A place of healing, a place of hope

Oh, there's nothing as sweet as fellowship
As we share each other’s hearts...
Sweet, sweet fellowship...
- the group Acappella

It's been a long, long time since I could say that about a church. Thanks be to God, I can say it today.

For the last four years, I have been waging a 3-sided internal battle. On one side, I've been wanting to again be a part of a fellowship of Christian believers. On another side, I've not wanted to go any place where I am not wanted (having become an "I'd rather switch than fight" kind of fellow). And on yet another side, I've not wanted to end up the one round peg in a set of otherwise square pegs.

In my search, I found churches where I could be active, but closeted; I found churches where I could be out, but the theology was way too watered down. And I found churches who were accepting of anyone, because they were just desperate for live bodies - anyone with a pulse was welcome as long as they were willing to pitch in.

Then for the last year, Chris was working until midnights on Saturday and then he was working again on Sunday afternoons. I was simply too jealous of our one-morning-a-week-to-sleep-in to give it away looking for a potential church home, so the idea sat on hold.

Then the move to Champaign came, and we were both finally on the same Monday/Friday schedule. Once we got settled in, I went to the GCN "Welcoming Churches" website, and instantly one church stood out among the rest. Their website, the person we talked to on the phone, everything about them shouted "welcome."

What sold us both was the welcome, and the worship...

We came in the door, and someone immediately welcomed us with a cheery “Hi, have you been here before?” When I introduced myself "and my partner Chris,” the response was “We’re SO glad to have you here!...” We were ushered into the sanctuary and plied with coffee, banana-nut bread, and then led over to see the church's beautiful stained-glass windows. Specifically, the newest one… this one:

If you note, the top of the window has the pink-triangle that was both a symbol of shame in World War II as well as the symbol of the early gay community. Below it are rainbows, symbols of the GLBT community from the 70's until the current day. There is red-ribbon which is the reminder of HIV/AIDS sufferers world-wide, and the heart with tongues of flame symbolizing the presence of the Spirit resident in the hearts of believers. The peaceful, pastoral scenes symbolize a place of peace and rest, while the hands of the community supporting the clasped hands of two men and two women symbolized the support this church wanted to give the GLBT community. (You can see it more clearly over here...)

Down at the bottom, there are two scriptures - I don't remember the first, but the second is Galatians 3:28 - "There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus."

The lady who greeted us told us proudly that to the best of her knowledge, this is the only GLBT-affirming stained-glass window in a church the US. (I'm sure it's the only one in a Presbyterian church in America.) The bottom line, she said, was that this church wanted us (and people like us) to feel welcomed and affirmed.

It was all I could do not to weep tears of joy....that anyone would make a commitment in the very structure of the sanctuary to share that message. How could we not feel at home?

This next item will sound ridiculous and trivial, but it's worth mentioning, especially to my Lutheran friends. I've been in churches which fought tooth-and-nail about having coffee in the sanctuary, or even in the narthex. Not this congregation...they have no narthex to speak of, so when the church was being remodeled, they put nooks on both sides of the back of the sanctuary, for coffee-pots and coffee-mug racks (no styrofoam cups here; this congregation believes that "being good stewards of the earth" means not filling up landfills!). A group of members provide fresh baked goods to go with the coffee every Sunday, and it's just expected that responsible people will (a) take their coffee and sweets to their pew, (b) clean up after themselves, and (c) wash their own mugs afterwards! And a stone sanctuary floor means no carpet to get stained...

The church was built in 1911. Back 15 years ago, the massive roof beams were found to have some sort of rot problems, and the church was all but condemned to be bulldozed. A way was found to re-strengthen the beams with some hardening resin, and the church interior was remodeled as well. The seating is now in the form of a T, with seating on either side of the beautiful wooden altar, which is on the floor-level with the congregation. The former altar space is now occupied by a small but respectable pipe organ, and a beautifully restored stained-glass figure of Christ looks down from above the organ.

Chris came from a very relaxed, family/house-church style of worship - where the "prayers of the congregation" were actually done by the congregation, where there were no bulletins, no order of worship, just a retired pastor and his flock gathered in folding chairs and couches around a piano in a community center. I had come from a congregation that regularly had 1,000 people a Sunday for worship, with a pre-printed liturgy in a bound bulletin, multiple hymnals - while not hardly as lock-step as many Lutheran communities are wont to be, it was hardly spontaneous worship.

But I had also come from a group of people who'd introduced me to Taize' (teh-ZAY) singing, to Maranatha's worship-n-praise, and to all-night prayer-vigils locked-in at the church sanctuary. I'd been through the "worship wars," the our-way-or-the-highway worship committee meetings, and encountered people who either believed that synthesizers were of the devil, or people who believed that they'd rather stay home than listen to one more organ prelude. As a result of all that (not to mention the emphasis on high liturgy at seminary, I've generally concluded that more diversity in worship meant more ways to experience God. But it had been a long time since I'd experienced that diversity.

