Organizational Democracy

A surprise.  A fashion blog.  I’ve been feeling kinda vulnerable lately.  Looking at these pictures feels good.  Art + photo + clothes.  Don’t buy any more sweaters.  I want one of these.

http://thesartorialist.blogspot.com/

From the bio of BuzzSugar.com :

“I spent my youth planning themed movie nights, going to all-ages shows, and obsessively watching Seinfeld. If you’d told me then that such activities would some day be my job, I’d have thought you were just being mean.”

Some frequently asked questions about the service I attended at Solid Rock Church in Monroe, Ohio.

Q: What denomination is the service?

A: Solid Rock Church has been described as Pentecostal, although it’s website describes it as a “dynamic, cross-cultural, non-denominational place of worship, where all are welcomed and loved.”

Q: Was there speaking in tongues?

A: Yes, although it was only several times for about 10 seconds each. Several of the people leading the service spoke in tongues and then went back to speaking in English, and some members of the congregation seemed inspired to speak in tongues for short periods of time.

Q: Was it real?

A: Everyone seemed to act in a way that was real to them. The couple in front of me kept their hands clasped and seemed very reserved, while the woman across the aisle to my right frequently outstretched her hands and a tear streamed from one of her eyes 15 minutes into the service.

Early in the service, we were asked to hold out our hands to relax, let go of tension, and let God in. I held out my hands by my side, relaxed and let go of tension as if I were in a relaxation, meditation, or acting class. My guess is that this holding out of hands is associated by people with relaxation and feeling good, and that without thinking about it, the outstretched hands to let God in are also outstretched hands associated with relaxing and feeling good.

(To be continued.)

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Now normally, I would write after a lot of contemplation, after a lot of thought.  Normally I would get dinner and eat my dinner too, after attending a service, religious or otherwise.  But, in the spirit of participatory journalism, in the spirit of this goal I set for myself, to write events as they unfolded, as they affected me, I will write, and am writing, now.

I write with my shoes still on, even though these workboots are pressing at the tips of my toes uncomfortably.  I write with the sensations still of the meeting.  I write knowing full well that since I have not taken many notes on paper, the notes of my speech are the best notes I may convey to you.

Around 7pm tonight I went outside to see if the cab I’d called had arrived in the hotel parking lot.  The best way for me to get involved in a situation is to enter in slight need.  Need of a ride.  Need of information.

Two of the guys I’m working with (different from the earlier post) were outside.  One of them seemed pretty supportive of my going to church.  He asked how the statue was.  “It’s a statue,” I said.  I wanted to go to the service, and I expressed my hesitancies, my doubts, and he listened and smiled and acknowledged and we joked a little, we were okay with each other.

The guys went off to dinner.  The cab arrived for me.  The car itself was a vacant shell; it barely had seats.  The driver smoked a cigarette and I opened the window; buckled myself in anticipating the brief ride along the highway.  The driver apologized for being late.  I was in my befriending/traveling/trusting/listening mode; everything was okay, although I was tense.

We talked.  I was from out of town, had heard about the church, wanted to go to the service.  New York City.  The driver was quiet.  He took back roads; the kind that ride gently along the highway without being the highway.  I wanted to go faster; I wanted to get to the church before the service started, but I knew it was fine, we would get there.

The view of dried fields rustled along, and there it was.  The church.  The white statue from the back this time.  The house between me and Jesus.  A long driveway pulled up to the house.  Cars were turning onto the driveway; a stream of cars; an unusually streaming stream of cars.  People were coming to this thing.

The driver dropped me off at a side entrance.  I put on my sweater and followed people in.

*

As I’ve said, I took only a few notes.

completely mixed white and black.  little black girl jumps into teenage white girl’s arms as I enter.

