Sleeves and Grace

Most of my blog posts are actually really lengthy extensions of my already really lengthy facebook status updates, and this one is no exception. Today's really lengthy status update was as follows (you know you're self-absorbed when you quote yourself...did I mention the word "self"?):

"Lana bla bla bla (fake facebook name) just resigned from a brief and highly disconcerting church gig, and it feels SO liberating! No more critiques of my sloppy attire and my diction and repertoire choices. I'm sorry Mary Baker Eddy, but I'm pretty sure Jesus doesn't give a rat's ARSE how long my sleeves are, and enough with all the the talk about 'Error'. Did you somehow skip the section about forgiveness and Grace in the Bible?"

What followed was the usual silly string of comments about shirt sleeves and prostitution. But then a good friend whom I've known for many years sent me a message that said "We've talked about grace in the past. I like it when you talk about grace". My knee jerk reaction was to respond with some witty pun ("who is Grace? Why are you so obsessed with her?") but then I thought that perhaps this would be a good chance to partake in my annual "hey, I'm actually kinda spiritual n' stuff" religion-themed post.

I've had many singing gigs in churches. Most of them have been an odd but lovely concoction of interpersonal relations, desperate soprano section pitch matching efforts, and last but never least (much as I try to make it so), God. I once sang at a church in Tucson which had a, hem hem, "cowboy service". I will never forget the visual image of the round elderly folk scattered through the pews, their cowboy hats bobbing diligently atop their heads as they nodded along to the sermon. Nor will I forget the time the stoned organist at another gig dropped a large Bach cantata score onto the organ in the middle of silent prayer, causing an obscenely loud and flatulent organ tone to resonate through the sanctuary. Needless to say, I did not succeed at maintaining a professional demeanor, and am still not sure how I recovered from the fit of gut-wrenching giggles that ensued.

So I was unpleasantly surprised when I began this latest gig and found myself missing all of the quirks I had come to love in my previous positions. The interpersonal relationships consisted of passive aggressive phone calls about the dress code and may failure to meet it. There was no pitch matching, because I sang antiquated and joyless solos to a small frowning congregation. Who knew I would miss those screechy untrained soprano section voices so much? And finally, there was no God. At least not the God I have come to believe in...who is, in my humble opinion, full of Grace.

But what the hell IS Grace (note: currently resisting more puns about the name)? I think it's different for everyone. For me, it's easier to identify what it isn't. It's NOT the idea that God is sitting at a judgement table above, ready to pound the gavel (is that even a word?) whenever we screw up. It's NOT the idea that you will be punished for all of your mistakes. And it's NOT the idea that if you take a wrong turn in your life, all will be lost.

I found grace in the second chances life gives you, and trust me, I've needed every second chance I could get. I found grace in the fact that the people who love me are far more understanding of me than I ever am of myself. I found grace by meeting my husband at a wedding in Montana, despite the fact that he worked two blocks away from me in Seattle. And I found grace by getting pregnant unexpectedly while trying to recover emotionally from a miscarriage, and later giving birth to the greatest joy of my life.

So when it comes down to it, I left this gig not because of the passive aggressive wardrobe suggestions. I left it because the liturgy was full of language about "Error"; How to fix it, how to control it, and how to rid it from your life via studious devotion to the cryptic writing of a 19th century woman named Mary. I just couldn't take it anymore. I've wasted too much of my life in toxic churches that heap more guilt onto my counterproductive tendency to punish myself for the slightest screw up. Maybe if we earnest Christians (or recovering Christians) could all just get the frick over ourselves and our guilt about being human, there would be more room in our spirits for grace and God to find a humble home.

Last, since any discussion of God would be incomplete without music, I'll conclude this post on a happy note (chortle chortle) with one of my favorite grace-themed songs by the great Stevie Wonder (click here).