Until we walked into McKinley Presbyterian Church.

Our first Sunday, I was greeted by some of the same Taize' songs I had sung back nearly a dozen years ago - the memory of which literally brought tears of joy to my eyes. As we sang we looked around the congregation - taking in the physical beauty of the sanctuary and the peace of the community. Chris and I were astonished that we were just one among many same-sex couples present, surrounded by a congregation for whom it was just no big deal in such a way that we instantly felt both welcomed and accepted.

As the Christ candle was lit, the congregation was invited to come forward and light candles symbolizing their prayers for peace - something which the congregation has done since the Sunday before the current Iraq war began. The beauty of the pipe organ did not overwhelm the congregation, but seemed to lift it up and support it. The prayers of the congregation were "popcorn-style" (whatever popped up, so to speak), and even the Lord's Prayer was said in a format that came from Tanzania or another African group of believers.

In short, everything was familiar, everything was similar - but nothing was the same.

My ELCA Lutheran friends will understand this image ... you know the kind of worship services that you have at the regional Synod conferences? Where everything's a little edgy, everything's in somewhat the same location, but nothing's exactly as you've known it at your home church and it all feels new and a little strange, but somehow cool?

Welcome to our worship - each and every Sunday.

Today, the Gospel reading was the woman who was bleeding, and touched Jesus' robe. The sermon dealt with healing and restoration - and talked about how the women who bled and the girl who died were both ritually unclean and untouchable. Their healing was not only physical healing, but social restoration - being returned into the community from which they had been excluded.

Today, as communities around the world celebrate Pride Week with parades and marches and so much more, Chris and I simply celebrated being home - being healed and restored to a sense of community in new and powerful ways. It is not so much that we are in a gay-friendly church - it's that we can worship here, and no one really gives a rat's patootie what we are. We are simply two among many of the Children of the Heavenly Father in ways that I have never before experienced - and as the old song says, it's a good feelin' to know....

I am looking forward to the ways in which God will use this community in both our lives.

Getting back on the bicycle

I have been struggling, since getting to Ohio, with a number of things. One of the things I struggled with that never really ever floated to the top was the idea of finding a new "church home." In fact, to be honest, I struggled with it from the time I left my real "church home" in Kansas in 2003.

In seminary, we were always going where we were told for church. This visitation, this "ministry in context" site, this special project. Seminary was a place where I started falling in love with most of the theology of Martin Luther, even as I was falling out of love with the traditional ELCA Lutheran church. I saw worship as rote performance, worship as theatre and showmanship, but somehow had missed sincerity and humility in all the places I'd tried going.

I know it's a sad commentary for a man who intended to spend the rest of his life in church on Sunday morning - but except for Christmas and Easter, I've been hard-pressed to get fired up about going to church. In a way, I've felt the pull of demanding work and demanding family, and Sunday morning was the one morning I didn't have to be anything for anyone. No demands, no nothing. It felt pretty good.

And, to be honest, it seemed that the whole "committed to serve" thing that I had for the church just kind of flamed-out when I had to drop out of seminary. So many times, becoming a member of a church means becoming fresh meat for the church activity meat-grinder. Sunday mornings - sometimes all morning. Choir, Sunday school teacher, church council, prayer team leader - as a dear professor of mine once said, "The church is an addictive institution, and their drug of choice is over-commitment and overwork..." I have to admit a certain fear of being sucked back into the co-dependent "they need you there, Steve" syndrome.

And, to be honest, I haven't wanted to deal with finding a church that I can attend with my significant other and feel welcome. It's a tragic thing to say, but I really didn't want to be bothered with the struggle. Call it being conflict-averse, call it avoiding church closets, I don't know. Any more, my feelings about church has been a take-off on the old cigarette commercial: "I'd rather switch than fight."

Two things have kicked my church-aversion in the pants. One was the incredible richness of worship at the GCN conference at the beginning of January. I was completely overwhelmed by the power of the worship, and sense of being "a part of" that it brought me. Deep inside, I'd missed that sense - even though the blossoming relationship I'm in has brought a great deal of that back for me.

The other thing happened on Wednesday. I was at the Budapest Restaurant in Toledo Wednesday night, at a "145th anniversary" party for a friend. He turned 70 late last year, celebrated 45 years as a Catholic priest in December, and passed his 30th sobriety anniversary on Tuesday. So he invited all his friends to dinner on his dime to celebrate all 3 anniversaries. And after that, I went to an AA meeting downtown at a GLBT-friendly Episcopal church.

