A young (well young is a relative term…) naïve, curious me walks into a church, my Baptist childhood roots trailing behind me. It’s a strange world filled with palm fronds hanging from the window ledges, in front of the altar, festooned around the pews and the pillars and strewn all over the carpeted aisles. I entered a strange world of church on Palm Sunday. A world with a community filled with compassion and of those actively living out the Gospel in their daily lives – well doing their best to do this! Then the invitation went out to attend services every night in Holy week, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday… The Gospel story stirred something deep within my being. It awoke a part of me that hadn’t felt life in such a long time. I took them up on the invitation. I came to the services – all of them – and I never looked back. That’s part of my story. Part of how I was reintroduced to God, to Christ, to community – to Church. That was 5 years ago.
Here’s what amuses for me. This story has now been adopted into the collective narrative of the church. It is my story, it is my entrance into the Anglican Church, but the parishioners have adopted it as “our” story. When they want to talk about successfully welcoming someone to the church – they tell this story. When they introduce me to visiting clergy – they tell this story. When they meet new parishioners – people who have just walked into the church for the first time in years or the first time ever, they tell this story. My story, has become our story – and I wouldn’t have it any other way. This community has helped shape me, has walked with me in darkness, sorrow, joy, pain you name it. They are my family, and I love them.
Someone just sent me this photo… This is Palm Sunday at St. George’s On-The-Hill. This is what I walked into. This is where the stories came back to life. Thanks be to God!
1 comment:
yup, they're my peeps!
Post a Comment