After Brad did his long run this morning, I left him with the dogs and drove to a local church.
Going to church (or some other place of worship) on a Sunday might be a completely normal thing for many people, but not me.
I was not raised within a faith.
I was not indoctrinated to believe what others, within a particular religious group believe.
I do not have a fixed view of who or what God is (or isn't).
But over many years, I seem to have developed some spiritual beliefs that make more sense to me than much I what I see automatically taught in particular cultures (including my own).
However, what I have noticed of late is that I don't just want to talk to God on my own.
(God, for me, being the one consciousness that flows through all things. A loving, powerful, unbiased, neutral force that binds all, and pervades all.)
I wanted to pray with others.
I wanted to be with others with whom I could have conversations about God.
I wanted to start attending different places of worship and see what I could experience, discover, learn.
While the people I met today were lovely, an Anglican Ministry - even a young one, that's held outdoors, with some people in bare feet, carrying children, and wrangling dogs - is evidently not for me.
I was shocked by just how much shame is woven into these so-called wonderful teachings about Jesus.
While there were mentions of things I find helpful - be compassionate, grateful, loving, a good listener - there was far too much messaging that reminded the congregation that they are "broken, sinful humans".
It wasn't said directly that way. It was subtle, woven into songs we sung, included in sermons, shared as quotes from the Bible.
All said as if it were The Truth.
I stood and watched.
I sat and listened.
I noticed my internal reactions as the shame and guilt was layered on like the most normal thing in the world.
It was such a strange experience to meet kind strangers and also be preached at about how the Anglican way is the only one truth.
It was a strange experience to watch God around me in babies picking up leaves, and small children playing with toys, and dogs nuzzling up to me for a pat and within the same small window of time be told that anger is unholy.
That somehow our innate ability to use our God given life force to protect our own boundaries is wrong, because "the holy book says so".
It was a strange experience to meet a 72 year old deeply Christian man, who sat with me and listened with so much love as I shared what was on my heart then tell me how "there are real consequences when a man has sexual interactions with another man".
I had to be so present during this experience.
I had to sit with the love and beauty and let it in. To receive the kindness, compassion and grace.
While also switch, at a moments notice, to hold space for the parts of me that wanted to yell, "This is fucked! Why are you teaching this harmful crap!".
I had to realise, recognise, remember again and again that this is what this group of people believe. And I entered their space. I am the guest. My job was to be present, to listen, to learn.
And I did.
I learned a lot.
It gave me so much insight about the deep layers of religious trauma that many of us, and many of my clients carry that we may not even be aware of.
And, at the same time, it was wonderful to be outdoors, surrounded by trees and kind, smiling, well meaning people, children and puppy dogs.
I'm glad I went.
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