This past Memorial Day weekend, fifty Episcopal "young adults" gathered in San Francisco, California to answer just that question. Little did I know it, but this weekend was going to have a serious impact on my life, after all I was already very confident and comfortable with my relationship with God. I was soon reminded that our relationship with God could be clouded by a confused relationship with ourselves. I still thank God for everything that happened that weekend.

Travelling alone Friday, I looked ahead and wondered what the festival would hold for me. I pondered how my return to young adult ministry would be received, both by myself and by others. My curiosity dwelled on whether or not the people from the Diocese of California would remember me. I found myself in the lobby of the Holiday Inn, Financial District a couple of hours before check-in. My flight had been delayed due to fog in San Francisco, and I figured a number of flights were delayed. This had the potential of being a bad day with everyone arriving in bad moods. I checked in, and went to check on my room.

My roommate had not made it yet, or at least there was no sign of him. I dropped off my gear and headed down to the bar. A sign had mentioned that registration would start around 4:00 PM, and a quick beer sounded good for some reason. Finishing my beer, I began to look around for other 20-somethings that looked like they were there for an Episcopal conference. I recognized a few by the registration desk, and grabbed a seat on the outside of their group and watched a bit.

Four o’clock came and went. Still no body at the registration table. The small group of people waiting to register like myself, had begun to disperse saying something about the pool. I, too, got bored and decided to head to my room. I walked in and was pleasantly greeted by my roommate Josh. I mentioned I was from Washington, and head countered by identifying me as the guy from Kirkland. It had been roughly two years since I lived in Kirkland, so I was stunned into silence. He explained that he and Christy were the other two from the Diocese of Olympia attending, and then it all made sense. We laughed a bit, and began sharing expectations and stories. I think we met back in 1995 when I interned at MS, and went to St Mark’s for one Sunday, but we never did confirm that one way or another.

After a bit of conversation, my lack of sleep from working an early shift and the general tiredness of travel wore off and I became a bit more social. Returning to the lobby, I was pleased to see the registration table was staffed and people were beginning to register. I began to work the room subtly, trying to remember as many names as possible. Sue Crommer from Chicago was the first to recognize me. She and I had met back in St Louis during Gathering at the Crossroads. I was shocked that she remembered me, but we laughed a bit. Derald Sue from USC was the next to recognize my name from when I ran the Province 8 Young Adult listserv. We joked about that a bit. There were a few others that recognized me from other work I had done while at Santa Barbara. About now I was starting to get back into the flow. I could see that I was going to be welcomed back into the community with open arms, and I was starting to feel at home again.

Because of the delayed flights and the late start, Thom Chu asked that we register and mingle until dinner. They had planned an ice breaker program before dinner, but we seemed to be breaking any ice between us nicely without assistance. Dinner was good, and the table I sat at broke into a game or two before it was over. It was interesting to hear where everyone was from. I quickly learned that Josh, Chisty, and I were not the only ones not from California. There were people from all over the country. The weekend began to take on the tone of an adventure.

After dinner, we had our ice breaker game. They had broken us into small groups, but didn’t tell us. Each of us had a nut or a bolt. The object of the game was to find which nuts fit which bolts, and then make sure the colors matched as well. Once we found a group of five or six of us that matched, we found our small group. My group mad a few matches pretty quickly, we then started yelling "Red" at the top of our lungs, that was the color on our hardware. That was all the invitation I needed for the rest of the weekend to be loud, or as the chant went a few days later: "Be Loud! Be Proud! Be Christ!"

The rest of the evening was spent getting to know our small groups. We broke our small group into pairs and interviewed each other. After the interview, we introduced our partner to the group with what we had learned. The interview was directed, and had some good questions. For me, the questions and answers were great because it opened up something deep in me. Something I hadn’t let out in a long time. A bit of the real me. I couldn’t stop finding a little joy and hilarity in everything. There was much chuckling and a little bit of laughter in this first exercise.

We finished the day with an evening worship. The symbolism was awesome. Julie and Clayton, the two chaplains for the weekend, brought a lot of energy and imagery with them. It was very cool to see a table with dirt, rocks, and flowers in the middle of the room. A candle for each of the cardinal directions and a bowl that we were soon to learn would hold our thoughts at different stages of the festival. Each of us got a rock and personalized it. We were told that the rock would symbolize the Christ in each of us. I had drawn a simple Celtic knot on mine and written the phrase "God is Love". When I placed my rock around the altar, to become a part of the community again I was shocked. Just to the left was a rock with the phrase "God is Love" also written on it. Also near my rock, there was another rock with a design on it that looked very similar to the Celtic knot I had put on mine.

