A Visit to my Old Church

So... After a nice make-up Christmas with my family, the inevitable Sunday morning question presented itself: where to go to church? It's a rare Sunday when my father is off from his preaching duties, but impassable streets, ice-slick church parking lots, and the specter of parishioners' broken hips compelled him to cancel his morning services, allowing he and I to travel to the city to visit my sister and her husband.

But my father's cancellation didn't mean "no church," just "different church." We ended up visiting my old church, the Methodist congregation I had attended throughout my undergrad years.

This church is what is called a "reconciling congregation," meaning it aligns with the Reconciling Ministries Network, a parachurch organization aimed at changing United Methodist policy to become more inclusive of GLBT folk. I began attending the church my freshman year largely because it was nearby (I lacked a car in those days), because some friends of mine went, and because the church was smaller than the more intimidating Huge Methodist Churches in the area.

That it was Reconciling was, in retrospect, a God thing--serendipity with a divine push--for my freshman year of college just happened to be the year I came to terms with being gay myself.

I hesitate to go into that now; it's a story I've told so many times it feels old and trite to me. Suffice it to say that, in a time where I was questioning just about every aspect of my life and self-image, that Reconciling church helped me to hang on to a sense of God as reliably loving. I might be changing (at least, my image of myself--my past, my future--might be changing), but two things I knew: 1) my family loved me no matter what; and 2) God loved me no matter what.

To those who haven't experienced a reconciling congregation or other GLBT-affirming worship--I recommend it. Rarely do you see such a cross-section of society (racial, class, gender, age, ability) in a single sanctuary. People--gay and lesbian and bisexual and transgender people especially--hear about this place where it's OK to be who they are and worship as they feel they should. And they come. And they come. And they come. When I first started attending, the church had just voted to become reconciling, and church numbers soared.

You experience the conventions of worship, the vocabulary of liturgy, so differently in an audience of people who come from places where they've been denied those things. To sing a hymn together openly and proudly, to hear a sermon with hope rather than trepidation, to take communion--these things are so easy to take for granted. In a reconciling church, you realize that you are surrounded with people who many times have lived years locked outside of church participation because of who they are. Many had been told that they could never, ever be gay or lesbian and live a life pleasing to God. Many had been subjected to (or had subjected themselves to) intensive, psychologically excruciating efforts to change or mute their sexuality or gender identities, only to fail and, in shame and sorrow (and perhaps with bitterness, too) strike out "going to church" from their future life script.

Some people I knew had even been excommunicated from their congregations. One man described a ceremony where his tiny congregation--the congregation he had grown up with, laughed and prayed and cried and shared and worked and fellowshipped with--formed a circle around him and turned their backs to him, one by one, to demonstrate his out-cast-ness.

I really have to wonder just what kind of picture of God or agape such people had in their minds or hearts to imagine such an act as Christlike.

So, in a reconciling church, if there's mention of the open table of communion--all are welcome--there's an added kick. All means all.

This church had communion every Sunday. It still did. My father and I braved the icy side streets (well, he drove, so he really braved the ice) to find the church open for business. The crowd was smaller than normal, but some people recognized me from 10+ years ago (and my father from nearer to that--he's a more frequent visitor). We met new faces. We shared songs (finally Christmas songs!) and bread and juice. It reminded me of what's best about church and what's great about a Methodist church who takes its call to be loving and open seriously.

More tomorrow,

JF