The Worship Dilemma

It's hard to marry someone more different than a religiously conservative Episcopalian from the Bible Belt when you're a non-practicing Jew from Boston. But these days it's not uncommon for couples of different faiths to marry. I know tons of them. But that doesn't mean that life in an interfaith marriage is easy, especially when it comes to the "c" word.

Every Sunday morning my husband, Chris, and I go through the same ritual. As we're reading the newspaper, we discuss which church we should try that morning. We moved to a new city over a year ago and still have not found a church on which we can agree. On most occasions, he suggests an Episcopal, Methodist or Presbyterian church. I suggest a Unitarian Universalist or Congregational church. The usual end result of our discussion is that he tells me that the Unitarian church is a "cult" and I give in to attending a Christian church since we both know that it is a lot easier to fit in here in the conservative, mainly Christian South if you are a Christian (which I am not).

Usually we end up attending an Episcopal church since he was brought up in an extremely conservative, small-town Texas Episcopal church - you know, the kind that thinks Hell should freeze over before women should become priests. Every time we go, I feel like a traitor, which is weird because although I'm not Christian, I'm not really anything at all so who or what I feel I'm betraying is beyond me.

When we get to an empty pew, Chris genuflects while I turn my head and hope no one notices when I don't. I figure I can always blame the reconstructive knee surgery I had in high school. He crosses himself a few hundred times and kneels down to pray. I fidget in my seat and check out the music selections in the hymnal. When we have to recite the passage that says "I am a sinner," I say "not" under my breath and tell him later that after trying to be such a good person all week it makes me angry that I have to sit there and tell the world I'm a sinner.

When he goes to take communion, I sit and pretend to look ill so people won't think I'm a heathen. (The one time I tried to take communion I slurped the wine by mistake and felt like a lightning bolt might come and strike me down right there at the alter). After we get home, I always tell my husband that I feel like I've been through "church aerobics" with all the standing, sitting, kneeling and crossing.

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