Me and God are good

I did a great deal of experimenting that first year - most of it not very dramatic.  There was everything from playing a recital in the local(ish) vegetarian restaurant with a rather reluctant ex-school friend(ish) through to 'light opera society' (one rehearsal of The Gondoliers was enough to put me off), parachuting (numerous trips to goodness knows where to be shouted at by an ex-army officer, only to find that this particular activity involved extreme fear and not insignificant pain - but a rather natty outfit for the jump itself - I had a flared jumpsuit!), bungy jumping (as before on the fear front - I kept my eyes closed for the majority of the experience - the weekend was most notable for the journey to France), the aforementioned three-legged pub crawl dressed as an egyptian mummy (loo roll - lots of it) and church.

Now - many people have church-y phases and experiences and mine, I'm sure, was nothing special.  But, for a time, I really looked forward to going to church.

The University Christian Union was, for some reason, something of a turn-off.  That wasn't for me.  The local "Community Church" (church-speak for Evangelical) was for me.  R introduced me (it was, of course, his duty and responsibility as a son of a Minster to do so) and came with me the majority of the times.

R also introduced me to the University Chaplain who I had a brief conversation with - most notably about the church's attitude to homosexuality.  He said, quite accurately, that I clearly was experiencing some sort of calling.  He asked, at the end of our conversation, if I'd like us to pray together.  I said "sure".  He said a few words of prayer.  I wasn't sure if I was supposed to say something out loud too.

The big schtick of the Community Church was this theatrical 'journey' that each service went on.  The music started quietly - it had started before you came in.  And it gradually built and built over the course of an hour - to this climax of clapping, hand waving and, in some quarters, speaking in tongues.  And then we went through this lengthy decrescendo as things like the sermon and, of course, the collection came into play.  But it's that first hour of music that I remember the most.  "You did not wait for me to draw near to you.....And I'm forever grateful to you....I'm forever grateful for the cross" is a particular song that I still remember quite clearly. 

The other thing that I remember particularly clearly is the extreme discomfort I felt, at the end of each service, when those who were ready to do so, went down to the front to be personally prayed for and to receive Christ into their lives.  I watched in awe as people fell to the ground, hands were laid on and the singing softly continued.  "Do you want to go down?"  said R.  "No - not today" I said.

We'd go to the pub afterwards.  We'd often go, grossly hungover.  I was perfectly honest with friends, family and housemates about going.  Some heated discussions with U about who was going to heaven and who wasn't occasionally ensued but, in general, as ever, I just got on with it.

And then, much further down the line, I just stopped.  I don't particularly remember a moment of enlightenment or insult.  I didn't fall particularly 'in' or 'out' with the whole thing.  I just stopped.

A friend, the other day, intimated that she assumed that I was an atheist.  "Me and God are good" I said.