One of the most wonderful hours of my life was spent in a church.
Now, to realize the enormity of that statement, you need to remember that I don’t do religion.
I stopped going to church in my early youth and have never felt the need to return except of course for the obligatory weddings and funerals.
I consider myself a spiritual person, but not in the least religious.
When I was told we were going to church this Sunday morning, I simply sighed and silently acquiesced. Betsy and I were in Hawaii, sharing a condo with a woman we had met during an Elderhostel week at the Grand Canyon. Liz was several years older than we were, had never been married, but we don’t think she was a lesbian. She just befriended us at Elderhostel and we kept loosely in touch via E-mail afterwards. Suddenly one day a message appeared inviting us to stay with her in her timeshare condo on Maui. She would also have a car. It took us three seconds to accept.
Liz was an “in charge” kinda gal! We had discovered in our first few hours in Hawaii that she had her agenda and we were expected to fall into line. Not that we had any complaints, once we got the idea in our heads. Free accommodation and transportation and our activities all planned out. What’s to complain about? We had a wonderful couple of weeks.
This final Sunday we were watching the waves while sipping our morning o.j. when we learned of the impending church visit and so reluctantly dragged ourselves off the beach to change clothes, pile into the car, and drive along a beautiful coast road to Keawalai Congregational United Church of Christ.
Oh, what a breathtakingly heartachingly beautiful spot!
Located right on the bright blue ocean and nestled in flowering shrubs and trees and coconut palms, sat this small church built of mellow burnt coral rock and roofed with brown shingles.
Beside it a small, serene, cemetery contained the graves of area families including many paniolo, Hawaiian cowboys. Several of the grave markers contained rare ceramic photo plates, none of which, amazingly, had been vandalized or stolen although the place is wide open to anyone.
This church was founded originally in 1832, the services being held in a church built of pili grass. The present structure was built, in 1855, completely of stone and coral from the beach and wood from the adjacent forest. Everything in the church is Hawaiian, since 1992 when the old floor of Douglas fir was replaced by native ohia wood. The land for the church was purchased for $80. One can only imagine what it must be worth now.
We wandered to the church, on a much worn path of beach sand, midst a motley crew. There were indigenous Hawaiian families in traditional and modern dress; there were residents obviously of more recent Hawaiian heritage, and a few, like us, conspicuous tourists. We were made immediately conspicuous by the fact that we all wore shoes or sandals. The permanent members of the congregation, and the minister, were all barefoot no matter how nicely they were dressed.
In the midst of our enchantment with this, came an unfamiliar sound. It was rather like a foghorn but as we approached the main church door we were further delighted to find two men blowing into conch shells, calling the faithful to worship. Inside the cool church we found palm fronds for fanning oneself during the service if required, more conch shells and palm fronds and local bamboo, and magnificent hand carved offering bowls and a cross, all made from local wood.
The windows contained no glass; were simply open to the soft ocean breezes, and the colorful birds flitting in and out.
It was a uniquely wonderful mix of pagan and Christian and we loved it.
I found myself dreading the beginning of the service. I was so at peace in that amazing place and I just knew that the advent of religious dogma would ruin it.
It did not.
The service was conducted in both Hawaiian and English and was as delightful as the setting.
But then came time for the sermon. Hah! Now it would all be ruined, said my cynical self.
Wrong again.
The pastor spoke with eloquent passion in a very “what would Jesus do?” way, and of course the fact that I agreed with every word he said had something to do with the comfort zone in which I found myself. This was June of 2003, a month after the U.S. had completed its invasion of Iraq, which I certainly did not see as anything Jesus would do, and the Pastor left his congregation in no doubt as to his opinions. The words from this pulpit did not spatter me like shrapnel, which is sometimes the case, but settled firmly in my heart and I have never forgotten them.
To put icing on the cake of this wonderful experience, we had somehow stumbled into a baptism. At the end of the main service the church empties out for the short walk onto Maluaka Beach where the baby was treated to a short dip in the warm blue Pacific.
What a way to start out on life’s journey!
Much of modern Hawaii does not, for me, fulfill its claims of Paradise. It is, sadly, Paradise lost. But that tiny corner, surrounded as it is by gated communities and multi-million dollar mansions, provides a glimpse of what the real Hawaii once was. It is truly a tiny piece of Paradise found.
Lakewood, 11/5/2012
About the Author
No comments:
Post a Comment