Am I Crazy? (This is not really about church)

Years ago, decades ago actually, I went to a revival at a b-i-g church on Winchester Blvd. I have always liked going to church. In Indiana we'd go every Sunday, back in the day when you cleaned up, wore your good clothes and damn well better act right in church. I loved listening to the Pastor's words, feeling the energy of everyone around...not so thrilled about the songs except at Christmas. When I was a girl I would bicycle alone from Santa Teresa to Blossom Hill Road to go to a little Baptist church near the old nursery. My family went to Lutheran church every now and then when we kids were real young. Thanks to my cousin, I found the most wonderful church, St. Peter's Lutheran in Columbus, always felt uplifted, loved, strengthened after Sunday service. Seeing all the kids in flip flops, rustling in the pews, real people gathering to hear about God, be restored by the Pastor's words, the music, songs and stories. Even my son, the self-proclaimed atheist (I've already commented that seems a pretty strong stance for something you can't prove or disprove, that will probably be a later blog) remarked to me, "...we have the best church, Mom, if I have to go this is where I want to go..." Still trying to find my right place here, have left the last two services at my neighborhood church feeling... not uplifted is the best thing I can say about it.

So, over 20 years ago, my friend asked if I would go with him to a revival. Never having been to a revival and wanting to support my friend in his new and very enthusiastic commitment to Christ, I said yes. Now, I am the kind of girl who likes to sit in the front row of class, even a huge lecture hall to see the instructor and hear every word, I've been smashed against many a barrier to be right in front of the stage at the Cow Palace to see AC/DC, Styx, The Police... almost any place I'd rather be right there, able to see the expressions on their faces, witness small gestures and interactions that you might not see further away. The revival was no different. I wanted to be right up front and we were. There was a huge crowd, so many people they were even standing in the back. I was taking everything in, the sea of open faces, the guys in suits at every exit, everyone seemed to be expecting something specific and the place was buzzing.

I'm all for manners, tact, tradition and respect. I'm not a huge fan of blindly following anything, whether it is a religion, political ideology, fashion trend or the latest whatever. And those guys in suits standing in the back, well, they looked out of place to me. Before I could give it too much thought, with a big fanfare a bunch of preachers came onto the stage. I remember a lot about that night, but I honestly think it was a stage. I don't remember it resembling any house of worship I'd ever attended. Everyone on stage was dressed to the nines, best suits and dresses, and it looked like they had put on every single piece of jewelry the owned. When the announcer came on, one of the first things he said was all of the exits were locked but in an emergency would be unlocked by one of our brothers at the doors. Okay, that was strike one. I've never been locked in a church, ever. I am no biblical scholar but, I've never read of any verse that states, "go forth and lock them inside...". And surely to God, everyone knows if you have several hundred people in one room for a few hours, someone at some point is going to need to use the facilities.

Suddenly, with great fanfare the head Mr. Revival is announced and trots onto the stage as if he is Elvis. And the crowd acts like he's Elvis, screaming and clapping and crying. Meanwhile, I'm in the first row, not screaming, clapping or crying. I'm watching Mr. Revival. He was kind of a portly man, in a very nice suit, with a diamond rimmed Rolex on his wrist. Now I'm guessing that most of the crowd couldn't have scraped enough money to buy a real Rolex in their lifetime, and most would have the good sense not to even if they could. This was a mini-strike because I realize that it's purely my own opinion and judgment about grossly over-priced material goods that are no reflection on their superior quality but are meant instead to make the owner feel superior like the emperor and his new clothes. But we'll call it strike two.

Mr. Revival gets to selling, I mean preaching, and he's working up quite a sweat, going back and forth on the stage throwing out bible verses like they are grenades, about how we're all going to hell in a hand-basket because of our evil ways, and our sparing the rod spoiling the child new way of thinking is going to have the whole United States of America taking up one big section of hell because it's the same thing as taking up with the devil himself. All right. That was it, strike three. A big one. I had been really listening and watching his face, to see if this guy believed his own words and the way he twisted around beautiful passages I had heard my whole life to use to serve his own purpose. I looked around me. The crowd was worked into a frenzy. My friend is on his knees praying, peoples arms outstretched, hollering out to Mr. Revival, speaking in tongues and a procession up to stage to be touched and healed by Mr. Revival and then escorted to a little place off stage not back to their seat.

