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Easter Sunday and I hadn’t given it much thought, except to remember many businesses would be closed and my own lack of religious fervor toward Buddhism, Judaism or any other -ism I have experienced and strayed from would give me an unpleasant poke. The night before it I felt anxious, uneasy and even upset because of my family and the problems and attitudes that conspired to keep us apart. It’s a conscious effort and not an easy one, dealing with people whose dogmatic views on life I’ve witnessed fail and succeed on equal terms. My opinion was seldom wanted nor needed, as it should be. Everyone knew all the right answers already, didn’t they?
An invitation to attend services at an open communion church on Sunday morning from one of my close friends suddenly seemed to be the coolest thing to accept and I did. After packing a few clothing and grooming essentials I left for the flat he shared with another friend of mine on the West side of the city. Saturday night belonged to Rum & Coke plus Alfred Hitchcock and a few of his films: “Sabotage”, “The Man Who Knew Too Much”, “Number 17″, “The Skin Game” and I didn’t finish watching another movie included in the DVD. Insomnia is a beast, indeed. A big thank you for getting me out of my cave to my two buddies. I love you.
Surprisingly, the morning was less rough than I expected at waking time and one of my two friends made coffee (Claudio, thank you). The three of us looked awesome, but I made the mistake of bringing a jacket in black during a brief heat wave we were going through and I had forgotten to cuff the trousers. Oh, well! On with the show. No, it was not the show I expected either:
Turquoise Jeep: check
Men in pastel polo shirts and madras trousers: check
A rude lesbian woman driving like a bully: check
The loudest rainbow-print t-shirt I’ve ever seen, as worn by a very gay African-American guy: check
Septuagenarian man walking with a cane, helped by a younger person: nice
And then…
Middle-aged male couple in shorts and flip-flops: no no no No NO NO NO! What happened there?
Somewhere on the sand and perhaps with palm trees swaying in the breeze that would have been fine, but this was taking place in a downtown area in a building of worship. Not a day to judge anyone, but it was wrong! Stereotypes are bad, but man… Deep breath. Happy place, happy place…
“The Lord be with you.”
“And also with you.”
I sat and looked up and down the church, with its tall and delicate stained-glass windows, the organ pipes and projectors that fed screens with the text and lyrics to the songs we were listening to. I would not chant along with the crowd, feeling at odds about my place in a predominantly Christian group. My friends and I sat behind a remarkably tall and beefy man who must have certainly been a competition bodybuilder in his youth, slightly separated from gay son’s mum and gay son in a white linen suit with coral cotton shirt and caramel brogues. Ten out of ten for appearance. Good job! Mum was no slacker in her pale lilac casual trouser suit. A+ as well.
Whilst seated in a mesmerised state and surrounded by the echoes of all the voices chanting, I began to feel more at ease and a thought came to me, somewhere between looking at the crowd and the harp emitting full-force sweetness: I thought of the reason I have navigated easily through the social wildlife and the failures or successes of others. I remembered it has never been difficult for me to say something true and also kind to someone about what they looked like or their work and their impression on me. I abstained from insulting or humiliating people into giving me anything I wanted or needed. I loved and I was often loved in return.
The Reverend for this service gave a homily built on passages from the Gospel of Mark. He opened it with an exhortation to change the perception within anyone who cared not to know the facts about people suffering from HIV and AIDS: “Fight AIDS, not the people who have it.” Yes, I was at first callous and sarcastic about the questionnaire trying to charm me into joining the church, printed on the envelopes for tithing. I wouldn’t join, but I could donate. I had no questions to ask. After this procedure, the service continued and kudos were given to one of the presiding members who was barely able to speak and gave his all for the prayers he recited. My quiet gratitude to him glowed.
As for kudos, I was expecting without a doubt to hear “YOU GO, GIRL!!” when it came to the orchestra, the singers or anyone, really. Thankfully, that did not happen. I think the energy generated by so many members looking for communion or an answer in some way to our troubles made us all feel together and the sometimes aggressive and gaudy battle cries of activism gave way to a basic joy as the humans we all are.
When the service ended and we stood outside, waiting on friends of my friends, the thought of brunch (well, drunkch for me, as I had a mild hangover) was tossed in the air and no one caught it. Bah! What came after that made me smile and I won’t forget it, but it wasn’t without a bit of showmanship! The three of us drove through the back alleys and shortcuts on to Wilton Manors, commonly known as the Gay Ghetto of the city. There is something about wit and brashness in dressing up that always entertains…
We stopped to watch a beautiful congregation of African – American folks in some amazing outfits. They wore the outfits and not the other way around. A collective gasp was almost let out loudly when we saw a Nubian princess strutting in a cream short skirt and fitted jacket with lime green 4-inch stilettos and matching clutch. The appreciative “Woooorkk!!” was screamed and then some. How beautiful! How dignified they looked!
A diner felt like a good place to go to and it was refreshing to have the spinach quiche with a fruit salad and the unexpected touch at the end of the meal, presented as yellow marshmallow peeps on a dessert plate, served by none other than Miss Thing, who sashayed like he was competing in a pageant for a rhinestone tiara. I have nothing else to say about this, except we ate it all. Oh, yeah.
© Text: Orlando Barahona
© Image: Anastasia Pavlenko/Flickr
This work by Orlando Barahona is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. 
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