Sunday

Today I got up and drove to downtown Vancouver. I looked (fruitlessly) for Nameless Church. I gave up at 1130 since it started at 11. It was a nice, unnaturally warm, day. I walked down Main street again to see if it would magically appear.

I was about to sit my ass down on the curb and cry when I saw a banner in a store window. No wonder I couldn't find it- it was so frickin' damn hard to see the damn sign inside the damn window of the damn building for crying out loud! (It feels good to get that out). Well, I was already this far, so I went across the street and walked up to the door. Of course, with my mad inability skills, I couldn't get it open. I made eye contact with one of the guys in there and he seemed confused that I would want to come in. I finally got him to come to the door. He opened it and told me where the department store which used to fill this particular building had moved. (Someone somewhere did not want me to go to church'style today- WTF). I just kind of looked at him and laughed quietly in incredulity and eased his worries- "I'm here for church'. He let me in with a bewildered look on his face.

I sat in the back of the small gathering and enjoyed scampering children and words about Jesus / Jesus-living. It was good. Near the end it was a time of walking up to a folding table and dipping squared chunks of bread into white-grape juice with your remembrance of Jesus and lighting bulk votive sized candles with your prayers. I enjoyed watching the most avid of scamperers awkwardly yet enthusiastically light a candle by himself and blow out the flame-stick candle in his hand with satisfied gusto.

I said my own prayers, lit my candle and took my communion. I refrained from crossing myself in this crowd, though it does posses significance to my personal worship of God and Jesus. It just seemed out of place at that moment.

After that it was about time to go. A lady named Karen, I believe, shook my hand and said hello. I am not one for immediate socializing and quickly deterred her into handing me a complimentary book (though I would rather just borrow it). I went and said thank you to the bewildered fellow for letting me in (more for my amusement but still in true thanks- he could have ignored me or told me to go away). Then I gathered my things and headed out.

One of their number, a man on (an apparently relieving) cigarette break- whose name I cannot recall because I was to anxious to avoid conversation and be on my contemplative way, called to me and asked if he could ask me a question. I of course said yes because I was not far enough away to feign deafness and not rude enough to say 'actually, sir, I am waxing anti-social this morning, good day'. He was unobtrusive, pleasantly, and merely wanted to know if they had my information if I had wanted to give it, etc. I told him I knew of their website and would be back to return the book I had been given. This made him laugh and I chose that as my exit. All in all a good experience.

I meandered up the street to a crepe and coffee shop I remembered passing during my moment of despair and went in to read the book from Nameless Church.

It was a cozy, whirring little place with plenty of nooks to bunker down with my pastry brunch and Jesus book. I ordered their special of the day- the Orange Butter Crepe for 3'50 and a glass of water. It seemed like the 3 girls behind the counter were going to be busy for a bit before my meal came up, so I sat on a lovely old bench against the wall and cracked open the book. "They're Gentiles for Christ's Sake," by Ken Loyd was my goal for the next few hours. As patrons came and went I nestled into a table and chair arrangement. After I finished my delightful and large crepe I meandered over to the 70's pea-green lounge sofa by the storefront window to continue my book. I read and read until I heard a cash drawer being counted out in the now quiet background. I walked out into the sunny cold and made it the 2 blocks to my vehicle. I hopped in, reclined the driver's seat, popped off my shoes and continued to read in luxurious solitude.

I finished around 3pm.

There was a number and a website to contact the author and/ or church (The Bridge). I headed home intending to do just that. I wanted to cry. I desperately wanted to cry. Instead I found my head wanting to burst in pain. A soul searching induced migraine; churches and Christians have me all cried out. Damn. I had a flicker of hope within me again. A hope that maybe I had found somewhere I could go and shatter into pieces in relative safety. I hoped in the knowledge of a church, a people group, where showing up and going into the fetal position was embraced and rejoiced in. Somewhere in Portland there might be people who would love me- no strings, no questions, no requirements, no agendas, no nothing. The migraine increased in ferocity. Hoping is contrary to my inner existence; at least, hoping in a genuine, safe place in any way affiliated with the word church.

I made it home and turned on my computer. The website was not working. I looked up Ken Loyd with few useful resources. I went to my book to look again. I found a phone number and dialed. Well, Ken answered. I asked if he and his work still existed. He assured me he did exist and that the BridgeChurch still met, however he was in another work now with those without homes. I said thank you and goodbye. I was able to briefly cry then.

I do not know whether this is good news or bad news for me. My inner person holds that this place is not the place from Mr. Loyd's book- as he is no longer there. I could be wrong though. Perhaps, perhaps not.

In any case, I am grateful for the book and will be accepting the offer to keep it, as well as retrieving a few copies for those I know who are in need of it's pages.

Damn.