From where I was sitting, I could see the entire crowd, it was hot and loud, and it looked like every person was feeling the spirit except me. More than that, they were all in it together. No one looked puzzled or questioning, no one who wondered why the doors were locked, why we were all being yelled at, why was the revival so late at night. Nobody wondered why a traveling revival which by all appearances was quite well funded, had mentioned the importance of giving, financial giving, so many times in a place and time that was supposed to be about "reviving" the spirit, faith, belief in God. For a split second I was afraid. Afraid that someone would notice mine was the only face that didn't look like theirs, that I was the only person not clapping, cheering, crying or swooning. In that instant I thought of those locked doors, the crowd between me and them and those big guys in suits and I thought I was never going to get of there alive. The only thing I wanted at that point was out. Just out of the craziness, where I could get fresh air and be safe. I didn't want to hear words about Jesus and God being used as weapons to verbally beat a trapped audience who had come for something they obviously needed. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the show ended and I made it through the maze of books, tapes and other propaganda in the lobby and through the big glass doors to the fresh night air. I was free.

My experience in the Santa Clara County legal system has been much the same as my first and only revival. Except that it has lasted almost five years and shows no signs of ending anytime soon.

When I was a girl, my favorite saying was 'but that's not fair', I'd be the first kid to stand up for someone else even when I was too afraid to stand up for myself, (and usually the first kid getting my butt kicked for my efforts), I thought our legal code was like the bible. Words, set forth to educate and protect us, remind us of what so many people had sacrificed, fought for and died for to keep us free, to right wrongs, keep us safe from the actions of those who would hurt us and punish those who did cause harm to others. When I was a checker at Alpha Beta, one of my customers was a defense attorney. He and I would have some great conversations. I was so young, and asked how he could defend someone he knew was guilty. He told me, he wasn't defending their actions, he was defending their right to a fair trial. That at least made some sense to me. As I got older and had a better understanding of the frailties of our legal system, both in protecting and serving the public, I still believed it the best system in the world. The saying, "better a thousand guilty men go free than one innocent man imprisoned" resonated with me. After becoming a mother, the lines blurred a bit for me. Would I believe that if my child were hurt by one of those thousand? Did it really matter if every one's rights were protected? Weren't they? I mean, if you weren't a criminal, how often did it really happen that the intent and letter of the law weren't there to protect you? If you aren't guilty, can you still trust a legal system that you go to for help? Will they use their position, training, wisdom for justice or will they use their stage for a different kind of a show?

After a few years of my on-going legal issue in a non-criminal matter, I had run out of money, time and certainly energy for the entire process. Repeatedly drawn back into litigation, I had no choice but to represent myself. I can tell you from experience, the person who represents herself in court has a fool for a client. I knew that going in, but as I said, when you are ordered to appear, no matter what the allegations if you don't show up you lose. I knew I might lose any way, but it had to do with my children. I had to try. At this particular appearance, just after we were sworn in, the person on the other side lied in response to a question from the judge. This had happened with some regularity from the beginning of this journey, and sometimes the point would be addressed by my legal counsel and sometimes it would just pass as truth. I raised my hand and asked, "Is he allowed to lie? Because we both just swore to to tell the truth and that's a lie. How do I object to that?" Apparently, I had not followed the rules of the courtroom. I was cut-off with a curt, "You'll have your turn, Ms. Ringer" and a look that would have cut me in two if I weren't already so nervous about sitting at a table, alone, as prepared as I knew how to be but with far too much experience with this setting to know that I was not likely to prevail. Too many times, in this one case, had I seen the Court ignore its own multiple orders that involved the care of children, compliance with processing support through the state, several others, the other party in complete non-compliance of... threatened with contempt of court on several occasion, testifying compliance would occur and the next appearance, big surprise, non-compliance. Did the Court enforce its own orders? Use the words and phrases repeated in orders, decrees that were supposed to protect? Not in these instances ever. I often left the courtroom feeling like I did in that revival. Am I the only one who sees this? Am I the only one who questions what is going on? How are these words are being twisted or ignored to allow one person to be in defiance of court orders despite so much evidence that indicate the need for intervention? At the end of this round, and that is what it feels like each time, as if I've been in a match, I'm drained, a bailiff was going to escort me to my car. Things had gotten pretty heated that day and there was some concern for my safety. The court house was empty except for the handful of bailiffs waiting to close up. I rolled out my briefcase filled with exhibits, evidence, research and notes with my escort beside me. As I wheeled by they started clapping. I thought they were glad I was finally getting out of there so they could go and remarked as much to my escort. He said that's not it, "you represented yourself in court and you held your own". For a minute I didn't feel like I was surrounded by a sea of craziness that I just wanted to escape. They got it. I sure didn't feel like I'd held my own, but there were a few times I prevailed despite arguments from two seasoned attorneys with research, evidence and exhibits I had gathered over countless hours for this one occasion. Even with representation, too much of my life over the past five years has been spent devoted to finding resolution to this situation. The hard truth is, in America, your best chance of getting justice is having enough money to pay for it.

Thank goodness getting into heaven doesn't require the same.