Sometimes I think new dreams grow out of old dreams. When I was a kid, I loved dance, but my sister hated dance class. My mother wanted us to do things together. She took us out of dance classes. I was heartbroken, but I put it on the back shelf and did other things and didn't really start dancing again until I went to college.

I did modern dance, and a lot of improvisation. The dance company I ended up founding in my 30s — In Good Company — came about when I looked at them, my collaborators and burst out crying gratefully: I just feel like I’m in such good company! It was about bringing people together to make something together. I really wanted dance to speak out loud to people and now I feel the same way about the church and what it means to be “in the body of Christ.”

One time, I was talking to friends in my backyard — one was Evangelical, one was Catholic. I was like, "So do you guys actually believe in heaven?" (I was raised Unitarian.) They were like, "Oh, of course,” and they both said, "Too bad you're not going there because you haven't accepted Jesus Christ as your savior."

Well, that pissed me off and my outrage told me that I believed in something else. I went to Divinity School. I wanted to learn more about spirituality and religion, more about Christianity. I did not think I was trying to become a priest, but I met with this Episcopalian sister for like six years, every weekend. She saw something in me and nurtured that until I started to see it in myself.

I would say I'm someone that's always wanting to push the boundaries a little bit. I feel like if Jesus or the Holy Spirit doesn't seem alive in the church, what's the point of being here? It's got to be something that's really happening right here because we're all engaged in the moment. The traditional liturgy is a frame for mystery. The frame can remain stable but what it holds has to be something that can come alive right here and right now and help bring you alive.

On Maundy Thursday, I would hope you could come to a service where it's so silent and we cover the crosses and everything in black — it's a time to mourn all your losses. I think the ritual allows people to enter from all different points.

Last year on Maundy Thursday, we did a foot health clinic on the lawn of the church in partnership with the Community Health Center. We had 65 people come. We washed their feet, we gave them new socks and new shoes. That was pretty cool, rather than just doing a foot washing inside the church with the doors closed.

On Good Friday, we did a pilgrimage to the wounds in Middletown instead of the wounds of Christ and yet they are also the same thing. I was like, "Where has there been gun violence? Let's go to these seven sites in Middletown and pray for homelessness, pray for refugees, pray for whatever.”

There's my dream, trying to pray on what does this church need to be? How can it matter 24/7 that it's here in Middletown, anchoring spirituality on the street? There are other churches here, certainly, but I'm very aware of us being right in the center, in the heart of town.

Press [CMD left arrow - Mac] or [CTRL left arrow - Windows] to return to image