Spooky Church
by Laura Nee, 2003
I walk into a hushed environment. Soft organ music glides into my ears with whispers of pages turning bringing to mind the rustle of angels’ wings. The musty smell accumulated by saints of old enters my nostrils causing me to breathe slowly and deeply. The air shimmers with soft light filtering through many colored windows. My eyes center on a cross, the focus of why I am present in this place. A chill begins in my soul and radiates outward as I am, well, a little spooked. Not in a scary way but an almost comforting sort of awe at a presence bigger than mine. There are others here, some older, some younger. We are all quiet, reflective, preparedly waiting for worship to begin.
The hour is chimed and we begin to sing, “O for a thousand tongues to sing…” We say the Apostle’s Creed and I am reminded of the community of saints spiraling backwards down to the beginning of time in the year of our Lord. Again, I am spooked, in that good way. I feel connected, centered, knowing that others have relied on this ancient faith to carry them through their storms and comforted that it will carry me through mine.
At some point, I rebelled against this old liturgy, thinking it stuffy and old fashioned. I didn’t think it was a genuine form of worship because of its scriptedness. I felt there was no life there for me. Moving on, I found the rock and roll church my generation has embraced. The casual clothes, people clapping and raising their hands, even dancing if the spirit so moves them. Rarely is it ever quiet except for a few moments here and there. When we are quiet it is disquieting. We’re here to make some noise after all. Weren’t we quiet for too long? Sort of like kids loosed on the playground after a long period of sitting still. We want reckless abandon, holy fun. We are tired of being made to sit still and think.
For a good long while, this satisfied me. I was happy with the rabble rousers. Here, I felt I was home with people who were as joyous as I was. Who wanted to recite meaningless words? I wanted to shout, sing and praise God with all my being. Who needed quietness? Why be reflective, haven’t I thought about all this enough already?
As I’ve gotten older and had children, I’ve begun to miss that quietness. The serious business of worship and getting still before God. Perhaps there is too much noise in the everyday life raising two little ones and not enough stillness. My soul feels weary at times and I long for the reminder of why I come to church. Because I believe…,”in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth and in Jesus Christ, his only son, our Lord…” I don’t ever remember not knowing those words and the ones that follow. What once seemed stuffy and contrived now seems comforting and welcoming. I miss hearing the organ announce the melody of the next hymn to be sung and the connection it offered with the community of saints who came before me. I used to feel joy in singing those old hymns. They remind me of my Grandmother. I wish I could hear her sing them one more time in her hoplessly tone deaf way. It is a dear memory.
By the same token, I’m not ready to turn my back on the rock and roll. There is certainly a freedom there that was lacking in my early church memories. I do, however, miss that good spooky church feeling. I felt connected with God in that holy spookiness as I entered the sanctuary. Going to church now almost feels the same as going to the mall. There is no stillness upon entering the worship area. Nothing brings to mind angels’ wings or the millions of people who have prepared to worship before me down through the ages. I don’t feel that chill radiating outward from the center of me. I’m sure there is a way to get some of that spookiness back into the rock and roll. There has to be. My soul wants for it. I know I can’t be alone in that wanting.