I went to church this morning. I haven’t been to church of my own accord since…ever. But the last few days have been a struggle, and in a place where I don’t know anyone and all the yoga studios are closed, church seemed like a likely prospect for quiet and community.

I’ve been passing dozens of Lutheran churches a day in the Scandinavian-heavy Midwest. All I could think was to look for an ELCA church, which I’ve been told are pretty progressive. The website for Peace Lutheran Church proclaimed, “all are welcome regardless of age, disability, gender, nationality, sexual orientation or socioeconomic status.” I figured that probably extended to “amount of spandex worn.”

I am always uncomfortable heading into churches, especially non-Catholic ones. I may not have much to say for the Catholic church, but at least I know the choreography. How awkward am I going to feel standing in a sea of believers and not even knowing when to stand?

Walking in, I got three hellos before I even made it to a discreet-enough pew near the back. A smiling curly-haired redheaded woman in pastor’s robes came over to introduce herself, asking if I was visiting. I told her briefly about my trip, and she welcomed me to the church, saying she was glad I could be there this morning. Moments later, a lean grey-haired woman slid into the pew beside me, introducing herself as Jean. “I saw you at the library yesterday. Where are you biking from?” I had just enough time to tell her before the service started.

I didn’t know any of the songs, but I’ll take any excuse to sing. I had Jean on my right singing alto and an older gent on the left bringing in the bass. Luckily Pastor Dawn sang the melody in soprano, so I followed along as best I could. The theme for the day was re-examining the familiar, to gain fresh understanding of prayers and traditions that can become rote repetition. I could get behind that.

What I really enjoyed was the sermon. Pastor Dawn talked about prayer, about how people pray, what it really is. She likened prayer to a conversation, a two-way communication with God that often tends to be one-sided. People ask for help, give thanks, or seek guidance, but don’t always remember to listen. Part of prayer, she said, is leaving space and time to listen for a response.

Now I’m not a praying lady, but I have been thinking a lot about listening. There’s been a current of unease following me the past few days. I’m struggling to breathe, a sure sign of anxiety lurking below the surface, ready to spring. I’ve experienced isolated instants of panic as a truck rushes past or I pick up speed down a hill. Unfortunately, bodies aren’t very good at providing specifics, and my mind is an excellent deflector. I’ve been flitting from Facebook to YouTube to email, unconsciously avoiding a moment of quiet, labeling it “boredom.” In other words, I haven’t been listening to myself.

Pastor Dawn was talking about listening to God, but I don’t think there’s much of a difference between prayer and mediation as I understand it. Listening to myself, waiting for the silence to take the shape of inner truth, is the same to me as listening for a voice of God. It’s laying aside the noise of living for a moment to reconnect with something more fundamental, a deeper truth, however we conceive it. I made a conscious decision to spend more time listening over the next few days, being open to whatever I heard.

Listening to others, embracing others, embracing community and connection.

At the end of the service Jean turned to me and asked if I had plans for lunch. She was an avid biker too and would love to chat. A perfect opportunity! We met up a bit later at a café in town and swapped stories over all-day breakfast. She was a second-career massage therapist who’d gone on several bike tours, both as tour staff and participant. She’d done one cross-country trip as a guide, but was happier doing shorter stints as the massage therapist-on-call. More free time, less filling water bottles!

Jean was a good listener. As we chatted, I found myself talking about what had brought me to church that morning, that yen for community. She understood, and didn’t seem to mind that I could take or leave the religious aspects of it. As I left, she gave me her contact information in case my plan to hop the afternoon Greyhound fell through. What a lovely encounter with a generous, kind, and sunny soul. I got exactly what I needed that day, and I’m grateful.