Your comment is very meaningful. Thank You.