I have really felt the lack of a spiritual group or space recently. Even before the pandemic, Dragon and I were uncertain about having a spiritual home. We enjoyed Metropolitan Community Church, affectionately called “gay church,” which has a radical vision of Christianity and queer liberation. (Sylvia Rivera’s ashes are on the altar; one of the pastors has regularly been arrested for protest action; “I Am Here” by P!nk was once sung as a hymn by the choir.) My spouse and I have an evolving relationship with Christianity which means that sometimes it has felt good to go to a church, so often a place of hate and derision, and find a gospel that preaches a queer God who loves Their queer people. Sometimes, though, our own wounds growing up in Christian denominations (one of us Baptist, the other Catholic) means even a friendly Jesus is an uncomfortable Jesus. All that aside though, MCC is up a flight of stairs (two, if you want refreshments after sermon) and also in Manhattan, which is now inaccessible in person. We never could figure out how to make the local Pagans, witches, and assorted folks meet in accessible places, either; even the most famous Pagan shop in the city has stairs to navigate and multiple cats that make my spouse’s asthma act up. Forget about NYC’s awful accessibility issues re: public transportation. By the time lockdown rolled around, we didn’t have a regular spiritual community to miss.

Both of us mask at all times in public. Dragon is immunocompromised and we’re both at risk for COVID complications. Working where we do in public facing jobs, where we are around unmasked people all day, and feeling unsafe going to restaurants or movie theaters for fun, it’s been exhausting to think about hauling ourselves out to, say, the nearest UU group or Druid protogrove, even if they weren’t 90+ minutes away by bus. We had COVID at the beginning of lockdown and it was terrible. We got it again last month and it was terrible. So many have stopped masking despite the risk and it’s hard to get that good fellowship feeling when you’re surrounded by people who don’t care enough to keep you, others, or even themselves safe.

I usually say don’t have an IRL Pagan community. I haven’t really since leaving college. As stressful as being an undergraduate was, the Pagan Fellowship I founded was such a source of joy and support for me. My time with the Unitarian Universalists, while complicated, was a similar meeting of like minds. But in reality, I do have a community: my family of two, me and my spouse. And our one-bedroom apartment in the city is our hearth, our home, and in many real ways, our temple. The work of religion is done here, among the everyday tasks of getting ready for work, fixing dinner, fussing over leaks, waging eternal war against the NYC cockroaches. We light candles at our altars – mine for Brighid, eirs for Hecate – and read Tarot for each other. We support each other, we listen, we compromise, we fight alongside each other but never against each other. We literally have a family crest: a sage leaf for myself, an acorn for em, surrounded by our family motto Love & Respect.

It’s easy to focus on what I don’t have, what I wish was different, how the world should or might one day work. I am reminding myself that there are many ways to serve and many ways to be the hands of Brighid in the world. Her Work is that of homes and families, humble moments around the stew pot and the necessity of chores to keep us fed and clean. One day I may be able to manifest the literal vision in my heart of a literal, physical building that acts as a shrine, open to the community at large. But today – the only day I have control over – I have my holy space and my holy people, and I can learn to serve here, too.