Holy Ground

"Why are you in your feet?"

I was sitting in the very back row of church-not the back row, the VERY back row. The one pushed against the wall. The row for those of us who only wish to be seen by God that day. I was hunched over, picking up my purse, Bible, and empty plastic communion cup when I was seen. I looked up, and my pastor's young son was before me, staring quizzically at my "naked" feet. 

I smiled. I don't mind being seen by children. Reaching for my shoes which were far under my seat, I answered his curiosity. "I feel closer to God when I'm in my feet." The child accepted this, as if it made perfect sense, and scampered off to play with his friends.

Shoes have always been distasteful to me. Shoes are a barrier, and barriers are an abomination. While I acknowledge that some barriers, both physical and intangible, exist for protection, I recoil from barriers that separate me from that for which I am reaching. 

I am always reaching for God, as he is always reaching for me. I believe God speaks to people through many different forms; through his word, his spirit, other humans, nature, and art-to name a few. For me, I experience God most through art and nature. 

Seeing a play, therefore, can be and often is a spiritual experience. A few years ago, I had the privilege of seeing Bathing in Moonlight by Nilo Cruz at The McCarter Theatre. A play about a priest, Father Monroe, who also believes that "God wants us to remove barriers and walls." Through the play, I watched as this man went on a personal journey as he pushed past barriers that had been set up for him through the structure of the Catholic church. After being found out in a highly public manner about his romantic pursual of a young woman, the lights come up on Father Monroe kneeling on the ground of the church. His priest robes have been unbuttoned and the top of his robes lay splayed around his hips and legs, stained-glass windows bringing colors to his bare chest. Monroe's superior, Bishop Andrew, comes upon him in this state and urges him to dress himself. In despair and bereavement, Father Monroe refuses. "This is how I want to talk to God," he proclaims.

And it wrecked me. The utter vulnerability, intimacy, and defiance that was displayed in that moment. The literal exposure of a man searching for answers from his God. He stripped himself of the priestly garment, and humbled himself to the basic nature of their relationship: a creature conversing with his creator. 

Every Sunday since viewing that powerful play, I take communion in my bare feet. The way my church does communion is incredibly meaningful to me. Row by row, we walk down the side aisles to take the elements at the front of the church, then we come down the center aisle to return back to our seats. It's a poignant picture of the community we have as the body of Christ. So, week by week, I take that walk in my bare feet. In the summer, I'm not wearing shoes anyway. In the winter, I remove my shoes. This act makes me think of Moses, and how God told him at the burning bush to remove his sandals, "for the place on which you are standing is holy ground." (Exodus 3:5). 

I strongly identify with Moses, which could be a whole other blog post. And while I know that the "ground" of my church's floor has not been made holy in the way of the ground at the burning bush, I still feel impressed by the holiness of the experience of communion. As I take off my shoes, I think, "This is how I want to talk to God." 

I feel the earth beneath me.

The earth my God has created.

My God who has created me.

Me, a being created to create. 

There are no strictures for this blog. It's a place that I hope to share some of my own creation: short pieces, poems, pictures, ideas, etc. When I create, I create through my understanding of God and how he has ordered the world. I have thoughts about what it means to be an artist who is also a Christian. I am hoping to share some of those thoughts here. 

Those of you who know me know that I have another blog, The Doctor Dances, which is a bit of a mess, but has largely evolved into a blog about my mental health, trauma, and how faith intersects with those things. Mental illness and art are often closely tied. For me, there's a symbiotic relationship for sure. But my mental health is not going to be the focus here.

This is a space for me to be more open, to form deeper connections, to grow as I traverse the holy ground.

And yes. I wrote this "in my feet".