I am a self-proclaimed church hopper. When I was seventeen, my dad gave me permission to look beyond the Catholic Church in which I had been raised and try out other denominations. I’ve been looking for seventeen years. During that time, I have been to well over a dozen different churches, Baptists, Methodists, back to Catholics, Presbyterians, Disciples of Christ and more. But though I believed with all my heart in God, no church grabbed me, no church moved me in such a way that I felt like I had to come back. I was anonymous. I sat in the back. I shook people’s hands but never said my name. When visitors were asked to raise their hand, I sat on mine.
And never once did I fill out a card with my name and address. I did not want to be contacted. I wasn’t ready. This church wasn’t “the one.”
In the meantime I prayed and my prayer was always the same. I prayed that God would bring healing in my life, physical healing, emotional healing and spiritual healing. There was something missing in my life, a spiritual need I had not been able to fill.
Kathleen Norris writes in her book Amazing Grace that “prayer is not asking for what you think you want but asking to be changed in ways you can’t imagine.” When I prayed for spiritual healing, I was praying for change even though I had no idea what that change might be.
On Easter Sunday this year, I walked into yet another church, Hope Episcopal in Suntree. I had found them on the Internet and thought that the Episcopal Church might be the right fit for someone like me who still enjoyed the Catholic traditions, but wanted a church that was more liberal minded.
As soon as I walked into the church, I knew that this church was where I needed to be. I can tell you, after having attended many churches, that each church has a vibe, has a current, sometimes positive, sometimes negative and sometimes stagnant. I could tell right away that Hope’s vibe was more than positive. The people in the church genuinely seemed to like each other. They laughed with each other, teased each other, encouraged each other. The congregation was a mix of old and young and when the pastor called for “Godly Play” (the children’s sermon), a full 1/3 of the church rose and walked forward, a sign of a healthy, thriving church.
I reached into my bulletin for the yellow card to write down my name and address. For the very first time I wanted a church to contact me. I wanted to sit down with this pastor, Pastor Debbie, and know everything there was to know about Hope. So I held that yellow card in my hand and reached for . . . nothing . . . there were no pencils . . . anywhere.
Really? I thought to God. Really? I have to wait seventeen years to find a church and I’m being held back by a pencil?
A few weeks later I related this story to someone who was looking to come to Hope, but hadn’t attended yet.
“There was no pencil,” I told her.
“Well, that forced you to contact the church on your own, right?”
“No,” I said, “I just brought my own pencil the next week.”
I’m writing this blog to let you know how my journey goes as I explore what it means to be part of a church community. I’ve loved God and believed in Him since I can remember, but I have never really, truly been a part of a church before. I’m excited to learn what that means.
