Rock on common cathedral

Throughout my childhood and adolescence, I often felt like a lonely outsider. Disorders of various kinds (seizure disorder, speech disorder, bipolar disorder) kept me withdrawn and apart. Here and there, I did have a good friend; then the bond would break, and it was me, myself, and I again. By my late twenties and early thirties, I'd been able to transform searing loneliness into (mostly) pleasurable solitude.

Still, a part of me kept seeking connection to others, a place to belong.

In April of 2002, I wrote an article for Spare Change News on Ecclesia, an ecumenical ministry for homeless people and housed people and service providers, and so on.

After completing the article, I decided to return to its Sunday service at 1:00, near Park St. station, called Common Cathedral. Before then, I had closed myself off from religion. Churches were just another place where I felt lonely, even alienated. But, I kept recalling the sincere caring, patience, and accessibility of Rev. Debbie Little, during the awkwardness of the article-writing process. I also recalled that it was a ministry that combined the teachings of Christianity with social service. It wasn't just a pulpit over there and pews over here. Ecclesia served its members throughout the week. I felt that there could be a place for me in this church.

So I returned, and returned.

First of all, I liked the fact that common cathedral took place outdoors. It was informal. Members of common cathedral could come and go. There was no constraint implicit in a church interior. It was beautiful. The ancient trees, the expanse of grass and sky were awe-inspiring and refreshing. And, like Rev. Little, it was accessible. You did not have to put on your best clothes and arrive punctually to meet with the Lord. You got to the service as and when you could.

Second, having slipped into common cathedral like a pair of old cut-offs, I liked the service. I liked the mix of populations: homeless people, middle-class people, clergy and parishioners from other churches, young people, old people, straight and gay people. Common cathedral (an important hub of Ecclesia) didn't just talk the talk of being inclusive. It was truly inclusive. I also liked the combination of old and new, for instance, the Our Father and the Serenity Prayer. More than that, I liked the integration of a traditional service-a reading from the Bible, a sermon, the exchange of peace, and Communion-with new approaches-commentary on the reading from common cathedral members and a range of un-hymn-like songs. Finally, I like to sing, and common cathedral gave me the chance to sing, a lot, unselfconsciously.

Third, over time, I came to know many of the members of common cathedral. This came about partly, I suppose, because I attended services regularly. But I think it came about, mostly, through volunteering for Ecclesia-except that an Ecclesia minister, Rev. Joan Murray, suggested that I volunteer for a similar but separate social services agency called Neighborhood Action. Distinctions and complications aside, I ended up running into many of the common cathedral members, while volunteering for Neighborhood Action: homeless people, Ecclesia interns and volunteers, the Ecclesia ministers (Little and Murray) and, that year, the Ecclesia henchman, Elisha Harig-Blaine. Although Neighborhood Action was a legally separate agency from Ecclesia, it was not spatially separate. Both agencies rented space from St. John the Evangelist's Church on Beacon Hill. In any case, I was no longer a lone churchgoer, feeling like an untouchable. I had become part of a community.

One last, fourth note. Like Rev. Little, Rev. Murray has been accessible. She has counseled me, when I was confused and depressed. She has been reading my novel with enthusiasm-and enthusiastic readers are crucial for struggling novelists. She has encouraged me to join other Ecclesia activities, from common art to Pastoral Care and theological reflection meetings.

In sum, I have found enjoyment and community at common cathedral. This does not mean that I manage to get there every week, nor does it mean that I am healed now fro bipolar disorder, in some happy-ever-after way. It does mean that when I do go, I always find something I like, something to remember, something to help me through the week, and I always find a friendly face, somebody who knows me and is glad I'm there.

Common cathedral provides connection and nurturance that keeps me emotionally healthy and strong. I cannot and will never underestimate its contribution to my life.

To learn more about Ecclesia Ministries and common cathedral CLICK HERE

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