Isn't God's Org-Chart Flat?

Church this morning was less than inspiring. I've become a Rick Laribee brat. 'Cuz if he ain't there, I'm having difficulty getting my God on. Apparently others feel the same way, because the 11:00 service was nearly empty. But still, there were some enlightening moments.

I am no expert in church rituals and etiquette, and even less so in the Episcopalian-flavored varieties. But some things about this church have puzzled me. First, when we arrive we usually have to make our way past a virtual brigade of men and women of the cloth. I'm not sure which cloth though. Or perhaps a better way of phrasing that is I'm unsure what their particular cloth means. They look something like Catholic altar boys. Their garb consists of a white robe worn over street clothes, with a black tab-collar shirt underneath. I see this shirt and I automatically want to say "Hello Fadda". But I just don't know - are they Faddas? And what on earth do I call the women? "Muddas"?

See, that's one of the things I actually like about the Catholic Church - I know my place. I understand who is who, I know how to address them, and I know where I fit into the enormous Catholic org-chart: squarely at the bottom, below and to the right of "Administration and Maintenance".

One of the curious things about these particular people at our church is that they all have the blank stare of a Stepford Wife. On lithium. Their demeanor seems designed to discourage any attempt to make eye contact.

This morning they were milling, as a group, around the nave's entry when we walked in. We must have caught them by surprise because I actually succeeded in making eye contact with one of them. I smiled at him, nodded and mouthed the words "good morning" - it just felt best to merely mouth the greeting, since it was likely that any conversation with this person might require an accompanying bow or curtsy, and in the absence of that, you might be forgiven if you'd only mouthed the words. At any rate, my greeting was received as warmly as one might receive an offering of cheeze whiz, when expecting Boursin. Undaunted, I tried another greeting, in the same fashion, with the unfriendly-looking chap standing next to him. He merely stared through me in such an intense manner that I actually turned around to see what he might be looking at, behind my transparent self.

Finding nothing there, I decided to move on.

These people always travel as one - the entire group. Where one goes, the others follow. During service, they generally congregate with the organist in the north transept. It finally dawned on me, during today's service, that these people were the choir. Well, that explains the empty stare - its connected to their handsome voices. Because they've each received the gift of an angelic voice, they feel as though they're guaranteed a place among the ultimate flock. They don't even try anymore. I personally don't sing in church, because I figure that if God had meant for me to sing in church, he'd have given me one of those voices.

Satisfied that I'd solved that little mystery, I settled in to hear today's gospel reading of John 2:1-11, The Wedding at Cana. Jesus and his disciples are mingling at the wedding feast when the bridgegroom runs out of wine for his guests. No wine at a Jewish celebration?! Mary calls upon her son Jesus to rescue the situation. Like any good son, he initially cops an attitude. Eventually though, he transforms several large vessels of water into wine, and saves the party. The servants bring a saucer of wine to an anxious chief steward, who, upon tasting the wine, remarks to the bridgegroom "Wow! Most people serve the good wine first, and then serve the bad wine after the guests have become drunk. But you serve the good wine now."

Ok! Now here is some scripture that I can relate to. The water had obviously been transformed into Layer Cake Shiraz.

The minister's sermon focused on the symbolism of the vessels overflowing with wine, as related to God's abundance. I was still thinking about that nice Layer Cake, but did manage to catch some of what she was saying. In conclusion, she reflected upon her own relationship to this story of a wedding in Cana, in an allegorical sense. She asked (rhetorically, I later figured out) "Who am I in this story?" Before I could answer her, she went on, concluding that she was, symbolically speaking, the character of Mary. (Doh! I'm glad I didn't speak up, 'cuz I'd have been wrong.)

In the seconds that followed, one could sense, by the sitting-up and squaring of the shoulders, that the choir fancied themselves as perhaps the chief steward, the bridegroom, or maybe even better. Thus, with all the plum roles apparently spoken for, the rest of the congregation was left to assume that they were the drunken guests.

Except for me. I'm well below them, further down and to the right of "Administration and Maintenance".