I’ve always loved church. I mean, what’s not to love about a motley group of people getting together every week to discuss values and ask big questions about Life? Hashing things out, together, is super challenging and complicated and hard, but it’s that complexity that’s also what makes it rewarding.
Plus, church provides a creative outlet for experimenting with new skills and projects. It’s where I get my friends and mentors. It’s my link to the broader world, and it’s my safety net. Church is the people who will care for me, and who I’m committed to care for, when things get tough.
For me, church is the people.
But the pretense of all of this church-ness is God, of course: worshipping God, reflecting on God, spirituality. For the last number of years (decades?), that part of church hasn’t connected with me so much. Which has been fine, actually. Our church is pretty action-oriented, so the religious-speak has always been something I could either use, or ignore, as suited me.
But then Covid happened and church switched to Zoom. Pretty soon, I realized that Zoom church (zoom anything, really) just wasn’t gonna cut it for me. Without the togetherness, the words rang hollow. I could just as easily (easier, maybe) get my inspiration from a good book or podcast, or via a conversation with a friend.
drone photo credit: my older son
So we dropped church, thunk.
Did I miss it? Not really.
No, let me take that back. There was actually a lot I missed. The rhythm of a weekly reset. The going somewhere together as a family. The familiar faces. The singing and the people watching and the exchange of ideas. The post-church rants. The pull to look at things differently, and the push to refocus on things that mattered rather then my petty wallowing. Done well, church is at the intersection of community development, social justice issues, the arts, mentoring, skill building, and political activism. Tapping into that energy, that potential — that’s what I missed.
photo credit: my older son (obviously)
A couple Sundays ago, we attend our first church service since Covid stopped the world cold. The single-day retreat seemed a nice middle ground to venture back. Hopefully, outdoors, we’d feel safe enough to freely connect? But I was nervous, too. This could be awkward.
And at first I did feel disconnected. Out there under the trees, the churchy motions — the head bowing, the standing and sitting, the scriptures, the offering and prayers, the religious jargon — felt out of place. Cover the faces with (the required) masks, keep other people at arm’s length, and I felt lost.
drone photo credit: my older son
But then, lunch — handmade burritos and watermelon — and games: sand volleyball and miniature golf. Ultimate. Nuke-um (how’s that for a peace-church game, ha!) and cornhole. Kids chased each other and toddlers toddled and everywhere adults were visiting.
Sitting in the shade with an ever-revolving door of friends, the sun-warmed grass pricking my bare ankles and my skin salty from the sweat of Ultimate, I luxuriated in the pops of laughter and the babble of conversation washing over me from all sides. Now this was church.
drone photo credit: my older son
And it was good.
***
Photos from a Sunday morning family hike a few weeks back.
I have no idea if this salad is Italian or not, but I felt Italian when I was eating it so I’m calling it Italian.
The recipe popped up on Cup of Jo recently. Apparently it’s been around for a long time, but I had no idea so: new to me! It’s not a throw-together salad — I had to go shopping for half the ingredients (radicchio, iceberg, pepperoncini, Genoa salami, provolone, red onion, cherry tomatoes) — but it’s a fun one, and it feeds a crowd.
The family actually wasn’t that keen on it — maybe because it was the main course and they were hoping for more? Needy eaters, sheesh — but with a glass of red wine and some sourdough, I thought it made a fabulous complete meal. I ate myself silly.
I wasn’t sure how the leftovers would hold up — and we had a lot leftover — but I needn’t have worried. In the fridge, everything softened and melded together, making it an altogether different dish. For my lunches this week, I’ve been griddling a piece of sourdough bread to go with my big bowl of salad. I use the toast as a shovel and juice sopper-upper and then, since there’s always a good puddle at the end, I tip the bowl into my mouth and slurp up the rest.
I think the day-(or three)-old salad would make a great sandwich filling. I’d use a soft Italian bread, the center plucked out to make a bread canoe, and then stuffed full of juicy, salty, tangy salad, mmmm. It’d also go good, I think, piled in a grilled cheese or stuffed into a wrap.
And as for the little bit of dressing that was left over? I added it to the beef veggie soup I made last night. The acidic, herby, garlicky dressing gave the soup an excellent little flavor kick. It’d also be good in tomato soup, scrambled eggs, and drizzled over roasted veggies. In other words, too much dressing is not a thing.
for the salad: 1-2 heads radicchio, chopped 1 head iceberg, chopped 1 can chickpeas, drained 2 cups cherry tomatoes, halved and lightly salted ¼ pound provolone, cut into matchsticks ¼ pound Genoa salami, cut into matchsticks ½ red onion, the layers separated and then cut in thin strips and soaked in cold water 5-8 pepperoncini, cut into rings juice of half a lemon
Pile everything into a large bowl and drizzle with the lemon juice.
for the dressing: 2½ tablespoons red wine vinegar 2 tablespoons dried oregano 1 tablespoon lemon juice 1-2 cloves garlic, pressed or grated ½ – 1 teaspoon salt ¼ teaspoon ground black pepper 1½ cups olive oil
Stir together the vinegar, oregano, lemon juice, garlic, salt, and pepper and let rest for 5-10 minutes. Slowly whisk in the olive oil. Drizzle over the salad and toss to combine.
To finish the salad, sprinkle with more salt, pepper, and dried oregano, and another generous spritz of lemon juice, as desired.