As we were walking up to the church, one of my fellow AA's said, "What's happening at the church tonight? Why's it so busy on a Wednesday night?" And that's when it hit me.

It's Ash Wednesday - that's why. The start of Lent. The beginning of the countdown to the Three Days and Easter. The church would be busy on Ash Wednesday, wouldn't they?...

And for the second year in a row, I wasn't in church on Ash Wednesday.

How the hell did that happen? How did I manage to ignore the ads, the big push to sell pazckis (Polish pastries sold before Lent, pronounced "poonschki," for reasons not readily apparent), and all the other signs of Mardi Gras and impending fasting?

How did it turn out to be Ash Wednesday, and I'm not there?

The enormity of it about blew me away. Something just cracked - just enough to let the idea of going back to church back into my head. And when I talked about it with a friend, he said, "Well, it's a lot like riding a bicycle - once you get back on, you'll remember how to ride..."

So we're going to try, this Sunday. There's a "church for people who don't like to go to church" not far from us. So I think Chris and I will try there, first. We won't go in waving the rainbow flag or anything - but we'll see what happens. And I'm trying to focus on what we heard so much at Christmas: "the reason for the season." The central reason why people should go to church, rather than all the other BS reasons we often come up with.

I know we'll have to deal with a bunch of Christians when we go. My hope is, we'll find some followers of Christ too.

Room at the table for everyone

Jesus started off with 12 people. Twelve misfits, following a Messiah who said impossible things like "love your neighbor" and "blessed are the meek" and "I am come that you might have life - and have it abundantly!" We know what they did...

This weekend, I watched what the Spirit of God did with two hundred eighty-five gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered Christians. In the mix were at least a half-dozen gay pastors who have been thrown out of mainline churches, and about a dozen gay music directors and worship leaders (although some would say "gay music directors" is repetitious...).

Imagine Christians who have been shunned by the rest of the Church world, who still have a heart for Jesus Christ - persecuted, shut out, rejected, ignored. And then take 285 voices who can't say enough about Jesus - and just imagine what it would sound like worshiping with them. Every session began with GLBT people worshiping - in some cases, participating in worship for the first time since they had been asked to leave their church. Worshiping out of every tradition - Roman Catholic, Orthodox, Protestant of every variety, and no tradition at all.

And, oh my God, the music...

The theme of the conference was set to the tune of the praise song "How Great Is Our God." But this was not a group of Johnny-One-Notes - we sang praise music, the great hymns, even Taize' chant. Songs that I hadn't sung since my days as a worship team leader at Faith Lutheran in 2001 poured out of me. Sunday's worship set included the wonderful Taize' song Ubi Caritas, How Great Is Our God, Amazing Grace, I Love You Lord, Holy Holy Holy, How Great Thou Art, I Am A Friend of God, Beautiful Savior, and wrapping up with an amazingly synthesized pipe organ belting out A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.

As the last note of that mighty hymn floated away, one of the liturgists (a young Southern guy who is well-known in the group as a deeply devout Catholic) came up to pray. Surveying the crowd, he smiled and said, "If anyone doubts the inclusiveness of this organization, just think that this ol' Catholic boy is coming up here to pray after singing Martin Luther's hymn!"

It was electrifying.

And the speakers...we managed to miss JR Finney Friday morning, but Kelly Fryer's presentation Saturday morning was incredible. Kelly, a former Lutheran pastor who resigned before the church removed her, wrote the Christian beginner's book No Experience Necessary and a wonderful little volume for the Lutheran (ELCA) Church called Reclaiming The "L" Word - Renewing the Church from It's Lutheran Core. (The humor of the author of Reclaiming the "L" Word having to resign because of the other L-word was not lost on the crowd...). She poured affirming Scripture over the conference - telling each of us, "There is nothing more that you need for ministry; no permission slip, no special blessing! You have already received everything needed....ministry isn't a "right" than an institution can give you (or take away from you)!"


Jay Bakker, pastor of Revolution Church NYC and son of Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker, shared the incredibly powerful witness of a straight man with a heart for the amazing unconditional love of Christ. His message of affirmation, and his memories of his mom (Tammy Faye, who died this last year, had a great heart for the GLBT community). But more than that, he gently addressed several of the so-called "clobber" passages that the church uses to try to exclude us, and pointed us back, every time, to the Cross.

That was the message, time and time again. Look to the Cross, no matter what the world, or the Church, or anyone tells us. The same Savior who welcomed the good thief into Paradise welcomes us, as well. The world needs what we have to offer, regardless whether the Church wants it or not. There is a place at the Table for us, our partners, and our families - we only have to step up and claim it. As my partner and I left the conference, arm in arm, the chorus of one praise song kept echoing in my ears...

I am a friend of God
He calls me "Friend"...