So said my friend Amber as we munched hipster fusion tacos amidst exposed brick and wooden beams in Silverlake.
Or what I’m eating for breakfast. Or how my ass looks in those jeans.
Which is to say – very, very little thought.
When I visit my parents, I’ll occasionally attend the church I grew up in because I want to say hello to all those sweet little old ladies. I went to a Universal Unitarian church once. I love partaking in my guy’s (totally atheist) Jewish holidays.
When people start talking about crystals and chakras and “communing with blahblahblah whatever” I mentally assemble my shopping list and consider my cuticles with undue scrutiny.
But Amber’s comment got me thinking. What does church mean? What would church feel like to me, the most Agnostic and deeply unspiritual of humans?
Coincidentally (or by divine intervention?) just a few days after our conversation, Amber and I attended a workout class with one Mr. Richard Simmons.
We danced. We sang and shouted in unison with people we’d just met, making eye contact and grinning while we high kicked. I moved my body in a way that brought me that down-to-the-bone, childlike joy. I felt connected and happy and part of something bigger that myself – even if that something was just a studio full of happy, sweaty strangers.
As completely ridiculous as it sounds, I finally understood my friend and her version of spirituality by sweating to the oldies.
And little by little, I started taking note of those tiny moments when I would well up with happy tears or chest-swelling connection. Those moments have become my personal version of church.
For me, church takes place any time
I’m making music with people I love,
I’m alone with the sun and a huge, open sky,
I get completely lost in what I’m doing and I feel connected to the task at hand – dancing, writing, cooking, scrubbing the grout with a toothbrush.
Your church is any space that fills + thrills you. It’s any gathering of people that brings you tangible joy.
photo by Robert Couse-Baker // cc