God-forsaken! ;-)

The travelogue continues as we wind our way through the Napa Valley, across the Sacramento plain, over the majestic, breathtaking Sierras, passing by Squaw Valley, around North Lake Tahoe, following the Truckee River down the slope to our next destination, Reno, Nevada, “The Biggest, Little City in the World,” so they claim. We have senior-discounted reservations (with perks galore) at a local hotel/casino.

Old nemesis, guilt, keeps us away from the slot machines and gaming tables, but there are plenty of non-gambling activities to keep us occupied, people watching being high on the recreational list. Those casino developers and operators are brilliant, you know. The architecture and ambience is designed to camouflage loneliness, defeat and despair with an artificial feeling of glamour, friendliness and hope.

They’re on to something and its paying off big-time. Senior citizens flock to these casinos by the bus-load. It appears as if every other person rides a motorized cart, maneuvering in between the crowded slots with great precision and skill, and/or is pulling an oxygen tank behind, whilst sucking in oxygen and tobacco smoke simultaneously, which takes even greater precision and skill.

They cater to we who are old, senile and invalid with two-for-one dinners, free drinks, upgraded rooms and senior discounts galore. We are pampered religiously and made to feel like Kings and Queens for a day. No wonder we gladly hand over our meager Social Security checks (not just 10%, the whole thing) in exchange for this temporary feeling of camaraderie and a sense of belonging. We are addicted to hope and this “God-forsaken fellowship” supplies it for us, momentarily.

The other thing that strikes my attention is the energy in this place. This, coupled with a feeling of reverence, worship and awe, gives the illusion of being in another realm, almost spiritual in dimension. There is a phantasmagoria of sight and sound meant to rev the emotions and perpetuate our fantasies. Periodically bells ring at the slots, signifying a jackpot won, followed by shouts of acclamation and thanksgiving. Similarly, cheers, applause and praise can be heard around the craps tables from time to time signifying a winning roll of the dice. It may be my imagination, but there are surely distinct “Hallelujah’s, Amen’s and Praise the Lord’s” echoing forth, spontaneously. No disputing the energy, joy, communion and comradeship occurring around these otherwise hallowed tables. Interestingly, the following is a quote out of a novel I am presently reading:

There was a whoop from the casino floor and it was loud enough to break the barrier surrounding them. She looked out and saw some ten-gallon Texan dancing at the end of one of the craps tables, just below the pulpit that reached out over the casino floor... There was a man up there dressed darkly and staring down like a priest on his congregation ("Void Moon," Michael Connelly).

Old nemesis guilt, persistent fellow that he is, sends us out seeking a place of worship on the following morning, Sunday. We find a small church nearby with a glass case marquee outlining the service times. The “S” is missing in the word, “_UNDAY,” but we pay little attention, having witnessed worse during our ecclesiastical leadership wanderings.

Without going into a lot of detail, the congregation is small, aging and friendly in an “arms length” sort of way. The pews (of 18th or 19th Century design) are hard and uncomfortable, but we are no strangers to this. A lulling organ prelude of, “The Old Rugged Cross,” is followed by a long litany of announcements, already carefully laid out in the printed program, typos and all. We sit unfazed.

Then comes twenty minutes of ultramodern 1980’s praise songs, words reflected on the screen, with each verse lagging about ten seconds behind, and everyone coerced to stand, clap and sing spontaneously. Oh, the electricity in that sanctuary is simply spine-tingling.

Well, you get the idea. An offering, two 19th Century hymns and a fifteen-minute too long sermon later (with nary an “amen” or “hallelujah” heard), we are out the door, anxiously making our way back to the energy, joy, communion and comradeship of that “God-forsaken” casino… and, I suspect, the congregation isn’t too far behind, canes, wheelchairs, oxygen tanks and all.

So Paul, standing before them at the Mars Hill forum, addressed them as follows: ‘Men of Athens, I notice that you are very religious, for as I was out walking I saw your many altars, and one of them had this inscription on it - 'To the Unknown God.' You have been worshiping him without knowing who he is, and now I wish to tell you about him.

He made the world and everything in it, and since he is Lord of heaven and earth, he doesn't live in man-made temples…He himself gives life and breath to everything, and satisfies every need there is (Acts 17:22-25 TLB).

Do I hear an “Amen!?”