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EBONY WINDOMMemorial Day services drew crowds looking for inspiration. One in Land O'Lakes was no different, except for one thing.
LAND O'LAKES - Pam Hayes doesn't wear her Sunday best to worship services. The 51-year-old prefers to wear nothing at all. And she's not alone.
On Sunday, more than 30 people gathered for inspiration at Lake Como Family Nudist Resort in Land O'Lakes.
Jo Ann "Elf" Pessagno, the resort's resident minister, began holding weekly services there two years ago. It's not exactly church. They prefer the term "spiritual growth services." It's so informal, they haven't come up with a name for the interfaith ministry yet. Nonetheless, Christian and Jewish nudists, about a dozen regulars joined by a couple of newcomers every week, show up for prayer and an inspirational message.
Most are residents of the resort, where RVs and mobile homes are clustered. Lake Como is a campsite, too. Visitors can pitch a tent for the night or stay at the on-site motel. Memorial Day weekend drew lots of visitors.
Richard Brown, 37, was one of the newcomers. For the first time, he went to a worship service and left his clothes behind. It's a far cry from the church he attends in his hometown of Homosassa, he says.
"I've been to a lot of churches and they just don't please me," said Brown, a bearded man wearing only sunglasses and a brimmed hat. "Here, the wind feels good on your skin."
The sanctuary is the great outdoors. The spiritually inclined gather at Big Moss Lake, the resort's centerpiece, among tall pines draped with Spanish moss. Two rows of plastic patio chairs double as pews. A tiny boom box takes the place of the traditional church choir.
When two brown snakes slithered onto the scene last Sunday, no one shooed them away.
"We feel God is love and that you should spread love anywhere you go," said Pessagno.
No Bibles are needed here. Instead, Pessagno shares folk stories from a three-ringed binder. On occasion, she copies the stories onto colorful paper and hands them out.
Summer is a perfect time for being in the buff, says Pessagno, 57. But she realizes that nudism is not for everyone.
"You have to have an open mind and shed your inhibitions to shed your clothes," she said.
But folks are encouraged to come in whatever makes them comfortable. For some, that means simply sandals. One lady wore a tiny T-shirt and little else.
Eve Ferber, 85, came in a draping, Bohemian-style dress with big, round earrings and a necklace to match - and looked out of place.
Ferber is quick to note that she doesn't mind going bare. But even nudists wear clothing from time to time, she insists. When it's chilly outside, they put on sweaters and jackets.
"We're obviously all born nude," says Pessagno, who lives at the resort and works as its marketing director. "Man is the one who came up with shame. I don't think there's anything to be ashamed of. This is the body God gave us. When we see someone in a three-piece suit, we make judgments. I feel (being nude) strips away judgments and allows you to get to really know a person."
It's 8:45 a.m. and folks are arriving in golf carts, a common method of tooling around the 200-acre resort. They brought their towels; it's nudist etiquette to line chairs with them before sitting.
Pessagno, blond and petite, wears only a sheer wrap around her waist. Later she drapes a white satin stole around her neck, nearly covering her bare chest. The stole is like the ones some clergy members wear over their robes. A gold cross dangled from her neck.
Pessagno, hippie turned schoolteacher turned nudist, says she has grown spiritually over the years. Last year she earned a doctorate in divinity from the University of Florida, she says. She's popular at the resort. Pessagno constantly wears a smile and likes to greet people with a warm hug.
As the service begins, she takes a seat in front of the group. She shares a timely story about Dustin, a war hero who lost his legs in battle. The message is of courage and gratitude. Folks listen quietly.
Later, people are encouraged to share their own stories. As the service ends, they form a circle and join hands.
The service lasts about half an hour and closes with a prayer.
"Okay, now hug your neighbor," Pessagno says gleefully.
For Brown, a maintenance worker, Sunday's service leaves him feeling "less stressed."
Hayes agrees.
The gathering is inspirational, not religious, she insists. It's also convenient. Hayes and her husband, John, live so close, they could walk over.
"I was raised Jewish," says Hayes, wearing only a pair of sneakers. "But I don't feel I need to sit in a synagogue to experience God. I practice my own way ... It's gorgeous out here. It's the naturalness of it all."