Member Testimonial: Juliet Wischmeyer

I drive to Asheville every summer to drop my girls at camp in the mountains. Once, several years ago, when my daughter Samantha (well-known in this church for her yearly canonical reading of Green Eggs and Ham, along with all the other Sam-I-Ams) was about 11, we were in Asheville the night before camp and she looked around at the hacky sackers and street artists and local food and gorgeous mountain landscape and said, “I love this place. I could see myself living here... except... all the causes are taken.”

That’s one of the many things I love about Church of the River: all the causes are not taken. All the differences that can be made have not yet been made. All the thinking hasn't even been thought! I feel valuable and valued here.

I very clearly remember the first time I finally worked up the nerve to visit Church of the River with my two girls a long time ago. They were anxiously asking me, “What if we don’t know when to stand up; what if we don’t recognize the prayers and hymns?” And I answered: “I know!”

Because I had never felt anything but apprehensive and embarrassed whenever I’d attended a religious service. I am the eldest of four half Jewish siblings and the only one to be baptized, mostly because my beloved Granny had a deep family connection to that beautiful St. Mary’s Episcopal Cathedral down Poplar. When I was very young, she showed me the most beautiful antique black jet cross with tiny seed dark pearls and said it would be mine the day I was confirmed at St. Mary’s. So every week, my mother wearing her nightgown and robe would drop me off for Sunday School and return an hour later, except on the days we sprang forward, in which case I’d miss Sunday School, or fell back in which case I’d wait extra-long. I never saw the inside of that beautiful sanctuary, nor did I ever see my grandmother or any member of my family set foot in there. What I did in Sunday School was color pictures of some guys named Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John --- that was it for religious education -- with my classmates who pretty much had the same names except there was also Percy. Their parents were in the sanctuary and they already knew the stories and teachings. One day when I was about 11 I was told that it was time to be confirmed. All I had to do was memorize and recite something called the Apostles’ Creed, but I had never been taught to understand or believe this stuff and I couldn't do it. I felt terrible about Granny (and the cross) but I finally confessed to her that I would not be confirmed because I didn't believe the words and I was so sorry. She waved her hand dismissively in the air and said, “Oh don’t worry about it, dear. I became an atheist years ago.” And she gave me the cross then and there for being brave. I found out later that the piece is Victorian mourning jewelry, but I've never worn it because, well, it’s a cross.

So anyway, I didn't know the hymns that first day but I didn't feel uncomfortable; I didn't feel I’d missed all the teaching and was way behind. In fact, as I listened to the sermon, I felt that spiritually I was exactly where I was supposed to be, full of questions and listening. Then I got worried about my girls but when we met up after church, one said, “I did tai chi,” and the other said, “We baked.” And that was that. I had found a spiritual home.

I am only just starting. I haven’t begun to learn a fraction what the children have to teach me when I lead the Middle School Religious Education. I have just gotten started with a few of the causes. And all the thinking that hasn’t even been thought yet? I get to participate in that! All the gratitude I’ve yet to feel, just getting started but I’m not at all behind. I’m right where I’m supposed to be.