Embodied Awkwardness
Trying to be Anglican has led to some uncomfortable discoveries
Embodied practices reveal more than disembodied ones.
I joked to my kids that, on Mother’s Day, I just wanted be Anglican. They obliged by letting me drag them to our first church visit since our move to South Carolina. I feel a tremendous promise and hope in the congregation we found, and in the hope that this mainline experiment just might work out.
On our first visit, I joked with the greeters that I was just pretending to be Anglican, I didn’t actually know how to do it (which was true). That led me to discover that many of the congregants were in the same boat! They had found refuge in this Anglican fellowship after disillusionment with some other aspect of Christianity. And the (priest? Friar? Pastor? Reverend? I still haven’t figured this out!) kept the atmosphere light and “foreigner-friendly” (my words) by guiding us through the liturgy. There were less awkward moments than I expected.
Less being the key word. I’m introverted, super introverted in fact, and I know this isn’t unique. Tons of people, maybe up to half, can worship and fellowship as introverts. But this past month as I’ve been getting in the communion line, passing the peace, I’ve been acutely reminded of shyness. Fear even. These are labels that, unlike introversion, I don’t claim with pride. Usually, I ignore them and try to pretend them away. But in a church service with highly embodied practices, I’ve found them impossible to ignore.
Which leads me to think about the nature of embodiment in spiritual practice. Why does it, for lack of a better phrase, feel so much? I’m sure embodiment elicits different responses in different people, and my hunch is that it heightens whatever is already at work. My shyness was already at work, so when I’m in the communion line I find myself freaking out about what expression my face should have when I make eye contact with the priest. Should I smile? Half smile? Stare at my kids? Look down?! When we pass the peace I can’t even get the words out. My mind is whirling. Should I turn to the person behind me? Wait, they’re looking to the side, I shouldn’t distract them. Should I cross the aisle? Those people are shaking hands and hugging- is that only for people who’ve known each other for a specific amount of time? And on and on.
My early conclusion is this: embodiment makes us face one another and, when do, our vulnerability rises to the surface. We can’t sit in comfortable anonymity. Hopefully, hopefully, this is where Jesus comes to meet us. It’s a bit like the first year of marriage. Things are relatively easy while you’re dating, but once you start living with each other all sorts of things get laid bare. You have to reckon, and you have to change.
I’m not really sure how to reckon with shyness, I never have been. But it definitely is the aspect that embodied communion, passing the peace, and gospel reading are magnifying. Perhaps they’re also making it harder to hide faith uncertainties. Maybe I stumble through proclaiming peace to my neighbor because I’m not confident in that peace. Even though I want to be. All these practices and feelings seem worth pressing through to start seeing what’s on the other side. I’ve had enough experience with other-sides to know that there is absolutely no timeframe on them; some come in a week and some don’t come for five decades. I’d settle for something in between!
This is so wonderful to read!