It feels like years, but I guess it has been a month since I've made an entry. So many experiences come and go, and, seemingly, so little time to write about them. Home to the States, and back again, school picking up right where it left off. A lack of Chinese language classes do make our evening seem more of our own, but I miss the Chinese practice.

I'll mention a little bit about church. Seems like one of those experiences that struck me when we returned to the island. When we were home we attended church at Our Lady of the Assumption, where we got married. Then, on Christmas Day, we went to Mass at St. Aloysius, where I grew up. Both churches are very nice, large in scale, and striking in appearance. Now, St. A's had a makeover a few years back. A brand-new interior, marble facing, elaborate arcades, a shining central glass wall, new lighting, gold sacristy, and, for this Christmas, at least six Christmas trees on the altar, replete with pointsettias, roping, and all the accoutrements of the holiday season in full splendor. It was hard to deny the magnificence.

So we return to the island of Taiwan. Megan and I attend Mass at this small Catholic church called Mother of God Church. Suddenly, to step back inside their humble doors, I see why I liked it so much the first time. First of all, it seems like a true community. The pews hold maybe a hundred people. Eight rows. The walls are whitewashed. No stained glass, but rather clear glass that looks out either onto the small courtyard filled with children's toys, or the sinewy trunks and long leaves of the banyan trees. There is a Philipino woman whose stern personal mission in life is to find you a seat. No one cares if you are late. Someone will pass you a wooden stool to sit on and you make yourself at home in the back of the church. Kids fool around. They'll make noise. Sometimes they make too much noise, even. One time a particularly obstreperous child found himself in the sights of the Philipino woman. She headed over to him, and, instead of a chiding, was recruited to bring up the gifts. Brilliant. There is a choir director with the visage of a boy, whose face could not possibly reflect more joy than when he leads the hymns. And the choir sings. The whole church sings. Loudly. Happily. The priest sits in a regular chair, like an old office chair they found in a back room. There is an electrical outlet just near his head. The Perpetual Flame is a lightbulb, and it's plugged into it.

There is a stout man, the husband, possibly, of the Philipino lady. He sits always in the third pew from the front. He comes and goes during the service, stepping outside for something - I have no clue what. He is with every Sunday his iced tea and a straw in a plastic bag from 7-Eleven. Not that he drinks it during Mass, mind you, he just has it with him. There is an altar girl who giggles with her partner, her ponytail bouncing. She has the most beautiful face, soft and round, an innocence in her eyes. She radiates her smile all around the altar. I feel like Holden Caufield, wanting to freeze her in time, to have her never change.

At the first Mass we attended when we got back, still in the Christmas season, three kids were corralled from different pews, outfitted with terribly ill-fitting paper crowns, and assigned to bring up the gifts. A noble feat, with one king struggling with limited vision due to a crown two sizes too big. It could have been a scene from a movie. Christmas decorations covered the walls, but not decorations that spoke of wealth or flashy style. They spoke of love. A large creche in one corner (with bamboo walls!), underneath a rather chintzy-looking fake-stained glass plastic star, illuminated by a low watt bulb, a wound lump of hastily-applied electrical tape on its cord. Tropical flowers in front of the statues. Fake pine roping along the side walls. Two large banners with Christmas-y messages spelled out in gold lettering, inventively squeezed onto them. All surrounding a very happy, very joyful congregation, who dutifully stacks their missals in the back of the church after Mass, who park haphazardly in the courtyard, blocking in the early-birds.

I'm not a religious person. You had to drag me to Mass back in the States. But I love going to Mass here. It is so honest, so down-to-earth, so real. The sermons are never political. They are human. They are about values, and the importance of kindness. The singing, the people, the humble surroundings, all make it for me. All without glitz, just a church full of people.