Like a lot of millennials – roughly 40 percent – I wouldn’t consider myself particularly religious. I don’t know what happens after death. I don’t particularly believe in a higher power. I like what the Jesus in the Gospels had to say, but I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a Christian. But I would definitely call myself Episcopalian. I was raised in the Episcopal Church; my family went every Sunday. (OK, well, almost every Sunday.) Specifically, our home church is the Cathedral of St. Luke in Portland – you know, the big gray stone one on State Street.

The Episcopal Church is, I think, a good church. It’s not perfect, but then again, only Christ is perfect. (They taught us that in Catholic school, which I attended for 13 years.) I didn’t realize how lucky I was to have grown up in a good church until I was well into adulthood, sort of like how you fail to fully appreciate good parents until you’re an adult because, as a child, they just seem like … regular parents. I was lucky to grow up in a church where women were full and equal spiritual leaders. I was lucky to grow up in a church where queer people, like myself, were loved and accepted for who they were. Christian churches in America have hurt so many LGBTQ people over the years. I don’t remember ever hearing a sermon on the topic of birth control or abstinence. I heard a lot of sermons about helping the poor.

You should come to a service someday, when we can safely be together in person. Mass at the Cathedral is a real treat for the senses – vaulted ceilings, stained glass windows, incense, pipe organ, flowers on the altar, choir.

Unfortunately, over the last several long and miserable months, churches have been the incubators of coronavirus super-spreader events. Sometimes it’s been a tragic accident. Other times, church leadership has deliberately and aggressively gone against best practices for preventing coronavirus transmission. It is bitterly ironic that places of mental, spiritual and sometimes physical healing have become dangerous with sickness.

I have been very impressed with St. Luke’s response to the coronavirus crisis. When the pandemic hit, our church’s leadership decided that keeping everyone in our community safe was the primary goal. We went to Zoom church very early on, and even successfully figured out Zoom Coffee and Juice Hour, which is pretty impressive for a congregation where very few congregants are digital natives. (Like many churches, we trend older – all the more reason to take coronavirus seriously.) I am sure this was a difficult choice, for many reasons, including financial: People tend to be more likely to give when they see others doing so as the collection plate is passed around. St. Luke’s supports a lot of causes, including my favorite, the St. Elizabeth’s Essentials Pantry, where people can get things like toilet paper, diapers and feminine hygiene products. Things you can’t buy with federal SNAP benefits, but are incredibly necessary for day-to-day life, and that are often expensive.

But the church organized. Crafty congregants started making masks; chatty folks formed phone trees. The Advent wreaths will be takeout this year, instead of assembled in the church basement. I can’t say I’m surprised. When my dad was dying, folks from the church formed a meal-delivery and lawn-maintenance brigade for us. We didn’t ask anyone to do those things. They just did them. We take the concept of “beloved community” very seriously.

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