Religioning it up

While researching polling numbers yesterday, I discovered that one of my recent stories had made it to the website of one of my most relied upon sources -- the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life. Does that mean I've made it?

The story was one I'd written last fall -- on how Muslim couples grapple with infertility -- that finally saw the light of day. I'm always happy when a story gets out there, but especially so with this one. It was an incredible honor to be welcomed into Dilnaz's life, and after our chat I got several emails from other Muslim women who told me they were grappling with infertility and were eager to read the story.

Meanwhile, the reporting continues on Latinos and faith. My first material from the New Mexico trip went up this morning, and a few days earlier I wrote a quick story about the Catholic Church's efforts to hold on to Latinos. Read away!

No hope of a straight face

As soon as I landed in Albuquerque, I remembered why the world's religions all started in the desert. How can your thoughts be anything but heavenward when there's so very much sky?

Luckily, I was in town for a pensive sort of story -- a profile of a young Pentecostal pastor of a Hispanic megachurch.

There ended up being no time for the tram up Sandia Peak nor for a trip to the bright colors of Santa Fe, nor even for green chile enchiladas in Old Town...but as it turned out, four days with Pastor Tre proved more than adventureous enough. I crouched on the floor with my microphone during his meeting with an African American evangelical bishop; I flipped through paperwork as he led the school board meeting of a local charter school -- and prepared to hit the floor when gunshots were fired outside the school; I tickled a baby at his goddaughter's birthday picnic; I watched for jackrabbits while we talked politics in a park overlooking the city; but most of all, I grinned for five straight services on Sunday as I watched thousands of people give new meaning to the word "rejoice."

I don't care what your spiritual beliefs are, I can't see how anyone wouldn't want part in this.

The first service was in English, which was lucky for me since I got to get my bearings before the big 11AM Spanish service. I'd never been to an Assemblies of God church before, and frankly, it was pretty low-key compared to what I expected. The audience stood during the opening music. People swayed and lifed their arms to the sky, but it wasn't any different than some of the other youth-focused Christian services I'd been to.

I'd been looking forward to the speaking in tongues, but even that was low-key. It came at the end of the service when Pastor Ruben asked the youth to come forward -- they're preparing for a trip to a national convention -- and had the congregation place hands on them. There were quiet murmurings throughout the crowd, which at first I thought was just everyone praying quietly under their breathe. Even when I realized what was happening, it wasn't anything wild, just soft personal prayers.

Then came the 11AM service. The sanctuary's 1,400 seats were filled and I was strategically positioned halfway up an aisle with my marantz when the music started.

My oh my, I know I'm a writer, but there are not words.

Somewhere in the middle of the music, as the bright mess of a crowd was gasping and undulating, the man at the end of the row behind me came leaping forward up the aisle. His eyes were closed and I haven't a clue how he avoided knocking me over. Other people poured forward. Choir members came off the stage and down to the front. At once, there were 1,400 intensely personal experiences and one communal event. I know I'm a reporter, but there was no way to stay stoic through this. And really -- how well can you report on it if you don't let yourself feel it?

After that, I think Pastor Tre and I both loosened up. For all of his maturity and poise, he's young and I think the mic freaked him out a little. And I just didn't have enough experience with it to know how to put him at ease. So, for the 7PM youth service I put it away and we sat on a folding table in the back and chatted -- about the families who are leaving Arizona and finding their way to the church, about missionaries and vegetarianism and dred-locked proponents of the New Monasticism. I thought about taking it out when the crew moved to a local sub restaurant after the service, but opted instead to leave it in its bag and join in the kids' pretend spitball game.

I've got my douts about some of the audio I got, but boy oh boy, I've got a story.

Sects in the City

Somehow this troglodyte has found her way into a case of dueling blogs.

Part of my religion reporting class, it seems, is posting to the aptly-named class blog, Sects in the City. My first post, on Jehovah's Witness door-to-door training, was an adventure and a half.

Stay tuned for the continuing adventures. Next-up: an afternoon at a restaurant where Muslim cabbies stop to pray.

G-d's Word is heavy

There was music. There was dancing. There were construction-paper flags being waved from taped-together-plastic-straw poles. And in the middle of it all there was me -- dancing with a Torah scroll.

This weekend is Simchat Torah, when Jews celebrate the completion of the annual cycle of Torah readings and bring the scrolls out for the congregation to see and touch and celebrate.

I celebrated tonight at a Reform synagogue (tomorrow I will be at a Chabad shul), where women wore yarmukles and prayer shawls, and even a shiksa like me is invited to take a turn dancing with a scroll.

Even this reform congregation, where women lead many portions of the service, it was the men who stood up to take the first turn parading the scrolls around the room. The first man -- short, middle-aged, in a suit -- nearly burst with pride as he held the Torah.

I was so touched by his joy that when the rabbi prompted me to take a turn with a scroll, I couldn't say no.

And what I learned is this: not only is the scroll an awkward thing to carry, but it is much heavier than you'd think. The music and dancing are dizzying, and you are at once putting such concentration into not dropping the precious object and also lifted by the jubilant spirit around you.

The children didn't seem to have a real sense of what was happening, and their parents seemed mostly to be putting on a show to get their kids excited about it, but the older people -- this meant something to the older people. As we circled the seats carrying the scrolls, they reached out with their fingers or their texts to touch the Torah and kiss the object that had touched it.

What a blessing, to be responsible, if even for a moment, for something that brings people such meaning.