Priy

THE

CHURCH

OF THE HOLY

FEMINA

G. A. Priddie

When Reverend Davis had first mentioned The Church Of The Holy Femina during his visit to St. Louis I had dismissed such a thing as one of the many luna- tic fringe organizations that seem to thrive in Southern California. A church where all the male members dress as women; a re- ligion built around a female diety - Preposterous.

And yet, now, as we made our way along one of Los Ange- les' teeming free-ways in the smog-shrouded morning, I had to prepare myself; I had to meet this mysterious Reverend Vin- cent and somehow find the ob- jectivity to judge for myself whether or not this was a luna- tic organization, or even worse.

John was intent on his driving but occasionally he would glance over at me and smile with the same twinkle in his eye that so characterized him years ago when we were both students at Southwest Seminary

he was going to let me draw my own conclusions about the church.

"It may be chartered by the City and County of Los Ange- les," I said, "and it is listed in the church directories, but I still can't believe it's anything but some elaborate scheme to legiti-

mize a group of odd-ball homo- sexual transvestites.

"I think you'll reappraise your opinions, Richard," John replied, "especially in regard to homosexuals. A homosexual man could never accept the Femina philosophy." He paused to pass another car and I said nothing, knowing he was going to go on. "Homosexual men have too high an adoration of the male, Rich- ard, the Femina religion is cen- tered around the female."

"But you mentioned les- bians," I countered.

"Oh, well, this is different," John said quickly, "certainly fe- male homosexuals understand the Femina concepts. But not male homosexuals you have to be capable of a deep and pro- found love of a woman to ever really understand what Vincent is driving at. This would be im- possible for male homosexuals."

I considered that John had a valid enough point. After all he was somewhat more familiar with the homosexual problem since his church was located out here where some important ho- mosexual organizations have their headquarters. I was basing my judgement on the few homo- sexual men I'd come into con- tact with in St. Louis who were 32

sometimes effeminate, and even more rarely, sometimes dressed as women, especially at Hallo- ween. Still, the closer we got to the church the more uneasy I became about meeting a person I knew to be a male but knowing he would be dressed completely as a woman. Finally John left the free-way and I saw the old church building, the one John had a photograph of when he and Mary visited Beth and I last summer.

"There won't be many people here today," John said, as he parked in the shade of a giant Eucalyptus tree that stood in the church-yard, "just the staff and Reverend Vincent. They hold their services on Sa- turday, you know."

"Yes, you said that and what was that about Reverend Vincent never actually mention- ing God, or Virgin Mary, no di- rect references to . .

"Richard," John cautioned, "we're almost inside."

And without noticing it we were actually walking up the stone steps of the rather ornately designed church, one that ap- peared even more Spanish now than in the photograph. As we walked in through the foyer I could see definite evidence of the