After the service we were asked to say a prayer before we went to bed, and ask that God speak to us in our dreams. Julie also asked that we place our rock under our pillow. The next morning, immediately after we wake up we were supposed to open our journals and record what we had dreamed of the night before. I was too excited to go to bed just yet. A few others felt the same way, so we headed to the hotel bar for a quick nightcap. An expensive drink later, we had shared a bit more conversation and I had gotten to know a few more people better. I was ready for bed, and that dream Julie was talking about.

I woke up the next morning fairly early. I wanted to get a quick work out in before breakfast and morning worship. I headed into the gym before writing in my journal. This may have been a mistake, but it worked out in the end. During my weight session, I began to ponder upon the dream that I had the night before. I did not remember much, but I did remember that someone from the Festival, Elizabeth, was represented in my dream. I did not remember much about her presence, only that I felt she had a message of some sort for me. I decided that I was supposed to follow her lead on which "field trip" to sign up for that day.

The day before, the Festival facilitators had spoke to us about four different field trips the next day. We were going to be able to sign up for one of them. I had automatically decided to sign up to work with the kids. After all, I always have a great time around kids, and work with them often. Following the advice of my dream, I took Elizabeth’s lead and instead signed up for going to the beach. I was not sure what that trip was about, since I stopped paying a lot of attention to the descriptions after I heard one dealt with kids. I had a while to wait before I would find out about my decision.

Morning worship was inspiring. Lots of music, and bright spirits. Morning program followed with an experiential style of Bible study. We started by looking at an image, to be more specific an ascension image. Thom Chu then read a poem that glorified Mary. We all meditated on what we heard for a moment, then had an open discussion. It was interesting, but didn’t strike me anywhere special. Our next exercise had us listening to a reading three times. Again it was the reading describing the Angel Gabriel’s announcement to Mary that she will bear a son, Jesus Christ. Each time we listened to the reading, we visualized one of the characters; Mary, then Gabriel, and finally God. As we visualized each character, we sculpted what we saw out of pipe cleaners.

After study, we had a beautiful afternoon worship. It was simple, and short, but not without lack of power or meaning. Again, Julie and Clayton focused the worship around our rocks. This time we were given a chance to "baptize" our rocks in a bowl of water. After a few songs and the reading, Julie spoke a few words about the importance of bathing, and cleaning. The act of becoming new and clean. We were then invited to bring our rocks up and wash them ourselves. Julie pleaded with us to not be afraid to make noise, or splash. It was awesome to see each person approach the altar in their own way, and find a unique method of cleaning their rock. I approached the basin slow and measured, trying to be aware of every step and every emotion. Once at the basin, I submerged my rock and both arms midway up the forearm. Massaging my rock underwater, and continuing that massage while I withdrew it from the water, I again tried to become mindful of everything I was feeling. I felt renewed, and centered again. I was ready for anything that came next, because I knew that God was with me.

Next was a bit of mingling time before our field trips. Another chance to meet people I had not yet had the pleasure of meeting. This was when the whole Festival began to change for me. It started with an innocent comment about a person’s accent; Becky, from Hawaii. From that comment, the joking began. It was interrupted for a period of time for our separate field trips. But would resume, as the rest of the festival attendees can attest.

At the beach, we were told to spend the next hour trying to "make a place for God". It was an exercise in working our natural surroundings into our impression of God. At first I thought it was a little strange. I mean, taking our natural surroundings and making a place for God. Everywhere I look in the natural world I see God. How can I make a place for God where God exists already fully? I walked around a bit for some time thinking about this, wondering. Then I saw it, a can. An old, empty soda can. Just like that day when I first heard the soft still voice of God. When my eyes were opened to the glory that I could see, but not recognize all my life.

Things began to come together after that. I realized that it was not about making a place for God in nature. Instead, it was about making a place for God within us. Taking our natural surroundings and making a personal place for God. More a place for God and us, where we could recognize God and talk. I put together what some might call an altar. I prefer to look on it as a story. My story. After I finished building my place for God, I sat by it and prayed over it. I listened to it. I took out my journal and wrote about it. Before we left, I shared what I made with a few of those that came to the beach with me. They shared what they made. The whole "How do I live a life with God" topic seemed a little more impacting on my life.

It seemed that most of the people that went to the beach had significant experiences. Everyone had a sort of reverent respect for what just occurred, and our conversation turned to other, lighter topics. Not that we did not discuss the impact of the events. Words just seemed to fail in many places.

