Pancakes!

Are you making them tonight? Are you heading to IHOP for their free pancake deal? Are you mystified, not knowing what I’m talking about?

Back in West Virginia, when I was an undergrad, our composition professor was also the choir director at the Episcopal church where Eric and I would eventually be married. We weren’t attending church at the time – typical college students – so our professor eventually strong-armed us into participating in his choir on Sunday mornings. Neither of us had any Episcopalian background in our spiritual lives, so the liturgy and style of worship was entirely new and unfamiliar to us; nevertheless, it caught both our hearts, and St. Thomas à Becket Church will always hold a piece of me. We no longer attend an Episcopal church, but that one was lovely, in its leadership, membership, and spirit.

And its pancake supper.

Again, not having come from an Episcopal background, I didn’t understand many of the traditions of a liturgical church. Lent? Imposition of ashes? Um, pancakes? But our professor urged us to attend the supper, and attend we did. Those were some good freaking pancakes and sausage. If I remember correctly, our teacher cooked, which was yet another time for us to see him out of the classroom element in which we’d grown accustomed to seeing him. He was a fantastic teacher, but at church, we got to see much of that stripped away, showing him as the man of faith that he always was – quietly in school, openly in worship.

Our current pastor has often asked us to consider those people who have most influenced us positively in our walks toward and with God. Those people are not typically the strident, Bible-thumping, severe folks that those outside the faith associate with Christianity. My professor was a Christian, and we all knew it, but it wasn’t because he preached at us or scowled over our college student antics. He was quiet, patient, concerned, and peaceful. You could tell, just speaking with him, that there was a strength about him that didn’t come from himself. The most overt action he took to sway us was, as I said, to pull us into his choir, but it was conceivably just about the music; he knew we weren’t busy on Sunday mornings, that we had come from faith and weren’t opposed to spending time in a church, and that we could sing. I don’t know if he was even aware that it would have any longer-lasting effects than for a single semester.

But being in that church brought me back to just what my soul required at the time. My relationship with God had been so very casual before that: God as best friend, God as buddy. That was sort of how my childhood church worked. In this church, there was a reverential atmosphere, new to me: God as God. God as something far bigger than me. God as Power. I was on my knees, in awe.

I don’t often talk about God in this way on this blog. I don’t want anyone reading this to feel as though I’m judging or, in fact, even thinking about anybody else. This is my own story, my own walk. This is part of me, and in sharing it, I’m sharing something personal and unique in my life.

This town leans more toward the Fish Fry than the Pancake Supper, so I’ll be making our own pancakes at home tonight. I’m probably defeating the purpose of the tradition (originally meant to use up rich foods that would be eliminated during the fasting of Lent), since I’ll be making Oatmeal Pancakes, trimmed down and with as much nutrition packed into them as I can. Still, the boys and I will discuss the idea of Lent, and I’ll reflect on my associations with the idea of sacrifice, worship, and faith in something Beyond.

With maple syrup.