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blueshoefarm at gmail dot com.... and that would be how to reach me

Saturday, February 9, 2013

Crazy faith -

When a youngster I was baptised at the Congregational Church.  It was the only church to attend in my small community , other than the Catholic Church.  I then attended a Presbyterian church as a kid on  San Juan Island.  The UCC church in Seattle was an active bunch of feisty people which I got along with swimmingly, my local UCC church in Kitsap is on the smaller side and has not clicked with me yet. The other morning I got a bee in my bonnet to go to church. I haven't been in a while since I worked weekends.  But since I took several weeks off of work -- I have my Sundays available for such endeavours. I was going up to Port Townsend that day for a hike so thought I'd visit a local church up there.  I looked up the program for that morning... and thought it looked like a grand topic.  I walked in a couple minutes late, sat in the back, and listened.  It began with the usual rituals, singing, announcements, candles.
Then the minister began talking. I listened and heard him mention Albert Schweizer which immediately brought to mind my grandfather, Wilhelm.  My grandfather would talk of Schweizer, Joseph Campbell, Jung with fire in his eye.  (He always had fire in his eye, he was full of German feistiness!) I realized I so was not listening to the sermon - so started paying attention again. That is when the minister said he was previously sixteen years at Fountain Street Church in Grand Rapids, MI. This caught my attention, that was my grandparents church. This man knew my grandparents.  In this small church in NW Washington memories tumbled through me as he talked about the things my grandfather talked of.  Same philosophers.  Same church leader.  I started tearing up when he said "the welcome card in the entry way is directly from Duncan Littlefair" -a man my grandfather had great respect for and with whom he completed an oral history of his life.  On a whim this day I visited this church where the direct beliefs from my grandfather were spoken.  The first and last time I heard this ministers voice was over twenty years ago, at my grandmothers funeral. Here I was hearing that voice 26 miles from my home in a church I went to on a whim.  
I got up early from the service and went and cried in the bathroom.
After leaving the church, I went to my favorite brunch place. Since living on the Kitsap Peninsula I do not hear the German language much. At this restaurant which I go to every grandparents voices were present - a woman at the table next to me was speaking German.  Her two seatmates were speaking English, but she was talking German.
When I went back out to my car a handwritten bible verse was on it, about opening your heart.
When I took it off my windshield I started laughing.  What a strange day.
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