God and I Meet in Unusual Circumstances

Last night was Saturday and I set my alarm for 10:30. I was determined to get to church this week having missed it last Sunday. This was the third Sunday after my confirmation into the Episcopalian faith at the Church of the Epiphany on 74th and York in Manhattan.

I was especially jazzed because during the Christmas season known as Pentecost in my church things really get cooking. The church gets decorated, the choir starts to sing all kinds of Christmas songs, guest musicians play harps and horns. The atmosphere is festive as we all wait for the birth of Jesus.

The head priest Andrew makes a killer ham for coffee hour which becomes a plethora of tasty delights. If the angels had to pick a place they'd definitely hit here. It's also a time when I cry a lot during services. It's a time when I watch families coming to church together, sitting together, talking to together and I'm reminded of the cruelty of my own family and their desire to isolate me from the love that only a family can share.

I cry for myself and I also cry because I truly feel that this congregation has become my family. My new family is made up of Jennifer the gifted and hip female priest, Andrew the head enchilada, Horase the cannon (whose name is Mr White but who actually has very dark skin) ,and the regulars in the congregation who I've come to know and love. Th idea that there is actually a place for me blows my mind. With all the people and creatures that God tends in the world there is a place set apart just for me where I can pray and feel loved and be a part of something greater than myself.

This feeling alone has allowed me to overcome many of my issues of low self esteem cultivated by my biological family. Strangely, with all the therapy all the AA's and meds it's that feeling that God is my family that has given me pause before I take that first drink or smoke that first joint, or do that first line. I realized I used to prefer to alter my mind and my spirit but now that I can feel love again when I'm clean I do not feel a need to go to any other place then where I am.

Clearly, I was determined to attend this Sunday, but God had other plans for me. Little did I know that Christmas would come early for me...


Sunday morning came, my alarm sounded but I just couldn't raise myself and forgoing the tortuous snooze option I went back to bed. When I finally got up I realized that thanks to the progressive priesting of Jennifer, my church offered a Sunday service at 6:00 pm. It's called Sanctuary and we have a group of regular musicians, who play live music and help create a very hip environment in which to worship. After the service we have dinner together, talk, get to know one another. It's a cozy, intimate service which takes place in a small chapel, where the presence of the spirit is very strong.

At about 5:45, I made my way down the street. The chilly winter air kept at bay by my winter coast, mitts, hat and gloves I finally reached the church and opened the doors. Immediately Jennifer came up to me.

"I said", she began " that the next person through the door would help me"."Kay, we're having a baptism and I need your help".

Something in me stirred. I felt honored, proud, I was actually going to help in a sacred service. My help was being asked?

She brought me up to the baptismal cement vessel at the back of the church. She explained that this was the first baptism ever at Sanctuary and that there would be two children attending. I would be in charge of holding the book so she could read, I would then pass her the oil and then the candles during the service. The official church term for this job is acolyte.


After my brief instruction, I went to sit down to reflect on my new role when Jennifer called on me again. I was asked to by the chalice bearer. That's the term used for the person who holds the cup or chalice with the wine in it and offers it to the people after Jennifer gives then the cracker and says. "This is the blood of Christ the cup of Salvation". It was my job to guide the chalice to their lips, let them take a little sip, wipe the side of the cup and offer it to the next person. I could do that , simple right.


The baptism went smoothly but I stumbled when Jennifer asked..."Will you who witness these vows do all in your power to support these persons in their life in Christ?"

The congregation is supposed to answer "We will", but I faltered. I've been around a church enough to know now that some people come in for a baptism or a wedding or Christmas and never really come back or participate or get to know anyone. I had never met these parents of these children before and I questioned if I could really keep my promise to support them in their life with Christ if I never see them again? I figured I could promise to best of my ability but my promise felt weak.


The rest of the service was touching. The baby giggled as the water trickled down her face and her two year old brother ran drunkenly around the baptismal vessal. And there I was, me holding the book for Jennifer, handing her the oil and then the candles. I could barely hold back my tears. The idea that I not only belonged here but would asked to help in a service stuck a deep chord with me.