2 outstretched firm handgrasps big smile.  offering of self.  don’t know what to do with a visitor from out of town.  “why am i here” is probably their unspoken question.  complete mix of greetings and mentos and bible books, water in a mini fridge for sale and books on ___________.

me seated in pew.  couple enters.  “Hi brother how you doing?”  big outstretched grasp and smile.  wife:  “Hi”  big outstretched grasp and smile (BOGS).

he wears jeans and an untucked in green button-down shirt.  his seemingly self-appointed role is greeter.  most people here are not greeters, most wait and chat like a friendly audience.

no bibles or books in the pews!

we all stand for greeting.  “your smile can make a difference”  [Greet neighbors]

the auditorium is big.  40 ft ceilings, a stage with maybe 40 choirpeople standing at their chairs, a band on one side with a drummer protected from everyone with a plastic wall shield, microphones everywhere, at the drums, in the hands of the choir… on the other side, distinguished and rather plain-looking well-dressed folks in suits and dresses.

the area for us the audience is big too.  a neon dove outlines on the ceiling.  there are at least two cameras on large cranes.  there’s a balcony.  the main level is well full, 500 to 1,000 people.  all these numbers are estimates.

we have all stood for greeting and remain standing.  we have greeted neighbors.  “your smile can make a difference.”  i have greeted many neighbors; people standing in front of, behind and on either side and diagonally and far away from me.  people come near and we greet.  it feels natural and friendly and our smiles make a difference.

we are suggested to hold out our hands and release our tension, our stress, and welcome God.  i am amazed by the variety of positions in which people hold out their hands.  i hold out my hands and release tension and stress as i would in a life coaching or a relaxation class.

“why don’t you shake hands with at least 3 of your neighbors”  us:  “bless you” to one another.

“I’m glad we find our church is fun.”

There’s been lots of music.  Lots of music.  It’s a lot of music for me.  We’re 15 minutes in.  The music lets you clap along, sing along, raise your hands in the stress out God in position of your choice.  There is no bible or hymn book because the words appear on big projector screens; because many people know and sing the words; because it’s easier to clap when you’re not holding a hymn book.

Yes, a tear is streaming down the face of a woman across the aisle from me, her eyes closed, face uplifted.  But I realize, thankfully, that I do not feel pressured in any way.  The man in front of me and his wife do not outstretch their arms.  They obviously enjoy being here from their smiles and looks at each other and attention, and they are a model for behavior I’m happy to follow and feel at ease with.

“I’m glad we find our church is fun.”

The service is too detailed and too new for me to reveal it all to you now.  I didn’t take many notes.  Being involved and experiencing and living is always better, I feel, than taking notes.

But I can tell you that Pastor Lawrence Bishop had taken center stage and said, “I’m glad we find our church is fun,” with lots to back that observation up.

I can tell you that he got to, “Anybody here in this section a first-time raise your hands.”  I was disappointed that no one raised their hands in the first section of the congregation.  I raised my hand when he got to the second section.  “Anybody here in this section a first-time raise your hands.”

He looked in my eyes and listened to me with his eyes and everyone applauded me.  I got a brochure handed to me.

Now, I’m always game to admit it’s my first time.  But I dare you to show the last time I got applauded by a thousand people for raising my hand.  It felt good, and overnecessary.

Well, I can tell you that there was more singing.  There was variety.  Pastor Lawrence Bishop introduced a pastor whom he described as, well I forget the very exact words, but “as Rome is to Catholics.”

And this pastor preached from 8:15pm on to 8:45pm.  8:30 apparently is the usual time for “break,” and this pastor was pleading with us for time past 8:30, and time he got.

Some interesting rhetorical devices, and I paraphrase:

Pastor took a bill from his pocket.  “Now this is too small for you to see, but it’s a ten-dollar bill.  Some people say the value of money has decreased but I ask you:  How much is this ten-dollar bill worth?  (Say ten dollars.)  [with congregation:]  Ten dollars.  [solo:]  What it buys may get less and less, this ten dollar bill may buy two gallons at the pump, but it’s still ten dollars.  [He spits on the ten dollar bill outstretched in his palm.  Everyone is shocked in silence.]  I spit on the ten dollar bill.  How much is it worth?  [with congregation:]  Ten dollars.  [He drops the bill on the floor and stomps on it.]  I stomp on the ten dollar bill.  How much is it worth?  [with congregation:]  Ten dollars.  [He wads up the bill into a little ball and thromps it off the floor, bouncing]  I wad up the ten dollar bill.  How much is it worth?  [with congregation:]  Ten dollars.

“You may be spit on, stomped on, and wadded up into a little ball, but you are still what God made you.”

Well that had a powerful rhetorical effect on us in the congregation.

