God’s Bitch to Accidental Saint
Christianity Re-imagined with Nadia Bolz-Weber at The House For All Sinners and Saints in Denver, Colorado
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“Holy crap,” was my first thought. “What am I doing here?”
Un-Christlike potty words had clogged my mind, needing a spiritual flushing that Drano couldn’t treat. I had checked into an emerging ELCA Lutheran church which it’s own pastor identified as a freak-show. Rumor had it that membership mixed transgender teens, LGBTQ couples, and bankers in khaki shorts. Apparently it wasn’t uncommon to witness an elected official receive the Eucharist from an ex-convict. I needed to see it for myself, but after a 15-hour drive from central Wisconsin to a trendy Denver neighborhood, I was oogly-eyed with my body spazzing out. I was tired. Red-faced and out of place. My demeanor resembled a cranky Tickle Me Elmo with a ventriloquist’s hand up his fur ass while visiting the Island of Misfit Toys.
My curiosity had been lured to the church of Nadia Bolz-Weber, a Jesus freak of nature who is the ecclesiastical ringmaster of The House for All Sinners and Saints. Over six feet tall, with stone cold blue eyes, and sporting spiked Cruella de Vil highlights, Bolz-Weber has been raising hell to save her people from it. With a jawline made for the UFC women’s bantamweight division, you’d assume she spends her free time in the octagon, training to cave-in Ronda Rousey’s pretty face. Instead of hitting well-timed head kicks, Bolz-Weber preaches a gospel that hits even harder.
Bolz-Weber has become an original voice in an increasing postmodern time, gaining an apostle-like social media following after pulling no punches in her spiritual memoir, Pastrix: The Cranky, Beautiful Faith of a Sinner & Saint. Bold, and vulnerable, she relates about her past-life as a stand-up comic where alcohol and drugs had such a full mount on her life, she expected to be tapping out and saying “uncle” by the age of 30.
But instead of focusing on the wounds, she writes from the scars that resurrected her. When a close friend committed suicide, she was asked to give the eulogy. Seeing the brokenness of her friends, Bolz-Weber soon discovered her calling. She threw in the towel of her past life and used it to clean up, get sober, and reversed the suffocating choke-hold of her hypocritical Christian upbringing. Eventually, she revolutionized her theology, found a path of purpose, and got in the corner of people who wanted the same. As she puts it:
“I was allowed not to die in exchange for working for God. I’d get a life back, a rich one I’d never have chosen out of a catalog, a life where I would marry a nice man, go to college, have a couple babies, attend seminary, become ordained as a Lutheran Pastor, and start a church. I’d get my life back, but eventually I’d have to work for God.
“I’d have to become God’s bitch.”
June 14, 2015–5:00 pm Worship Service: The House for All Sinners and Saints at Saint Thomas Episcopal Church in Denver, Colorado (Blessing of the Bicycles)
At the church entrance laid a golden-framed portrait of the King, a Scotch-taped notecard in the corner reading, “Elvis welcomes you to House for All Sinners and Saints”. On the doorsteps was a threesome of balloons rubbing against each other next to a lesbian couple in an admiring embrace. When I ventured inside, I was handed a bulletin by a drag queen, who asked if I wanted to participate in the service. I politely declined. This was going to be a story to tell the grandkids someday.
Going in, I was worried my condescension would cross-dress into Judge Judy, ready to slam my granny gavel to persecute in the “name of God”. For far too long, I maintained a prejudiced “Christian” faith that warranted persecution of those who publicized how much more they sinned than me. My ultra-conservative WELS Lutheran upbringing led me to think it was okay to lift my nose above same-sex marriage and frown upon churches with female ordained preachers. I hoped this service would change that; going face-to-face by confronting my lifelong prejudices.
I had a lot of work to do.
Inside, I found Bolz-Weber schmoozing with a couple, wearing a clerical collar and shirt that wasn’t long-sleeved enough to cover the Mary Magdalene ink on her pipes. Her tattoos were in a literal embodiment to the body of Christ. She eventually jabbed a look in my direction. I immediately side-looked her oncoming eye contact. Due to her increasing celebrity and semi-truck shoulders, my self-consciousness felt rocked by a paranoid feeling that she wanted to beat me in an arm-wrestling contest.
I claimed my territory by isolating myself in a far-off seat, delegating my senses to people-watching as a wide mix of worshipers walked in: Married families with kids, queer couples, and normal everyday folk who could have been mistaken for my mom and dad. Nothing screamed they had anything in common. Yet, here we were, approximately 150 people jam-packed in small-talk when a hymn broke out. The community joined together in a cappella. No music, no instruments.
And that was what made the House so special. It was community, passionate about mashing deeply-rooted traditions with quirky slants to fit it’s bizarre demographic mix. This day, excitement had climbed a mile higher than the Rocky Mountains for the Blessing of the Bicycles, where Pastor Bolz-Weber and Pastor Reagan would bless transportation choices that didn’t need to pass through EPA emissions testing. After the bikers had lapped the neighborhood, everyone celebrated with free pizza and red Solo cups of Fat Tire.
Volunteers participated in the orthodox Lutheran liturgy, an arrangement that brought back traditional chants like “Kyrie” with hum echoes. One read the Prayer of the Day, others fed the Eucharist to other worshipers. Bolz-Weber had arranged the liturgy to be of the people. All she did was say announcements, give the Eucharist prayer, and playfully scoop up babies that she was handed.
The seating arrangement stuck out during this time as everyone was in “the round” with the altar at the center. At any other church, the pastors are given the special perk of sitting up on stage, like God had awarded them an Employee of the Month seat up-front. Here, there was no special reserved seating for the authorial figures. Instead, the pastors sat amongst the community. No stage, no religious institutional structure.
At the conclusion was an open table for Holy Communion, where everyone was invited to be fed the body and blood of Christ. Staked in the center of our lives was the cross. It served as a reminder to my preconceptions, but also to everyone in the room.
If Jesus taught anything about the cast of characters he chose to surround Himself with, it was He accepted everyone. Outcasts included. He accepted everyone to experience His love… to ALL people.