Returning to the hotel and the larger group, we all shared a bit about our experiences. It was very cool to hear about the other field trips, and what people had experienced. Even more wonderful than that was the fact that these people were willing, actually excited, to share their experiences with me as well as listen to mine. I got the feeling that everybody there had a very positive experience. After the entire group had a chance to return and share a bit among ourselves, we returned to our small groups.

In our small groups, we continued the sharing; this time under a more directed approach. Our small group leader laughed a bit at the questions we were given. We did not need any help sparking conversation and thought. We used the questions as a framework, but did not have time to address more than just the first one. We all just had so much to share, and not enough time to share our thoughts. Together, all echoed of our experiences echoed a few themes. The one we chose to share with the group was patience. All of our stories spoke of God’s time. Our afternoon reminded us that our time is not God’s time, and that we need to be patient. God has a plan for us all, and it may not seem like anything is happening in our life at times. That is just because we do not have the patience that God has, nor do we perceive time the same. Other times in our life seem like there is too much going on, and we can barely keep up. Again, we need to slow our minds down and let our faith carry us through those times. God will not give us more than we can deal with, nor will God give us things before we are ready. So we decided to share to the larger group what we had learned in a single word: patience.

On that note, it was time for evening worship before they unleashed these fifty 20-somethings on the city of San Francisco for the evening. Another awesome worship from Julie and Clayton lifted our spirits and focused our prayers. Again, the chaplains returned to our rocks. This time our thoughts were directed to the cycle of things, specifically the rebirth. Each in turn, we buried our rocks within the dirt on the altar. There they would stay for the evening, and we would retrieve them the next night at the closing ceremony. As I placed my rock into the earth, I felt sad. A spiritual heaviness descended upon me. Similar to what I feel around Good Friday. This rock symbolized the Christ in me, and I would be separated from it for some time. I knew that God was with me, and Christ was not leaving me that night, but the burying of my rock still triggered these emotions.

This ended up leading into one of the more powerful parts of the Festival for myself. We now had the night off. Dinner was our responsibility, and we were being let loose on the city itself. I had made plans with some other people to go dancing after dinner. There was a bit of confusion about where to go for dinner, and the group I was with became split. I ended up heading towards a place called Tom’s Place for dinner; our plan was to weather the split up by reconnecting after we all had a chance to eat. The group going to Tom’s Place planned on taking the cable car, and that would be the cause of yet a further splintering of the group.

Becky, attending from Hawaii, and myself did not see any reason to not walk. It was a beautiful evening, and we wanted to see more of the city. Failing to convince anyone else to join us on our walk, we got directions and headed off on our own. This was a wonderful opportunity for Becky and myself to get to know each other. We had started to joke around with each other and be general goof balls together. We traded stories, and points of view on life. Surprisingly, we shared a large number of opinions, one of which is the importance of celebration and laughter.

On our way to the diner, we stopped at Grace Cathedral. Neither of us had signed up to walk the labyrinth there, and we could not pass up the opportunity. Becky had never walked one before, I had done one in Santa Barbara years ago. I pulled her aside and shared what I remembered about my past experience. She was really excited, and it was really cool to see someone so excited about walking a labyrinth. I let her go first, and watched her for a short while, waiting a bit of time before entering myself.

I quieted my mind and began my slow, measured gait into the labyrinth. Walking inwards, I found myself glancing up to see what was ahead. It was hard for me to let everything around me go and focus on the task at hand. My mind quieted a bit as I neared the center, my focus falling upon the meditation of the labyrinth. I stood in the center staring up at the majesty of the cathedral. The large stained glass window capturing my attention. My mind drifted to the events of the weekend up to that point. Memories of past experiences in campus ministry returning to the front of my mind as well. I revered these images and thoughts, enjoyed the moment, and began my journey out of the labyrinth.

Knowing that Becky was already out of the labyrinth made it that much harder for me to concentrate on the moment. I again found myself glancing ahead, wondering which direction the next turn would take me. Wondering if I was nearing the exit. Wondering what lay ahead on my journey. I caught myself each time and tried to refocus. Finally, I started praying and having a dialog with myself. I kept telling myself that it did not matter what was up ahead. God had a plan, and I will get where I need to be when I need to be there. If I kept looking ahead for what is coming, I missed what I was going through at the moment. When I finally got to where I was looking ahead towards, I would miss that too because I was looking even further ahead. I kept up this dialog and prayer the rest of my way through the twists and turns of my journey. I was right too. I did get to where I needed to be, and I got there when I needed to be there.