Later on, yes, there was laying on of hands.  I cannot well describe it, except that this pastor who had preached for 40 years set up the congregation rushing to the stage by explaining that if one person doing _______________ cured 10,000 _________, and two cured 100,000, then 10 cured….1 trillion.  1 trillion devils rid by 10 people!  And that’s all! 

I do a bad job of retelling this, but you may get some idea of the logic here.  Many people rushed to the stage.  90% of people.  I stayed seated, with quite a few others who also felt unmoved.

*

At the end, and I’ve left out a lot, people stayed around talking.  R– approached me.  R– is an usher.  I had felt unpressured in a lovely way up till then, but R– asked what church I belonged to, and then proceeded to tell me that going to church doesn’t matter; it’s…. (I forget his words, but:) it’s a commitment that matters.

Now, I’m not even going to talk about R– telling me about being saved.  But I will say that yes, I understand why some of my friends fear and dislike churchgoing folk for feeling religion and guilt pushed on them.  And I will say that I think it’s, if I may take this out of religious context, I think it’s a fantastic idea I stand behind that going through the motions doesn’t matter; it’s a commitment that matters. 

I do hope that makes sense to you in the way I intend it.   Don’t just talk about doing what you’re passionate about.  Don’t just act as if you’re living a life that amazes you in a wonderful way.  Commit to it.  Do it.  Make it happen.  Take the risk.  Take the plunge.

*

Lessons learned:  Blacks and whites can be friends more naturally than I ever assumed without my even thinking about it.  Smiling at your neighbors and having them smile at you and grasp your hand feels good up to a point.  So many things in life are fun, including speaking.  I have a lot to learn about skills and experience of storytelling.  I enjoyed the gospel service at the megachurch outside of Cincinnati, and felt at home in many ways.

*

I couldn’t find my cellphone.  “Is there a payphone,” I asked a guy.  There wasn’t, but he let me use his cellphone to call a taxi.  The taxi number was busy.  He asked where I was going.  I told him.  ”Wait here,” he said, “I’ll find someone going that way.”

“Alex!” he called across the room a minute later.  He introduced me to another guy, whom he said was going my way and would give me a ride.  “Well good meeting you,” he said to me.  “And good meeting you too,” he said to the guy he’d just introduced me to.  I wondered how he’d found someone going my way so fast.

The guy who’d offered me the ride walked me out with his friend.  They were singing music that sounded very much like the gospel music that’d been sung in the service.  I felt as if they were testing me, waiting to see if I sung along.  I didn’t sing.  They said goodbye to each other; I got in the shotgun seat, he drove me back to my hotel along the backroad that glided past the freeway.

We talked some.  We both play piano.  He plays gospel, I play piano.  He’s lived here most his life, was in Atlanta for a few years.  I’m from New York City.  It’s an hour and a half by plane.  He guessed seven hours by car.  He showed me where a traffic light was new.  Because of the new hospital, he explained.  This used to be a field road, it’s all changed since he was here last.

He drove me to the hotel.  It’s the best hotel in Middletown, he said.  I didn’t know what to say.  Earlier I’d thanked him for offering the ride.  At the start of the ride I’d said I’d been touched by the service.  He thought I meant his service of offering the ride.  I meant the service of the congregation.

I wanted to ask how much time he spends with the Solid Rock Church.  He plays at various churches around Middletown; leads youth choir; but I wanted to know more about his life, and the role that what I’d been involved in tonight plays in his life.

I wondered where I’d get dinner, and how long it would take me to write this all to my satisfaction in a first draft, and I told him that I hoped to come back soon.  It’s always hard to tell when people know I’m being sincere, but I meant it.  Most of all, I hope to take the fun, the smiles, the friendship, the genuine goodwill, and whether people believe in God or believe in themselves or believe in people around them or the world around them, most of all I hope to be involved in the decision-making and the action and the plunge of adventures like tonight and writing in this way and the depth of adventures undertaken with strangers and friends purposefully and daringly together, and seeing where, with grace, go I.  Actually, I’m anticipating shared text.  Instead of a book that has been written, from which a select few impart lessons to a congregation, I anticipate shared text of books being written, games being made, art projects being created, and with this dynamic living text, many individuals stepping up to the plate and pitching their balls, writing their notes, blogging an ever-revised first draft.  However I will leave this first draft as a sketch for you.

In the gift shop there is a sign:

“a house is built: with boards and beams

a house is built: with love and dreams”