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Another approach is to try to merge denominations. The
Church of Jesus Christ, Reconciler, in Chicago, embodies
this approach in an interesting way. As described in its
vision
statement, it seeks to
proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ while living
together as one body of Christians that come mainly from
and in connection with the Episcopal Church, the
American Baptist Churches, and the Evangelical Covenant
Church. They seek to recognize the differences while
celebrating the unity of the church of Christ.
Reconciler, as it is called for short, envisions itself
as “a proclamation of the universal body of Christ — the
one, holy, catholic, and apostolic church as a concrete
spiritual reality” and “wants to be an example of how we
can be reconciled to one another not just as individuals
but also as institutions.” The folks at Reconciler
proclaim that the source of their reconciliation is not
themselves or righteous works, but only Jesus Christ.
They “hope to draw those who find Christ hidden by the
disunity of Christians and our various claims to be
church, that all may find reconciliation offered them in
Christ Jesus.”
Many of us can identify with that statement. I
have found worshiping at Reconciler very fulfilling, and
though I love the people, I now feel called to pick a
denomination, stick to it, and grow in it. As Scotty
McLennan mentions in his book Finding Your Religion,
exploration is good. I would add that it is vigorously
healthy. But at some point, I think, we need to find “a
place to lay our head,” that is, a home.
I
have attended many different churches with many
different people for many different reasons. I have
spent good times with friends from a wide variety of
other traditions and considered how their outlooks and
practices might jive with my own.
My intense seeking, begun at birth, has deepened my
hunger for one spiritual home, and as a child of a
Baptist/Catholic marriage, perhaps it is no surprise
that I feel more and more at home in the Episcopal
Church, a professed via media, a middle way that
embraces tension.
Just as we tend to appreciate our own homes much more
when we’ve just returned from a long journey, so do I
cherish my many experiences growing up and the
church-hopping I’ve done since then. In all of my hops,
though, I’ve realized that God is navigating my course
and has particular places for each of us at particular
times. Sometimes our time in those places is fleeting
and we wonder why we even stopped there in the first
place. But I trust that God always has some reason. I
think of my church-hopping as a big adventure with God.
And that’s the part that is most important: no matter
where, why, or how often we go to church, being a
Christian is never boring. God always has something
queued up, whether it’s the itch to try out another
tradition or the urge to settle into one for awhile. If
we’re up for it, following Christ can be the greatest
adventure imaginable.
Emily Williams lives in Evanston, Il. She is
finishing a master’s degree in music ministry from
Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary and is
discerning a call to the Episcopal priesthood.
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October:
Poor in Spirit, Rich in Blessing
Theme verse: Blessed are the poor in spirit, for
theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 5:3)
Poverty takes many forms: the gnawing ache of hunger,
the ravages of disease, the brittleness of emotional
need, the fear of spiritual abandonment. As you search
for a new church home, you might want to find one that
has as its mission attending to the poverty in and
around it.
To
get the Bible study, subscribe to
Lutheran Woman Today magazine. It’s only $12 a year for 10
issues. The Bible study and articles
in the magazine are discussed on the LWT
blog.
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Visit the
study
page for ideas for discussion and further
reflection.
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By my senior year, I had been so
affected by the loving, humble, and grace-full influence of the
Lutheran people I had met that there was no going back (yes, I did
just use the word “grace” in a sentence). I would never be the same.
They had taken me in as though I was a longtime member of the
family, and I embraced them back. The Lutherans, with their unique
songs, language, and ways of being community, had become my people.
Today, I am a Lutheran pastor. The
language and flow of the liturgy is comfort food for me now. I talk
about grace a lot. I have experienced so much grace as a pastor that
it’s hard for me not to talk about it all the time.
Even today, when I am on vacation, I
will go to my family’s Methodist church. It is familiar and reminds
me of the big questions I was encouraged to ask and struggle with in
that community. Although it is no longer home for me, I am
incredibly grateful that it was the church home that raised me. I am
grateful to have this other language of faith and way of being
church woven into my heart, so that I cannot dissect what of me is
because I am now Lutheran and what is because I was raised
Methodist.
I know why Ruth cried and clung to
Naomi when she suggested that Ruth go home to Moab. Go home to Moab?
How could Naomi not have seen and felt Ruth’s transformation, her
commitment and devotion to this family? There was no going back. I
imagine she never even considered it. It wasn’t that Moab was a bad
place or that she did not love her family, but Ruth had grown and
changed — not into a different person, but into a surprisingly
expanded version of herself through Naomi’s family. She would always
be a Moabite, but she was no longer only a Moabite. Ruth
surely treasured the ways that this family had, by their loving
influence, reshaped her world and allowed her room to grow and
transform, which might never have been possible had she married into
a Moabite family.
I have often thought that if I had
stayed in the Methodist church, I might not be a pastor today. Not
that the Methodist church is offensive to my theological tastes, but
it might have been so familiar to me that I would not have been
curious enough to look deeper, ask more questions, and try to figure
out what was really going on here.
I could never have guessed what would
become of me that Palm Sunday when my parents and I sat bewildered
in the Valparaiso chapel. That’s the crazy thing about experiencing
new people and unfamiliar places; it quietly yet dramatically
expands your view of God, the world, and yourself. You might think
that you are “just visiting,” but you are stepping out of your
familiar little corner of God’s hand and into another, and you will
never be the same. Thank God.
Rachel Bass currently serves as
Pastor-Director of St. Andrew's Church & Lutheran Campus Center at
the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign.
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When you and your friends, classmates, or co-workers meet to
discuss this issue of Café, try out the questions for
reflection on our new study
page.
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