Taking Notes At Church

THIS PAST SUNDAY I attended services at "my" tiny little Presbyterian church down in the valley, because its only five miles from my house,and the scenery is wonderful. I'm giving my true faith, Unitarian Universalism, a brief rest, because the building is twenty miles away, through traffic. I was ready for church this time. I had my Bible, and a notepad and pen. I intended to take notes, like any good student during a good lecture. It worked out well. The sermon was, I thought, magnificent, right up my proverbial spiritual alley, and each time the minister, a good friend of mine, referred to a particular scriptural passage, I was there. I didn't actually write anything down, but, by golly, I was ready, and could have. It brought to mine another time, long ago, when the same scheme didn't work out as well. Thirty years ago I was spending a quiet Sunday morning drinking coffee in my bathrobe, as usual, and watching a Baptist church service on television. It was one onf those "mega" churches, a local building in which more than nine thousand people were sitting in the pews, listing to a friend of mine give one of his good, southern Baptist, conservatively oriented lectures. Some of his matrial and comments I liked, some I didn't. For awhile I got into the habit of watching this church service regularly. I got frustrated when one sad Sunday the choir showed up wearing dull flat black robes insead of their traditional beautiful bright blue ones, a big mistake for television. I strongly disagreed with this change, and said so. Although the messaging from this conservative fundamentalistic church did not generally appeal to me, much of it did, and a time or two, I attended in person. The parking was surprisingly easy, and the crowd was easier to navigate than I had predicted. I sat about halfway back, closer to the back. As I had done sometimes at home, I wanted to take notes. So, I did. I felt a bit awkward doing it, ensconced as I was closely surrounded by a mob of stone still well dressed upper middle class crackers, with only my right hand oving, glideing across notebook paper, jotting words down. Maybe I kept at it a bit too long, because as the sermon proceeded, i started getting a few shifty sour slances from a few of my "neighbors", who, as the mintues passed, clearly did not like my note taking, as if it were somehow hindering or distracting from their own religious experience. Noncomformity, oh horror. Maybe they weren't accustomed to college, or high school. When the service ended, and it was time for everybody to stand there a few minutes, greet each other, and smile, I noticed that I got left out. Of course, nobody knew me. One or two of them approached me, spoke, and emmphasizing that I was a stranger, introduced themselves. But not a whole lotta friendly. At the exist, the minister, a locally famous man, was smiling at the mob as it exited. He and I had met before, he recognized me, and offered to shake hands. I mentioned that I had taken notes during his sermon, so interesting it was, and asked him whether he thought that was acceptable. He replied that I didn't need to take notes, that my heart and would would remember what I needed to, something like that. Essentially, a negative answer, cloacked in a fancy reason. And I didn't really like that, I was looking for an unqualified affirmation, wholehearted approval of what to me, an academician, is something of a sacred process, note taking. A powerful minister, rejecting even the slightest variation from the uniformity of believers within his kingdom. A tad too top heavy for me. I know I can take notes at the Presbyterian church, because the congregation rarely reaches double figures in number. Then tooo, the Unitarians seemdown with it. I have found a home, if not two.