Going to see a man about a God

Waiting to go to church. Not enthusiastic. Can't work out why.

Currently trying out a new place - Mosaic in Leeds. And it's good. The talks make sense, don't go on too long and are backed up by actual bible stuff. The worship feels like it's been thought out in advance but still has the flexibility to allow authenticity in the moment. The people are friendly enough and seem to welcome new people, rahter than the usual Christian practice of glaring suspiciously at anyone who's been coming for less than five years.

But I feel really odd going in. And I try to leave as soon as the service is over. Like those people I used to criticise, who never got involved in the community and always scampered, back when I was leading services in Wakefield. Anxious to get back to my own, real life. The people there are clearly genuine. It's me that feels false. Like I'm spying on something I don't understand. Like a Dalek trying to sneak into a humans-only club and saying things like "Gosh, we humans are really... bipedal. Aren't we? Fellow humans? Bipedal?"

It could just be the shock of a new place after being so establised somewhere. In some ways this is a good thing. Take away what is familiar and see what is left. Turns out, in terms of being a participant in a standard service, there's not that much. I'm getting something out of the talks, and it's good to have a designated spot in the week for stillness and reflection - I do tend to fill my life with noise. But when I look at the people who are really into it - eyes closed, happy, experiencing something - I'm not there, and I'm not even sure I'm aiming for there. Hmm.

What I do have is community. Even though I'm not in my old church any more, there is a sense that I am still part of that bunch of people. Well, some of them. Again, it's stripped away the pretending: the people I still see are those that make the effort to keep in touch, or whom I make the effort to see. And these are good people, who make me better, and bring me wine.

Not sure what all this means.

In other news, I have been given a brilliant valentine present - a schmumf. This is not his real name. He is a lovely pillowy thing. For schmumfing. He makes me happy, and is good for putting my head on when reading. I am currently reading the following:

A book Antony lent me on Steven Segal which is suprisingly funny, despite having seen precisely none of his films.

Yet another academic text on Doctor Who (though this is probably the best I've yet read)

A series of unauthorised essays on Fight Club (though I'm not sure if I should have mentioned it)

A series of essays on British Horror films since 1970.



So that's me. Off to church. It is good, and it has the brilliant, redeeming feature of starting at 5pm. Genius. Done by half six. Pub. Chilli bowl.