Our Church

My church, our church, has been and still is a touch stone for Marty and me.  It has been an integral part of our life for a long time and my hope is that it will always be a sanctuary for us.

It is a an ever present part of my memory, seeing my daughter sing, seeing my son lead, seeing them both preach Senior sermons, teaching Sunday School, watching Marty sing, sitting behind the youth of church and occasionally shushing their whispers.  Our church, in spite of our, let’s call it spotty attendance of late, is foundational for Marty and for me.

I remember sitting in church one Sunday, as low in spirit as I could have been, I was sitting beside Marty; the night before we had talked about not being married anymore.  Sitting in that church that day, my head, my heart  was in turmoil, sitting with Marty on my right and my children in front of me with the night before still churning my gut I thought, I can’t ever be with anyone but this woman to my right.  

Being in that church that day helped save our marriage.  Months later Marty and I stood at the front of our church with Jimmie and repeated vows of love and re-commitment, in our church.

Years later I sat by Marty in that church on a rainy Christmas day.  I sat as our pastor leaned down and wrapped his arms around Marty.  I listened and was moved as they took turns delivering the charge to the small gathering, repeating the words, “have faith, hold on to what is good”, one after the other.  I saw the smile of our God that day, smiling as the strong encircled the weak that day, in that church.

This church, the people in this church, this enclave in the city of Waco has been there for us during our best times and has been a shelter and a buttress against ill winds for us in our worst times.  I worry for my church.

You see, we are Presbyterians and there has been upheaval in our denomination over the last several years, in particular regarding sexual orientation.  We are a connectional church and all of us belong to the Presbyterian Church of the USA.  We are governed by a Book of Order developed and changed by our General Assembly, a bi-annual meeting where delegates from all across the United States meet to recommend what belongs and what doesn’t belong in our Book of Order and our Book of Confessions.

In June of 2014 the GA voted to revise the definition of marriage to include same sex marriages where allowed by law.  It has roiled our church and many congregations have voted to leave our denomination.  It hurts to see, it hurts to watch, it feels like once again there are people saying to others, within my own denomination, you are no longer Christian enough for us.

I worry that this controversy, this almost secular battle of liberal versus conservative thought will visit my church.  I worry that there will be people in my own church that will be so hurt, so angry over some of these decisions they will want to leave or worse they will want my church to divorce my denomination, they will want to take my church away.

I understand their concern; I understand the strong feelings that are involved. I don’t understand the need to separate, the need to look another in the eye and say I can no longer worship with you because I don’t agree with you.  We worshiped together yesterday, we disagreed yesterday, why can’t we worship together tomorrow even though we disagree over some issues?

Years ago Marty and I sat in our church and contemplated moving away from each other.  We had significant disagreements, we were at logger heads, we were, at times, emotionally hurting each other.  That Sunday at that church we decided we must work through our pain and hurt and disagreements and stand strong for each other.  That’s what we did.

I know that some in our church feel the same way I did that day in our church, not sure if love and faith can bridge the gap in our relationship.  I recognize the very real concerns many have about some changes in our denomination.  Those concerns are based in real faith, so are mine.

 When those Commissioners at General Assembly met and voted on the issues hurting your heart I believe they were doing what they felt God led them to do.  When those votes were taken it was not a matter of doing the will of the people but seeking discernment to do the will of God.

I accept that there are those who can’t accept, I can’t accept that leaving is the answer, I can’t accept that we must divorce.  If you believe, then fight, then work, then change minds, change hearts, make a difference in a way that says I won’t give up but I too will seek God’s direction and I will make right what I see as wrong.  

My sanctuary, more than any other place I have ever been, has always been a place where differences in race, circumstances and politics did not matter.  My sanctuary has always been a place of refuge, a place that has fit me and my family as a soft glove, a place that is tender, accepting and inclusive. 

 

Don’t take that away, Marty and I are blessed to have this church and all of the people that are a part of it.  Stay and disagree with me, we can do that and still sing together.

Thanks for the Hook-Up

My head has not been there in a while.  The past months, really the past couple of years have been too good to dwell on what was, what happened and what might have happened.  Encounters make me think back.

I went to a wedding and saw the minister that sat with us the morning April 4, 2005.  That was the morning of Marty’s surgery to stop the bleeding from her ruptured cerebral aneurysm.  That was the morning I began to understand mortality.

