Home for Easter
Last Sunday was Easter, and I was home from school on break. I went back to the church where I grew up--the church where I was baptized and confirmed, where I attended youth group and worship weekly, where I preached for the first time, and where my call to ministry was nurtured. I haven't been there for Sunday worship in a long time because I attend graduate school out of town, and before that, I served another congregation as pastor for two years. It was good to be back.
This is not a perfect congregation, and I don't mean to present it as a congregation without flaws. What I will say, though, is that I am grateful for this congregation, and in spite of its shortcomings, it is among the primary reasons I remain United Methodist.
You see, it was in this congregation that I learned to read the Bible pray. It was in this local church that I learned the tenants of the faith. It was in this congregation that I first encountered the hymns, the liturgies, and the doctrines of our faith tradition. It was in this congregation that I learned about prevenient grace. Before anyone ever told me I was incompatible with Christian teaching, a sermon at this church taught me that God's love seeks all people.
It was in this congregation that I was invited to be an acolyte, a liturgist, and even a pulpit supplier--long before I knew about any prohibition against self-avowed, practicing homosexuals in ordained ministry.
It was in this congregation that I first encountered and continually heard the beautiful words, "Christ invites to this table all who love God," a phrase that affirms the sacred worth of all with no ifs, ands or buts attached.
It was in this church that I attended many weddings of family members and other church members, all before I realized I could never hope to have a wedding in that very sanctuary or performed by a United Methodist pastor.
It was in this church that I met Sunday school teachers who were intentional about including everyone who came in the classroom, no matter where they were from or what their abilities were; no one was excluded.
It was in confirmation class at this church that I learned why United Methodists use grape juice instead of wine for communion; I loved the idea of a table where everyone felt free to be an authentic person without temptation, even before I learned that our denomination's polity requires some people to lose their authenticity in order to keep their jobs.
It was in that same confirmation class that I learned about baptism as an act of God to which humans respond, even before I learned that our denomination refuses to see human sexuality as a gift of God for God's people.
It was in this church that I learned our faith tradition of encountering questions of faith using scripture, tradition, experience, and reason, and I learned that before I understood that the rules of our denomination are often based on none of the four.
It was in this congregation that I made a promise to accept the power God gives me to resist evil, injustice, and oppression, even before I learned that my own denomination could be a manifestation of the evil, injustice, and oppression I was promising to resist.
It was in this congregation that I experienced the church's magnificent ability to love. At moments, that congregation is the Body of Christ at its best, and I'm glad I've seen it. I've also experienced the darkness of the church. I've read the Book of Discipline, which tells me that the way I love is a chargeable offense--in the same paragraph as embezzling money or abusing a child--and that hurts. Yet, I remain United Methodist, and I remain a member of that congregation that taught me so much about who and what and how God calls the church to be. At the center of God's call for the church is the love of Christ, where I find hope, and at the moment when I needed a visible sign of that hope, I am sure glad I went home for Easter.