Taking a moment to take my experience in, I was anxious to hear about Becky’s experience and share mine with her. I spent the rest of the walk to dinner focusing on the moment. Becky and I found ourselves being amazed with the glory of a wonderful view of the city. We stopped to appreciate its beauty and enjoy the gift. Later, I was reminded of the splendor of a dandelion. Becky became extremely excited seeing one. She told me that they do not get them on the islands, and I smiled. Not a smile making fun of her. No, a smile sharing in the splendor she had discovered. I secretly wished, and promised myself, that I would get that excited about those things too. The strange thing is that I will not be able to look at another dandelion without getting excited myself for a long time. I guess wishes do come true.

Finally reaching the diner, we found a large group of Episcopalians upstairs. Everyone seemed very jovial, laughing, singing, and sharing good conversations. They teased us about the length of time it took us to arrive. Then we told them what we had been doing. We grabbed some food and joined in on the singing, talking, and laughing. The evening continued like that for us all. Walking around San Francisco, and eventually getting out to dancing. It was an evening of wonderful celebration and joy, an evening that I was not looking forward to ending.

The next morning, regardless for any lack of sleep, I awoke refreshed. I felt like a new person, actually I felt like the old me. A person I had lost a few years back, a person who realized the importance of celebrating the moment. I had allowed myself to get too caught up in looking ahead, and planning out my future. I had lost the ability to just let things happen according to God’s schedule. I was excited to see what this last day would hold for us.

The day started beautifully, both with weather, and with smiles. That morning there was no early morning program or worship, instead we were given three choices of Sunday church services to attend. Everyone was gathering in the Jade Room prior to leaving for church. I chose the earliest of the three choices, St. Gregory’s, a service that was described as "interesting". I heard they incorporated liturgical dancing into their service, and that sounded like the place for me.

I had decided the night before to shave my goatee, so I entered the Jade Room clean shaven for the first time in about two and a half years. The looks and reactions I got nearly sent me into hysterics, but it felt good. It echoed what was going on inside me as well, a rediscovery of the old me and a return to an old look. I mingled with those that were awake waiting for the St Gregory’s group to head on out to church.

It was a long bus ride and a good walk before we arrived at the church. I must admit I was first surprised by the very formal looking worship space. After all I had heard about this "alternative" liturgy and wild worship style, I expected a more alternative worship space. Entering the church, St. Gregory’s began to come much closer to what I imagined. The priests were wearing tie dyed robes. The iconography was very non-traditional. The subjects chosen for ‘The Dancing Saints Project" may seem strange to some. A Pakistani boy who ran away from his forced labor to encourage other children to do the same. Malcolm X wearing his glasses, even though saints are supposed to achieve physical perfection upon resurrection.

All I can say is: "What a beautiful service." Everything was chanted, Gregorian style. This made it difficult for me, being tone deaf and all. However, I enjoyed it tremendously. Sitting and listening to the sermon, the strong sense of community that St. Gregory’s shared become very apparent. His notes being misplaced, the priest giving the sermon that morning began to call members of the parish by name to remind him about the contents of St. Gregory’s charter. Following his sermon, those of us present were invited to share any words we were moved to share. It was a simple, but incredible witness to their community. Knowing that each Sunday any member of the parish may have their voice heard during the sermon. A woman about my age, sitting in front of me, shared her thanksgivings for all of her sisters being in town, and her fears about what might happen to them while they were visiting. There had been a rather violent murder recently. Her story and tears did not long stay contained to just her. My heart ached with her pain, but at the same time it rejoiced in the wonder that she was able to share this during such a special time.

The prayers of the people were just as wonderful. They did not read one of the forms from the Book of Common Prayer, inviting individuals to "add their petitions and thanksgivings, either quietly or aloud" at a specific point. Instead, they had a short opening prayer followed by a time where anybody would speak a prayer out loud, and the entire parish would chant the appropriate response. Again, it was a wonderful testament to the community of St. Gregory’s. Lindsay brought a smile to all of our faces when she was the first to find a silence long enough to add a thanksgiving for the Young Adult Festival.

Next came the coordination test. Everyone stood up, and danced in unison over to the altar, actually we danced around the altar. They taught us the dance, and it was fun. Nothing to complex, only a few steps repeated. I guess that is the point of liturgical dancing though, a simple step repeated like a meditation. Once around the altar, we continued with the Eucharistic service, still chanting in Gregorian tradition and even dancing again for a portion. As another sign of their strong community, the sacraments were passed among us while we stood encircling the altar. The priests passed out the host. However, the wine was passed from one person to the next. Each person accepting the sacrament of Christ’s blood, and each person offering it to someone as well. The community cup passed through the community by the community.