We retreated to the chapel where the Eucharist was to take place. This is the part where the priest takes these crackers that symbolize the boy of Christ and then they dip the cracker into the wine which symbolized the blood of Christ. It was my job to hold the chalice and utter the words. "This is the blood of Christ the body of salvation".

Over the two years I'd been with the church I'd heard those word before but I never spoke them and in fear I would forget I wrote down the phrase "this is the blood of Christ, the body of salvation."

Jennifer began to give our the crackers and I followed her. A member approached, I held the chalice in my right hand, an a little white cloth with which to wipe it in my left. I uttered the words and guided the chalice to the woman's lips. "Don't let go of the chalice'"Jennifer had told me and I grabbed on tight.


Such simple words such powerful meaning for me, my heart sung this was the greatest Christmas gift of all. Here I was found just two years ago, holding the sacred chalice and uttering sacred words, here I was helping to minister to the souls of others. Few moments could compete with those seconds in my life.


Another person approached. This time it was a woman dressed with white shirt and black pants. The grandmother of the kids being baptized.


I offered her the chalice and uttered the word. She grabbed the cup from me. I grabbed it back. She let go of the cup, and stood there waiting for me to tilt it and pour it into her mouth. Jennifer did not say anything about giving people a sip. They were supposed to bring the chalice to their lips. It said so, right in the manifesto. Guide chalice to lips.


It's not so easy to stand in front of a person with a big gold cup and tilt it forward away from myself and into their mouths so that they get a sip.


I tilted, she brought her head forward, I placed it in between her lips thinking she has way to much lipstick on. I tilted, I tilted again and then realized that there wasn't that much liquid in a really big cup I'd have to tilt some more. I tilted the cup parallel to her head. The wine poured out into her waiting mouth and all over her white blouse.

God must have been with me because the woman didn't notice she'd be taking the blood of Jesus back home with her that night. I tilted back, horrified. And uttered the words. "The blood of Christ the cup of salvation". Priests made this look way to easy.
The heel of my shoe caught on the steps of the alter leaving me teetering precariously between falling forward on the woman with the chalice in hand, or falling ass backwards into the pointsettas that covered the alter.

There I was balanced on my heel of my shoe on the tip of the step steadied only by the weight of the chalice that I clutched in my right hand. The last thing Jennifer said to me was," Don't let go of the chalice". I had therefore only one option. I would fall into the woman. I steadied my self looking the women straight in the eye. If she moved to the right or the left I'd tumble down the concrete steps. Would she catch me? My eyes widened the brief moment moving in slow motion she must have seen my fear, my teetering heel slipped, my left hand moved to grab the chalice. I accepted the fact I was going to fall but damn if that chalice was going to hit the floor.
The woman in front of me must have seen the fear in my eyes and she glanced down briefly at my feet she threw her arms out as I began to fall forward ,chalice and all. The wine defying gravity leapt out of the glass, the woman reached out to grab my shoulders . I clutched the chalice with two hands flinging myself, the chalice and the wine straight into her chest. Her once white blouse was now speckled red. There was a deafening silence. No one spoke a word as I stumbled back. Had they ever seen a chalice mishap before? The priests that do this at the regular service made it look much to easy. All the salt in the world was not going to get those wine stains off that blouse. Had I ruined my chances to ever serve God in this way? Did I piss off God? Would I never be allowed to come back to the church again? Would no one ever talk to me again like the members of my immediate family?

Jennifer in full damage control quickly ran over to me and filled the chalice with more wine so that I could continue my work . The woman smiled amused and forgiving and I solemnly I finished my chalice holder duties.

As I handed the cup back to Jennifer she looked at me with love not the disdain I expected and I realized that this really was the place where what I thought the idea of a loving family existed. This was where I was loved, and forgiven and where I belonged.

That night I prayed; Dear God, I'm so sorry I dumped your wine on a poor woman's blouse. Thank you for not letting Jennifer get pissed off. I promise I'll be more careful in the future.