That Sunday the minister in question sat with us, first in a small room, then a larger room.  She sat with me, with Erin, with Matt, with Sarah, with Wesley as we paced, as we waited anxiously and hopeful for word on Marty after her hours’ long surgery.  It was a long, painful, exceedingly frightening wait.  It was one of those did she live kind of waits.

At the wedding I talked briefly to the right reverend Fran and thanked her for being with us that day.  I didn’t do a very good job of saying thank you and telling her how much her presence meant to me and to my family.  I don’t think I explained how much comfort it brought to be connected with our faith at a time when every part of my life, every fiber of my being was shaken and my faith was being pulled from me little by little with every tick of the clock.  

It’s taken me years to understand that Fran’s loving and calm presence that day did more than just offer spiritual solace.  Her presence that morning connected me to my church and to our larger church. Actually, it was more than that, the connection Fran brought helped me tap into a faith that all too often wavers and all too often is led by my doubts.  

Sitting in those rooms, waiting for news, good or bad, I needed something big to hold, Fran brought that.  That connection to the church universal has kept me coming back to my faith in spite of my doubts and fears and anger.  It is a connection to something larger and more important than me or a single congregation.

Fran came to us that day through Matt and Sarah’s church, but it is my church too because as Presbyterians we are connected.  My church is connected to their church which is connected to my parent’s church which is connected to my sister’s church all of which is connected to the faith of the thousands of doubters in the past and the future.  

We are a connectional church and that is what my faith needed that day, I needed to feel joined to my church 100 miles away, I needed the faith of my parents and sister who happened to be in Ireland at the time, I needed the faith of all of those who had gone before Marty and I, and I needed the faith of all of those who would come after us.  

I am sure Fran has sat with countless people, some in better situations, some in worse.  I did not know her, Marty didn’t know her, but she made me comfortable, she gave me comfort.  On that day, at that time Fran was a part of my larger family.  On that day at that time Fran brought a modicum of peace to me and mine.  On that day at that time Fran represented something, for me, that was much larger than her, than me, than Marty, she represented the love and the history our faith.

Our world has changed in the 9 ½ years since that April in 2005.  I have changed, my base of knowledge and understanding about our life has been expanded and I think, I think, I better understand myself and my place in our journey.

I now understand how much I need to feel connected to the greater world.  I understand today how important it was to me then, on that day.  On that day I don’t think I recognized what was going on, that Fran’s presence, for me, brought the power of presence of our faith and congregations.

Thank you Fran, it really meant a lot then, it means even more today.

Come All Ye Faithful

Here we are living life on the edge this Christmas of 2013.  That’s just the way Marty and I roll, taking chances, risking the comfort of hearth and home to find the ever elusive peace and good will.

Yea, that’s right, we did it, we did it in the face of everything, we went to church in cold and flu season.  We hugged people, we touched people, we exposed ourselves to germs, and then we sterilized.  It was good.

A Christmas Eve service at First Presbyterian in Waco has always been one of Marty’s favorite places to be during the holiday season.  She loved the sights, the sounds, the smells, the people, the familiarity, the carols, the music, the whole magilla.  The strokes have not robbed her of this.

It’s a crowded service, if you want a primo spot you have to be there early, and when I say primo spot I’m saying one of the pews that will accommodate a wheelchair.  We got there about an hour before the concert which precedes the actual service.  There we sat, Marty in her black and red Christmas vest, me and our trusty caregiver, Nykkie, guarding our rear position in the sanctuary, watching familiar faces file in and find seats.

Before the strokes, my job on this night of all nights was to take number one and only son, Matt, to the church early and save seats for the consistently late Marty. 

I must say for posterity’s sake, I hate saving seats.  It involves telling people “no you can’t sit here” and disappointing perfect strangers and friends.  I did it anyway, it got me there early and Marty could come when ready and we could avoid the inevitable conflict of punctuality.  

I don’t do that anymore.  For one, Marty brings her seat in the form of her wheelchair, for two, I’m now in charge of getting her ready and out the door so we are painfully early and there is not conflict.  The one perk of being a caregiver is you get to set the schedule.  Now we just have to kill an hour watching and greeting old friends and their families and playing games on our smart phones.

The service is full of music and a lot of singing familiar Christmas carols.  All of the standards, most of which we can sing without the help of a hymnal, most of which evoke feelings of Christmas’ today and past, a good nostalgia a good centering of the present.

