perfect and sufficient.

I cried when I got there. At mass tonight at St. John's Episcopal. I slid into the pew, in an empty, beautiful sanctuary. And I cried.

Because it felt so right. Episcopal churches, with the kneeling, and the crossing, and the reciting, and confessing--they always feel so right.

But then, I miss the Pentecostals, with their shouting, and tongues, and the way I can stand in a Pentecostal church, my arms aloft to heaven, crying in joy.

I love His churches. In that, I love His Church.

In the Episcopal church, as in others that contain more organized liturgical calendars, there are specific readings for each day of the year. Today's were...spectacular.

One after another (four in all), they came--scriptures special to me. I guessed the last before the reading even started.

Afterward, I talked to the other attender, and before I left, I faced her, "Do you believe that Christ is a literal sacrifice, an atonement for your sins?" I've visited a lot of churches, and I've asked a lot of questions, but I've never asked that one. She smiled. "A full, perfect and sufficient sacrifice."

Later I sat in the garden, in the moonlight, by the statue of Mary. The words rolled around inside of me, "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee..."

I can pray the rosary, and I can pray in tongues, and I can pray in my own words, and I can pray with no words. But sometimes, I wish God would turn me loose.

Some people go their entire lives without casting a single thought towards Him. Maybe they go to Hell. Maybe they don't. But at least they're not always wondering, waiting to find out about this God.

Then again, I cried because in the seeking I've found these places that are so damn beautiful. Not physical spaces, though they may be pretty. But wonderful places of God, where centuries of belief and moments of absolute submission sit together in grace. Where I see so clearly this man who claimed to be a Savior. And in seeing Him I understand His divinity.

That divinity is striking. Whether I like or not, and no matter how much confusion, how painful the process--

I'm a person after God.