Date: Tue, 12 Mar 2024 02:05:24 +0000 (UTC)
From: - - <mike.99999@yahoo.com>
Subject: Naked Church Part 3

The first meetings were not very well-attended, barely a handful of guys.
But they kept coming, and more came each time.

The new priest was tasked with doing some kind of project, and he decided
on a meeting just for the men of the congregation. The few that attended
liked his casual style and having something kind of private just for
them. They didn't mind having to get a little dressed up on a Tuesday
night; it was still church after all and still had pews and prayers and
all the ritual feel of church, but it was held in the old building and in
the small chapel down the hall.

Each month, there were more men in attendance, and they started to get
there early and linger afterwards, joking about being able to get away
from the house for a while every once in a while.

The sign of peace was always something special and a little different
from Sundays. It wasn't rushed or obligatory, and there was always time
for every man to greet not just those directly around you but every other
man there with a firm handshake, a pat on the back, and even some real
hugs.

Somehow it all felt different with just us guys. One man told his
co-worker, "It feels like we can be a little more relaxed here than at
the office," and found himself reacting more if somebody was the physical
type, the kind to hold onto your shoulder while he's talking to you.

That ability to let your guard down grew over the weeks. Sometimes, if
you hadn't seen somebody for a while if they were away and couldn't get
there, then you'd really feel it was good to see him again. Nobody said
the words "male bonding" but that was what kept them going as much as
they could.

The sermons often focused on brotherhood, either of actual brothers
mentioned in scripture or of men in camaraderie. For such a young priest,
and new to the congregation, he knew a lot and had a very commanding
presence up there every time they did this special service.

Then, one time, to everyone's surprise, instead of the usual priest
attire, he was wearing a long robe and a fake beard. It was an old Moses
costume from some pageant, and he was hamming it up. It was the week of
Halloween, so why not try something a little different? He had pulled out
and cleaned a whole bunch of old costumes, the kind of brown wool robes
and tan collarless pajamas that get used for church theatre.

"Join me, brothers!" he said, using phrases like "don this garb" to get
everybody to make it a costume party. Many of them were immediately ready
to get their neckties and their stiff dress shoes off. The pews were like
a locker room, with shirts peeled off and belts clanking.

One man said to a stranger beside him, "I guess this is why they say to
always wear clean underwear," but then he looked down and saw that the
man hadn't worn any that day and shrugged.

They were packed in close next to each other, bumping into each other,
more and more skin emerging. Those at the end stepped out into the aisle
and then noticed themselves being more on view, looking over at the other
men's eyes looking up and down. Some turned away for privacy, like men do
in locker rooms when they face the wall and end up baring their butt to
whoever is looking over.

For some, their new costume was just a bedsheet that had been included in
the stacks, to try to make sure there was enough, but every man has at
some point wrapped a towel around his waist, and some have even made a
toga in college. As they changed clothes, the priest stepped down from
the altar and walked among them, speaking about the simpler time of
shepherds and fishermen, reaching out to give a pat on the back or
helping them divide the clothing.

"Yes, brothers, like the loaves and fishes, the true miracle was not
magical powers, but instead it was the love for your neighbors and taking
less so that they might have enough!" One man wore just a long shirt that
went down far enough. One man found himself in just his underwear for a
while, white boxers with the kind of slit fly that always stays gapped
open somehow, until a friend removed something extra and shared it.

It was warm enough in the chapel, even in October, that air on bare legs
and arms and chests was welcomed. And the sight of each other dressed up
for Halloween brought smiles and laughs. To see your doctor undressed,
instead of the other way around, was something new. To see your old
principal in just a bedsheet made him less imposing than you remembered.
Many of the men were friends or relatives who had showered together at
the gym or on a camping trip, but this was a little different and more
public.

And then of course, at the end of the evening, after the sermon and after
lining up for the Eucharist in their unusual attire, they all had to
change back again, into their slacks and shirts and jackets, before
driving home again and then changing again, into whatever they wore or
didn't wear at home and to bed.

Seeing your priest get undressed, seeing for certain what his body looks
like after wondering about it, and then seeing how he doesn't wear
underwear and isn't shy, that's a unique experience. Back in his usual
uniform, all black clothes with the white collar, he thanked everybody
and looked forward to seeing them all again.

The regular meetings were regular after that for months, the usual
men-only service in stiff coats and tight ties. The guys who were there
in October felt a little closer after the experience, and the guys who
weren't there couldn't believe that it had actually happened and that
they missed it. They talked about it sometimes.

Then, as summer arrived, one of the meetings was humid and hot, with no
breeze and the air-conditioning not working as well as it usually does.
Everyone was dabbing sweat, including the priest up in front of everyone,
and he was wearing a black blazer. "If nobody objects, I'd like to get a
little more comfortable," he said, and he stepped to the side and took
his jacket off and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. "Please feel free
to join me if you like. No need to stand on formality."

Off came any suit jacket from those dressed more formally than the
others, and every tie was yanked loose in a long snap and then stuffed
into pockets. "Why don't we take a brief break for some water?" he said,
and the congregation murmured and stood and passed pitchers and cups of
water. Some walked down the hall to the men's room and water fountain.

When they reconvened, all the men's clothing was looser and open and
sweaty. "I'd like to talk about baptism," the priest said. He read a few
verses about John the Baptist and about different people coming together
for the ritual, men of all different backgrounds who had each found their
way onto the same path.

He read passages about grown men metaphorically washing away their sins;
different from what comes to mind when we think of baptism today. "And
that mental process is something we can do at any time, not just one
special ceremony, one that happens to us when we're too young to
remember." He spoke a little about different people who treated baptism
differently, how some faiths only baptize when you're an adult and only
when you choose to take that step.

