Priestess

I've made no secret that I use this blog sometimes to give utterance to some of my more trying times of my life. This post is no different. It is something that I've held inside for some time. I've been ashamed of it really. I was ashamed of it the day after it happened but the shame has deepened as time has gone on. Best to get this out of the way right here and now.

On my mission, in one of my areas, Brattleboro, VT, one of the worst places I can remember in my life, quite honestly, we had a somewhat unique situation. The branch met Sunday afternoons in the children's rooms of one of the Baptist Churches in town. I don't particularly find any shame in that as I grew up in a branch that, I believe, borrowed rooms from other faiths at one time. Anyway, there was some talk that the rent we were paying was probably their biggest source of income, and it may have been. I don't know. I did know we had more attending members. In any case, I wanted to go to the Baptist's service at least once. The pastor there was a woman and I never had heard a woman preach before. I mean, a woman having any kind of authority in a congregation. I've heard plenty of talks given by women but not from one that led a congregation. That just doesn't happen in Mormonism.

We went to the service and stayed to the back. We didn't want to be disrespectful and we wanted to keep a low profile. Some of what they did there was quite different than the LDS services I grew up with and was familiar with and it made me somewhat uncomfortable. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't afraid nor too judgemental of most of it at the time, as mormons do some freaky things themselves. It was just the unfamiliarity, the difference that was so pronounced to me.

The preacher, as I don't recall her title, came out in a white robe with a red sash, or whatever. Vestments. Let's just call them vestments. Again, aside from the temple, this was far outside my experience. I can't say that I liked it all that much, and I never had seen a woman wear them. That just hightened my distaste for the tradition. Tradition is a key word here, I think. She gave a nice talk. It wasn't all that polished but didn't have any of the hesitation that I'm used to in LDS services. Most LDS services just have members give talks so anyone doing this professionally was different. Actually, I think the word Preistcraft, that horrible sin, is what entered my mind. I did know that she preached in several churches during the day. Her talk was on a book called "The Color Purple". Yeah, Oprah made a movie of it. That floored me. She preached from "The Color Purple?" That was the height of ridiculousness. I just couldn't wrap my head around it.

After the service, she met us at the door and asked us if we enjoyed the service. We politely answered yes and made other small talk. We then had to turn around in the parking lot, enter the back door and go to our branch's service held with in the kids' room. That did kind of hurt our pride a bit, but we were right, dang it. We belonged to the true church, not that imitation one that we just witnessed.

During that evening my companion and I spoke about what we experienced. I probably wasn't too kind.

Then the next day hit. I had thought about it all during the night. She was a very nice woman and I had no doubt that some found some guildance in her sermon. I shouldn't have thought so little of her, after all, we believed in the same God. I never uttered another thing about her and the service. I was ashamed of how I felt during their service, as I had in a few other church meetings I attended with friends.

It wasn't until later that I studied my own religious life that I came to understand the experience more. I didn't feel "The Spirit" while attending that service. "The Spirit" has a proper name, called "Elevation". It is quite common. Every religion has some demonstration of it. I didn't feel it because all this was new and out of my comfort zone. Others there did. Evidently, she did when she read "The Color Purple" just as I did when I read my scriptures, or read Dune, or read a David Weber book, or when I listened to "For Those About To Rock" by ACDC (Every single freaking time). You see, much later in my life I made note of when I felt it. I learned to realize that it wasn't "The Spirit" necessarily but particular things that brought me special insight or joy.  She felt it reading her book, and she found insight. It was insensitive, and if nothing else, immature and disrespectful, of me to think anything other than happiness that she found it enjoyable. It was enjoyable enough that she wanted to share it.

That's it. That's all I wanted to say. I'm glad, so glad, that I now see life differently than I did back then, and while I don't know if I will ever say this to her face, I can say here and now that I'm sorry for my poor attitude back then. I've learned from it. I learned a great deal from it. And now "The Color Purple" has meaning for me too.