Church of Joy

Where one worships seems partly an outcome of socialization, people tending to continue in the family tradition. For those who strike out beyond custom, I imagine that the decision about the ‘where else’ responds to how that alternative practice resonates with spiritual need but also with personality. Churches, meaning the aggregate of congregations, beliefs and practices, have personalities. 

The churches/reverential spaces that I have visited are each distinct from the other in observable and atmospheric ways. Traditional Anglican and Catholic churches are subdued, contemplative, the services replete with long-abided rituals. The physical structures are things of dramatic aesthetic value. The churches feel solid, sure, but at the same time, somewhat inflexible. Changes, if any, are tweaks after long, hierarchical consultations.

The newer evangelical church services are elaborate yet curiously casual affairs. There is structure yet latitude. People are self-expressive. Some stand the whole time, others sit, and then some kneel. People dance in the aisles and men walk with whistles around their neck. There is a permeating fervor, with adherents seeking, looking, and longing for personal salvation. It is all very, very intense.

Today I went to a small church in St. George. I was meandering along and there it was, a church meant to hold about 200 persons but with no more than 40 present. It was a breezy place and I was well and warmly welcomed, a stranger in their midst, but also a potential congregant. Intending to stay no more than 45 minutes, I stayed almost to the end. Here’s the thing. That place exuded satisfied joyfulness.

 When Marx said the religion was the opiate of the people, he was also being descriptive, that divine and practiced belief dulls pain and ache, helps one transcend troubles, suspend harsh reality.  In that St. George Church of God, our history pressed in on me and I found myself thinking, this, this, is how Caribbean people endured and survived centuries of cruelties. This is how.

A young woman led the service and the sermon was delivered by her piano playing husband. All the hymns were rousing songs of praise, joyous, rendered lustily in up, up Caribbean tempo, led by elderly Sister Erma (recently recovered by grace of God from a broken ankle) and accompanied by an electric piano, tambourine and drums: Praise the Lord, I am Free;  I abide neath His smiling face; Thou has put gladness in my heart.

The hymnal introduction states that this church celebrates its ‘tradition of deep love for vital and meaningful congregation singing’. Amen to that.

 

 

 

 

 

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