As is my habit, much to Marty’s chagrin (she told me once during the service, “Just leave me alone”.  Oddly it warmed my heart) I keep a close eye on Marty.  She is feeling good in spite of a treated UTI.  She is sitting, head up attentive, engaged, watching people, listening and looking and really basking in the warmth of this familiar setting.

The trumpet starts, “Oh come all ye faithful”, the congregation stands and begins to sing and fills the sanctuary with music, singing in unison, singing louder than a normal hymn.  There is a palpable sense of community and commonality as the voices build, as the carol progresses, “Joyful and Triumphant, O Come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem.”  

I look to my left at Marty at sitting in her wheelchair.  She is looking at me, watching me, but singing, every word, “come and behold Him, born the King of angels, oh come let us adore him.”

And there it was, that was why we were living life on the edge, why we risked the germ factory that is any large group of people, to be with our larger group of people, to feel part of something, to feel the familiar, to feel a sense of continuity, to feel what we as humans crave, life as part of something bigger.

To the well, to the able bodied, to the sick, to the infirmed, to the challenged, being a part of a community, whatever that community might be is the great the common denominator that connects us all in spite of our very real differences.  We want to be a part of life and that church on that night with those people with those songs, that is our community, our faith, our belonging.

We sang in spite of the faux danger, we went to church, we hugged and touched others because living without that community, living without the song is not really living, at least for us. 

Starting a New Journey

The journey to acceptance of difference starts with simple presence, it starts with familiarity, it starts with understanding.  Marty and I started that process with young people who matter to us.

I taught Sunday school for several years.  From the time our son Matt was in high school until daughter Erin graduated I taught their Sunday school classes.  It was the best way to ensure that the three of us got up and went to church, it seemed right.

In those years of teaching I rarely went long without being taught, without learning more about my own faith than I could ever impart to 15 year olds who mostly came for the donuts.

It’s still the same, the more I think I know, the more I want to educate, the more I find out from those around me.  

After Marty and I had met with the youth of our church I walked out of the church refreshed, optimistic and feeling renewed.  Marty had risen above her natural self consciousness and apprehension and had listened and talked.  She was involved, funny and, well, Marty, confined yet not defined by her circumstance.  

  

Those kids listened, they turned their young minds to us, they paid attention, and more importantly they moved beyond the tendency of focusing on self.  They focused on Marty and her life and I think they got to know her just a little; they got to know Marty as I know her.

I don’t know if they heard everything I was saying, it doesn’t matter if they heard everything, they clearly heard some things and they were attentive to Marty and maybe, just a little, tried to get into her head and her life.

We talked about Marty; we talked about our life, our old normal, our new normal, our faith, and our lack thereof, or more precisely, my lack thereof.   Marty has never wavered in her faith in a higher power, in fact, her faith has only gotten stronger.  She was always stronger than me.

I pointed out to these young minds how they are connected to Marty and how Marty is forever connected to our church, the people in the church and in particular the young people in our church.  I told them about Marty’s work with the youth program and how the program was stronger and how Marty was stronger for her efforts.  

I talked about Marty and how serious she took her commitments and that one of those commitments was to our children and the children our church.  I talked about how important the baptismal promise was to Marty, that when she committed to helping them with their faith at their baptism, she meant it and that was part of why she was committed to the youth that came before them and why, even interrupted, she was committed to the young people who were in the room with her that night. 

They listened politely with very few yawns and no cell phones, they listened.  They asked questions, they asked good questions, they asked questions about feelings and faith, they asked questions about doubt and anger, they asked questions about simple living and dealing with fear and dying.  They were good questions that they directed not just at me but at Marty…..and of course Marty rose to the occasion and answered.

At the end they all wrote affirmations, small notes on small cards for Marty, for me, small words of encouragement and wisdom from those so young.  It’s a ritual of our youth program and other youth programs that you leave these meetings with words of faith, love and encouragement.  I’ve felt the love of young people before, it’s still there, it’s still powerful, it still means a lot.

The affirmations expressed kindness, empathy and a very simple wisdom, an understanding of what makes a whole person.  One was a drawing, a simple drawing that very neatly captured what we all want to believe about ourselves.  

We started our journey with these young fertile minds that Sunday evening.  Any journey starts with steps, this one started with being in each other’s presence and listening and talking and learning. 

 

I am moved by the openness, I am a captive of the compassion of those so young.  It is encouraging for our life.