Glide Methodist Church Celebrations

A few blocks from Powell St. BART stop in San Francisco, in the "Tenderloin" district of the city, stands the Glide Church.  On most days, it is noticeable for its height and grandeur- four or five stories of impressive rock complete with a prow-like steeple.  Sunday mornings, however, you tend to notice the line of people outside the door, stretching to the end of the block, who are waiting to get into a service.  You could be forgiven for thinking the queue-ers awaited service from a barista; the only place I've seen a line with that many young people in California so far during my limited was outside a BK getting their morning coffee on Rosh Hoshashanah.  There may have been as many couples in their 20's and 30's waiting to go into Glide on Sunday as there were attending all the UU services in the Clara Barton District.  From the perspective of a prospective UU minister, I was perspirational with aspiration for such demographic comeliness in a congregation.  

Inside, greeters Les and Erly had shook everyone's hand by the time they got to a pew.  Chairs had been set up on the end of each row to accommodate overflow (not because it was the week of Rosh Hashanah).  The choir, band (yes, BAND, replete with five professional musicians) and congregation were as a whole about half white.  It seemed like slightly more whites from where we were sitting because there were more blacks sitting in the front.  The service began not with centering words from the baritone Reverend Cecil but a wicked sax-piano duet.  That got people's attention and applause erupted immediately.  Then came the first "hymn" (the service was called a "celebration"; I'm not sure what the analogous synonym was for the hymns- "ballads" perhaps?)  Throughout the pre-celebration period, band intro and foot-stomping, hand-clapping choir number a projector was sending huge slides onto the back wall. Announcements were mingled with inspirational photos of members in calm or triumphant poses.  Now, the slides showed the lyrics for people who wanted to sing along, alongside with worldwide images of the love and gratification being extolled.  

Between songs, Rev. Cecil would rise to share words of encouragement to each other's highest goals and ideals.  After several songs an early middle-aged congregant got up to talk about how "the worst is not the end".  In the context of his mother dealing with her fourth bout of cancer and him having lost over 300 pounds in the last few years, it was a powerful reminder.  

I will always appreciate the slow, contemplative wisdom of UU churches and Quaker meetings for worship.  But getting lost in the exuberant clapping and singing of close to a thousand people was cleansing and inspiring as well.  As the folks who've ever sat near me in church know, having music loud enough that it overpowers my own efforts is not a negative.  I did not agree with everything said from the pulpit, but 98% of it worked for me, and multiplying that by the coefficient of inspiration made for a quantitatively up-lifting experience.  As I told Will and David once we left: "I might not come here every week of my life, but knowing it is here and that the celebrations go on every week is a really positive thing to remember."