Last Sunday I visited a friend's church, where we joined a Bible study conversation about women, poverty, and development. After the Bible study I went out the front entrance of the church (we'd come in the back) and was awed by the massive doors, the saints and angels in stone reaching to the sky. They were not unkind, but they pointed and hunched, reminding me of my mortality, my to-dust-I-shall-return.
Yesterday I represented my organization at a community resource festival, held at a church in my neighborhood. I've walked past it many times but not gone in until this weekend. It had a generous entryway and an imposing, rich staircase, and balconies overlooked the first floor. There were inspirational banners ringing the entryway: "It's nice to be important, but it's more important to be nice," and "Life takes from the taker and gives to the giver," which matched the marquee outside: "Come on in or smile as you pass."
I couldn't stop looking at it, the curlicues, the golden lotus blossoms, the mandala ceilings. "It's an old thee-ate-er," one of the women parishioners told me when she saw me with my mouth agape. "We had it refurbished. Our services are at three on Sundays. You'd always be welcome to come."
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