Returning to the hotel for lunch, we had a chance to catch up with the groups that went to the other churches. We swapped stories about the services that we attended. Besides St. Gregory’s there were two other churches we could go to that Sunday. Grace Cathedral provided a High Mass service in a modern day cathedral. Talking to people who went to Grace Cathedral, I got the feeling it was a beautiful and reverent service, with all the pageantry expected in a cathedral. The other choice, True Sunshine, was a church in the heart of China Town. The parish was dominantly Chinese, and the service was performed in Chinese. Those that attended that service shared wonderful stories of cultural differences and similarities. It was interesting to hear everyone else’s experience at church and look back on my impressions of St. Gregory’s. The staff did a wonderful job giving us three very diverse choices for service.

After lunch we had the last of our programs. Gathering in our small groups, we talked a bit how the focus for the weekend was answering the question "How can [we] live a life with God?" Thinking about that we were giving the task of coming up with a five minute presentation directed to high school seniors titled "All I Ever Needed to Know About Living a Life with God, I Learned in Young Adulthood." There were a number of great skits, all were humorous in some way. One group did a take on the "Sunscreen" speech, but instead of sunscreen the major advice was "Pray". There was a cheerleading skit, where they led us in a cheer of "We got The Spirit, yes we do. We got The Spirit, how about you?" One group had each person represent a specific age and have problems dealing with a specific issue. A card would be creatively given to that person and it would have some sort of advice on it for them.

My group went second to last. We had decided to play off the dramatic tension between the serious and the hilarious. Our skit involved a stoic, straight faced professor giving a lecture to high school seniors on the "Anatomy of a Young Adult" (complete with overheads), while the rest of the group performed mini skits behind him poking fun at every point made. The professor would continue to lecture oblivious to the antics going on behind him. To drive home the humor of a serious lecture, I was chosen to play the professor since nobody there had seen me do anything remotely serious for the entire weekend. Bishop Swing, the bishop of the Diocese of California, happened to be in attendance. The few times a chanced a glance in his direction, he was caught up in a deep belly laughter that made me nearly lose my concentration on being straight-faced. We had the group rolling in laughter for our entire presentation, and happened to make some serious points while laughing at the same time. All in all, our skit fit in perfectly with what I learned that weekend as well as with my personality in general.

Almost as if it were planned, the last group followed our class room skit with a graduation. The guest speaker was a past graduate who shared a very brief word with us. She said that all she ever needed to know was that God is with her. They then called everyone from the festival up to receive a diploma. Everyone got into the skit and added a little of their own humor. It turned into something very similar to my high school graduation; some people accepting their diploma with dignity, and others taking the opportunity of being the center of attention to perform in one way or another. The group even called Bishop Swing and his wife to receive their diploma. Bishop Swing surprised everyone, literally jumping on Greg Brown. Everyone fell over in hysterics seeing the bishop hanging from Greg’s neck. We were so surprised that nobody got it on film. Mrs. Swing took a more subtle approach, raising her arms in victory and cheering for everyone. It was not until near the end of the skit that I actually opened my diploma. To my surprise, the group had taken the time to write one sentence in every diploma. It was the same simple sentence, and it had a great power to it. It read: "God is with you."

For me, that would end up marking the end of the festival program. One of the participants from Hawaii, Becky, had to leave to catch her flight. Because of the connection we created between us, I did not feel right with the prospect of having thirty seconds in the hotel lobby to say goodbye. Instead, I decided to go with her to the airport, and see her off there. After the skits finished, it took a few minutes for the room to settle down. Once it did, Julie and Clayton asked everyone to leave the room and reenter. This was to allow everyone to refocus since we were going to use the same room for the closing worship ceremony.

The tone turned from jovial to a bit of sadness as people left the room because it was time to say goodbye to the first person to leave, Becky. I had a lot of time to reflect about the entire weekend at the airport with Becky, and on my own returning to the hotel. I was saddened to see it come to an end. But I rejoiced in what was accomplished in such a short time. The new friends I made, the spiritual connections forged would last for a long time. It had been a long time since I had laughed so hard. A few months before I learned of this Festival, I began to struggle with the knowledge that I had lost something. I was not sure what, but I had lost a major part of myself. It turned out I just forgot how important celebrating was to me. I forgot the need to celebrate every day, every moment, every breath.

The Festival reminded me of that. It allowed me to play. I found friends and connections that did not look at me funny or think strange of me for being goofy. I even found someone who enjoys being just as goofy as me. More importantly, I found myself again. Thanks be to God. The Festival focused on answering the question "How can I live a life with God?" For me, it answered the question "How should I live a life with myself?" A question that we all need to answer before we can look at the previous one.