'Outwith' the Church - Sunday Morning

It's Sunday...the traditional 'day of rest', the 'Church' day for whatever Christian Church you belong to. I feel the 'outwith' status of Church I now inhabit. The threshold of Church I cannot now pass for a myriad of reasons, none essentially to do with God or Jesus with whom I have no argument.

I searched the internet this morning to find a place I could be...to no avail. I don't want the traditional, nor the wildly ultra 'other' which often irritates me too.

There has to be 'a place'. it's finding it that's proving difficult. It has to be feminist...Christian...but not too 'alternative'.

I like to challenge, I'm not a subservient woman, bowed down by years of orthodoxy. I had my 'traditional' era somewhere between age 24 - 30years. Thereafter I diverged on seeing the mirage of a black buttoned up cassock walk into my Church in Hackney straight from Rome. He only opened his mouth 5 minutes when I knew my time was up. it was a blessing in actual fact. I found my voice and strength and 'womanhood' never seemed so urgent to reclaim spiritually.

I was 'tainted' woman, not of the flesh, but of the spirit. that spirit of misogyny lurked disguised as 'truth' somewhere deep inside and I did not like it. I spent years 'vomiting' up this spiritual bile! and it took years to understand...and then I was free and 'outwith'.

But what is freedom if it means 'on one's own'. the yearning for spiritual connection is deep, unfilled and lonely. The days with my fellow travellers, CSSA, were the closest to my Nirvana, my fulfilment, my dream of a 'Spirituality of Vomiting' - the stuff we were MADE to swallow.

But we filled that void with love, humanity, vulnerability, sharing, crying and praying in authentic 'oneness' with a God of understanding. and the vomiting ceased.

The icons of our 'theology'; doves, leaves of trees, Teardrops, brick walls, coloured ribbons held the meaning of our pain and suffering and we for short periods were NOT alone. and in that space Jesus came, light-footed, gently, softly, carefully and tenderly. He did not bulldoze minds and hearts and spirits with dogma, certainty and masculinity. No, he joined, but did not order, force or make us into some mould that spoke 'Church'. A Church proscribed by maleness and power and preaching and domination.

He came as a spirit in each of us, wandering in the dessert, crying in the wilderness, seeking, water and refreshment. And he found us, and he loved us. and we were at the well, being nourished. Together.

and we were right, we were perfect in his eyes. He, with US,  filled our liturgies with healing and with light. and we left more whole, more WOMAN, stronger in our self-belief.

We did this...we women, gathered around the hearth and DID this TOGETHER.

Whether Jesus is male or not, was immaterial. His likeness seemed female. Motherly, warm, tender and silent and waiting.

The Wall Hanging: 'A Visible sign of our presence' - Christian survivors of Sexual Abuse.

and this I miss...I miss those WOMEN.  I miss that SPACE.  I miss that PLACE.  It was not 'Church'...it was MORE than Church.

I am 'outwith' , and I feel lonely. 

can I find that place again...?