we are god's people by jonny
	We have this homeless lady in the neighborhood named Gloria. She’s often on a bench in Bennett Park muttering angry words to herself. Sometimes she crashes our church down the street, and not in a timid, humble way. She's cranky and demanding and makes everyone feel uncomfortable. But sometimes that’s what New York is: cranky, demanding and a little uncomfortable, but full of little life lessons if you’re in a good mood. So one day she visited our church while I was away. Troy described how she cursed out a mother and child who always sit in the same spot. Apparently they got up to use the bathroom and Gloria didn’t like how they were moving past her or something. The mom got defensive and began yelling back and before you knew it there was a bar room brawl going on in the sanctuary. Our preacher stopped his sermon, called Gloria by name, told her it was okay, and then his wife got up and helped her to another room. According to Troy everything ended up all right and the church service went on as planned. Thank goodness, because church shouldn’t be uncomfortable. Well, our church has lots of uncomfortable, messy moments, thanks to a great big mix of diversity and people from all over trying to come together and worship God in New York City. Some of the discomfort is quick and painless, giving us something to laugh about later, like when our friend was visiting and got in the way of a heavily medicated usher who cursed her during the sermon with a hearty, "Jesus Christ!" (She doesn’t usher so much anymore.) Some of it is actually very difficult, like when wonderful people leave the church because they’ve had a falling out with someone. Somewhere in between is the controversy that takes place every single Sunday morning over the We Are God’s People books that we’re all supposed to sign and then pass to the next person. This keeps going until everyone in the row has put their name in the book, and then it is to be passed back down the row so that everyone can look at the other names and maybe get to know folks around them. The book is supposed to be left where it started on the pew. Rarely do we follow these instructions correctly, which causes us trouble with a tough gang of old ladies who take this very seriously. I guess they’re in charge of these books, because they turn around in their seats, squint their eyes and watch us all very closely during this process. We almost always let them down. I once witnessed one of the ladies hit a visiting man on the back of his head with one of these books and demand that he write his name in it. He never came back. Not all the older women at our church are crazy. We have some normal ones, too. I’m not sure where all the older men are, but there are a lot of very passionate ladies who work tirelessly to keep our church going, from ushering to cooking to running the monthly thrift sale. While the rest of us dress pretty casual (sometimes downright sloppy), these ladies put on their nicest dresses and fanciest hats and yes, even corsages, and sit in the same spot every week. (Frankly, there’s a territorial thing going on at our church. These are some dangerous pews.) But when it comes to the We Are God's People books, there are a few ladies who remind me that we’re all human and a lot of us are ridiculous. And broken. Which reminds me of Gloria. Troy told me about another time she came in to our church (why am I never there when this happens?) and he tried to calm her down but she insisted on seeing the preacher. This was minutes before show time. Troy asked if she could wait a little longer, but she was very angry and would not look him in the eyes, insisting she see the preacher right this minute. Then Troy lied and told her he was a minister. His punishment for lying was that she looked at him and said in a haughty tone, “I don’t know you,” and continued asking for the preacher. The real preacher. Then our custodian appeared with half a loaf of Italian bread, offered her some and calmed her down like he was an angel from heaven. (It’s worth noting here that Troy disagrees with my interpretation of the situation, especially since he was there and I wasn’t, and defends himself by saying that he was the interim director of Sunday school at the time which did qualify him as a kind of minister and that means he was not actually lying. However, I think it’s very funny that he tried to pass himself off as the preacher and Gloria would have none of it.) So a few weeks passed without a Gloria incident and I was walking our dog Max at Bennett Park. It was a beautiful sunny cold autumn afternoon and I was taking it all in, feeling thankful and peaceful. I was aware that Gloria was on her usual bench pretty near me. I was kind of scared of her because of all the stories I’d heard so I kept my distance with my beautiful thoughts, but I glanced over in time to see this amazing thing. Two little girls with their mom were playing near Gloria, and they climbed up on the bench real sweet-like, giggling like little girls do, and gave her a big autumn leaf. The mom kind of walked towards them, smiling as if nothing was scary about Gloria (obviously she had not heard the stories I had) and then the girls jumped off the bench and ran off to play. Gloria smiled and put the giant leaf in her pocketbook. She didn’t seem so scary to me. I think of the crazy ladies from our church who I’m also scared of and I want to be a little girl and give them a leaf, changing them into nice, thankful people. Instead I think mean thoughts about them. I scowl and pout and roll my eyes. All they want from me is to sign the damn book and have it at the right place on the pew so they can pick it up after church and keep track of the names. For some reason this really, really matters to them. And I understand what it’s like to have something really matter to me. Troy and I go to this neighborhood church because homeless people aren’t degraded when they come in from the cold, because women are seen as equals to men and given leadership positions without any kind of scandal, because the homosexual community is loved and embraced, because neighborhood kids come to Sunday school even if their parents never set foot in the building, because people that don’t speak English have a Spanish language service that rocks the house, because teenagers come and play basketball in our gym on Wednesday nights and get a prayer or two, because every afternoon an after school program is allowed to use the building and fill the halls with 40 noisy grade school children, because elderly ladies have a place to feel important, because a lot of our congregation was really sad when our country went to war, and because every time I’m in that church I can picture Jesus sitting in the middle of all this and belonging here. These things really, really matter to me. I can almost picture hitting a stranger over the head with a book over these things. We are all God's people. Gloria, the intense church ladies, the preacher, the gay couple, the Dominican children, me. All of us with our problems, our pride, our sin, our grievances, just waiting to be treated like we belong, like we’re loved, like we’re worthy of something as pretty as an autumn leaf in the hands of some giggly kid. So I sign that book each Sunday that I can, and I try, oh how I try, to make sure it ends up in its proper place. The other day one of the craziest ladies of all actually gave me a smile and a thank you when I had done just that. It wasn’t so hard to do after all. ocotober 2004