Sweet Jesus.

I’ve had Kanye stuck in my head all weekend. I’ve been singing the refrain to “Made in America” while vacuuming, volunteering, shopping and lounging around this weekend. Sweet mother Mary, sweet father Joseph, sweet baby Jesus…

Maybe that’s why I was feeling particularly called this morning when I headed out to church. I’m ashamed to say that I don’t have a church that I call home in DC. I’ve been to a few, but I haven’t found a place where I’ve really felt like I’ve found my “church away from home.” Maybe it’s because I have such sweet memories of my two home churches that I have a hard time feeling the presence of God as deeply as I do in those two special places. But this morning I checked out a Methodist church in my neighborhood, just a few blocks from my apartment. I followed these two little old ladies into the church, and the fact that they instantly knew I was a visitor should have been my first clue. These two sweet ladies instantly busied themselves by getting me a hymnal and a bulletin from the stack in the lobby and introduced me to the pastor. Very sweet.

After making my way into the sanctuary, I knew why these ladies and the pastor had looked at me like fresh meat. The entire congregation was made up of seven tiny white-haired ladies sitting in the front two pews. Not only was I approximately sixty years younger than everyone in the room, but I was also the only one not sporting either an appliqued turtleneck or a velvet blazer with huge shoulder pads. Never the less, I quietly took a seat a few rows back and instantly each of the seven little ladies hobbled my way (some more easily than other) to offer me a frail hand and a warm smile. “So good to see you, sweetheart” they told me. Did they think they knew me? Or were they really just surprised to see someone with many good baby-making years left on her in their congregation. Strange as it was, it was oddly comforting. There is something about grandmotherly figures that make me feel like the most honest presence of God. Maybe it’s because my own grandmother is one of the most intentional people I know about her faith. She makes it to Sunday worship unfailingly, she does her prayer chain willfully, she prays for us unconditionally.

The service continued to surprise me. Of the seven ladies in attendance (eight including me), three made up the church choir. One was responsible for the fellowship hour, so we were a little light in the audience during the last hymn. The pastor (a spring chicken compared to these ladies…probably in his sixties), was decent, though I think his analogies were a little off. During the sermon about Jesus healing leprosy, he was trying to pull a connection between Jesus, who swore his patient to silence wanting to protect his own celebrity-ness, and Kevin Fetterline. About ten years too late (um Kim Kardashian, anyone?) and not the most powerful association, but I’m willing to buy it.

But despite the strangeness of the service, I had a few important realizations that I’d like to share:

1. Churches exist in lots of shapes and sizes. There are huge cathedrals with standing room only on Sunday morning and tiny chapels like this one with just a few strong followers of God. But the size of the congregation is in no way related to the strength of faith or the presence of God. A powerful connection to God can happen in the tiniest and the largest of places.

2. There is a generation of women like my grandmother who loved God so profoundly. Not to say that there aren’t strong believers among people of my generation, but frequently the most faithful women I see are like those tiny old women in church this morning. I don’t know whether it’s because these women have been around so much longer and have had their faith tested more times than my peers or whether they were just raised in a more spiritual time than we are today. I’m not sure, but I know I need to take advantage of the years I have left with women of faith like my grandmother.

3. Lessons from Jesus are happening all the time. Even when a sermon doesn’t speak to me intensely or when I skip church or when I find my mind wandering (as much as I try to concentrate), there is always an opportunity to learn something from God. He tests us, tries us, lifts us up, blesses us all the time. We don’t need to be inside the four walls of our home church to find God in powerful and deeply moving ways. God is truly our hearts, in our stories, our experiences and our actions. We are our own home church, and we take that with us wherever we go.

I’m writing this as I’m watching the Grammy’s. Adele sounded and looked so stunning, and tonight I’m grateful for all the beautiful music.

To sweet baby Jesus,

Lia