And he took a pitcher of water that was next to him, and he poured it out
into a large basin on a table, and he closed his eyes to think a blessing
over it, and then he scooped some up and splashed it over his face and
hair, dripping it down the front of his shirt. He stood there freshly
washed, after demonstrating his own personal ceremony.

Then he said, "Who will join me, my brothers?" They stood up and lined
up. "Oh, but maybe you'll want to take your shirts off," he said, still
dripping water. Many of them were happy to get out of their shirts and to
feel a little air on their skin, the kind who are definitely
unembarrassed at the beach. And many were less shy after the group
started, following along with the others. When the priest removed his wet
shirt and collar, the feeling in the room steered more towards the
locker-room feeling from Halloween.

With everybody bare-chested and gathered in line, the group got a little
rowdy. The chatting that would normally happen after services was
starting early. "Oh, have you met John? He could help you with that
project." They say that church can help you make business connections,
but not usually like this. If your doctor is behind you in line, and you
don't have a shirt on, he can give you a free glance at a questionable
mole.

As each man returned from a brief experience at the front of the room
with the shirtless priest, a quick prayer and a refreshing splash of
water, the pews filled with slightly wet half-dressed men who stayed that
way. The thin fabric of their dress pants clinged to the shape of their
manhoods, as if they were wearing bathing suits or sweatpants. Then came
that male curiosity to glance down.

Then it was time for their usual sign of peace, each man greeting the
next with a smile and a handshake, the other hand resting on his shoulder
for a few seconds, some who were closer getting closer with a hug,
skin-to-skin and still wet, of course laughing about it and jokingly
slapping, even with their bodies pressed firm against each other. An
older brother tousling his younger brother's hair for the first time in
years.

The priest looked out at the men, bare from the waist up and with the
pews covering them from the waist down. "I see you all as God sees you,
as you were when you were created and born, not as this profession or
that, not as rich or poor, not in our daily uniforms, not as anything
that we adorn ourselves with. Instead, we are all men, as Adam was. Here
in this Church of Adam, we can remove everything and share ourselves with
our fellow man."

After splashing everyone, he had gotten pretty wet, and he stood behind
the podium, with only his waist up visible. As he spoke for a bit and
dripped from his hair and nose, he reached down behind the podium and
then leaned forward a bit. Then out came something, folded over, and he
draped it over the back of a chair that was next to the podium.

The men wondered. Is that a towel that he had dried off with? Could that
be his pants? Is he standing up there with nothing on? One man who never
wears underwear remembered the priest not wearing underwear that other
day. Whatever the priest was saying up there, the congregation was a
little distracted. The air conditioning had really given up by that
point, and the air was so warm.

"I hope you don't mind, my brothers," he said, as he stepped out and held
up his hands, confirming what they thought and showing himself fully. "If
any of you would prefer to get more comfortable, please feel free. No fig
leaf necessary." And then he started setting up to hand out the
Eucharist, so the men stood up and headed to the center aisle.

Some stayed as they were, with wet khakis clinging to their legs. Some
stood and stripped their pants down but stayed in underwear. And some
weren't shy at all. One young man and his father were both basically
nudists at home and were happy to get undressed and to have some others
join them, if only for this unique experience.

"We are as God made us!" announced the priest, his arms raised and now
stepping out to the front of the small front stage, just inches from the
front row of men. He asked if any of them wanted to come up and join him,
to say anything. One man from the front row felt the need to stand and
speak to the group. He was still wearing boxer shorts, but you know how
see-through they get if they're wet at all. He noticed everyone
noticing.

"Well, these aren't doing much of anything," he said as he dropped them
and kicked them over by the rest of his clothes. He smiled and spoke
about how he always feels at ease with the group, emotionally, and even
more open like this with everybody together baring themselves. "I wish
we'd do it every time!" The priest stepped closer to him, to give him a
pat on the back and put his arm around him, but the man turned and gave
him a full embrace, without any shame or awkwardness, even as everyone
watched their naked bodies press against each other.

As other men came to the front to speak about their feelings, about their
camaraderie and brotherhood, they relaxed more and more, until everyone
was at the front and barely any clothing remained and their physical
barriers were gone. They hung arms around each other's sides and necks,
patted or rubbed each other's backs. And then came that male habit of
holding or pulling on your dick, but without any embarrassment. One man
recognized that unconscious impulse as he looked down next to him, and it
spread like a yawn among them.

When one man stepped forward in the circle to speak, he didn't even
notice his own dick standing out strong and long. When he realized, he
resisted the urge to cover up or joke about it. They all had the same
bodies, endowed by their creator. Not everybody sprung up right away, but
some did, and it was just accepted. Of course we can share ourselves. Of
course you can look and appreciate it. Join me in this intimate moment.
Be with me.

I've never felt a man's hand on my shoulder or around my ribs as I stroke
myself, but it feels good, close, warm, connected. Some just watched.
Some talked about any random thing while they stood so close together.
Some removed their hands and let their bodies get closer and closer,
pushing and sliding in the sweat until one man grunted. His shame came
but then was washed away with approving hands, claps on the back and a
pat on the butt like a coach would give.

Then another release and another, and the permission to just let it go
and feel the relief. More hands explored together, and each man's body
slid among the others, skin on skin, muscles pulling against each other,
wet. Instead of being exhausted, they felt invigorated, joined, held up
by each other and with everything torn away and squeezed out and scrubbed
off. Every mask was put aside. Every role was removed. Every wall was
gone. Every man was every other man, and they were all one.