With the transition of summer into fall, I have been a state of transition
myself. For the last few years, I had attended a small, quirky,
bilingual, multicultural Episcopal church. When I first made my way
there in 2022, it was a breath of fresh air. I had been feeling
spiritually stagnated for the previous few years, made all the worse
by COVID’s forced isolation. Attending this new church awakened something inside me that I didn't even know needed awakening.
Unfortunately, that
happiness was not to last. In early 2024, our priest left us for a
call in another state. I couldn’t blame her, since it was a full
time position with that region’s diocese, and a good move forward for her career, but it set our little
church on a downward spiral. Attendance dropped off and did not
recover, and requests to our diocese to be allowed to begin searching
for a priest fell on deaf ears with the persistent refrain that we
weren’t ready.
Over time, our
attendance and membership dropped below a sustainable level, although
we had plenty of money with which to operate, thanks to having sold
part of our land to a developer for them to build affordable housing.
Our struggles
eventually reached a dead end in late July of this year when our
bishop informed us that the church was to be closed. Our already
strained relationship with the diocese turned increasingly
adversarial, and when we had our final anniversary celebration at the
end of August, I decided that although we had not set a firm closing date for the church, my time there was up and I needed to depart, so I opted for an ‘Irish
goodbye,’ by walking out the door without saying anything to
anyone, but knowing in my heart that I would never walk back in.
Up until that point,
I had been looking forward to visiting other Episcopal churches in
the area and shopping for the next right fit; however, the heavy-handed
and adversarial treatment we received from the diocese caused me to
rethink things, As it became increasingly apparent that we did not matter to them, a parting of ways began to seem more and more
inevitable. So I made the monumental decision to not only leave that church, but to leave the
denomination I had been a part of since birth, thus breaking with one of
the great consistencies of my life. This was not an easy decision,
and it was not a rash one; it just seemed to be the only viable
option for me to begin a much-needed healing process.
Being not that far
from the state line, I did entertain the notion of checking out
Episcopal churches in nearby Virginia towns that would be outside
this diocese, but I finally decided such a geographical cure wasn’t
terribly practical, and giving another denomination a
chance made more sense.
The next Sunday, I
decided to check out a Lutheran church about a mile from my house,
and found it much to my liking. Although it’s larger than the
church I’d been attending, it’s still relatively small, but even so, I
saw a couple of people I knew from other aspects of my life—one
from work and another from a church I had previously attended.
The Episcopal and
Lutheran churches have very similar styles of worship and the two
denominations are in communion with one another, such that clergy
from one denomination can serve in the other. Thus I knew I would
find things familiar and comfortable. The church I visited was very
welcoming, so rather than visit other churches, I kept going back, steeping myself in the experience and feeling a greater sense of belonging, more and more at home, each
time I went.
Visiting that church turned out to be serendipitous. The first Sunday I attended,
they had just called a new pastor and it was his first Sunday. He
will start full time the first of November. It somehow seemed fitting
to come into a congregation, seeking a new beginning for myself, just
as they were embarking on their own new beginning. We had not been
afforded this opportunity at my old church, but I’m going to have
it at the new one.
At first, worshiping
there felt a bit rebellious, and because the
service was an hour earlier than at my old church, I occasionally even thought of running over to my old church afterward, in time perhaps to catch the
sermon, but I never did. I would remind myself that there was a
reason I had left and I needed to stand my ground. But gradually, I
began to see that this Lutheran congregation that had welcomed me when I
needed it was becoming my new home.
Yesterday, I learned
that my old church had finally closed its doors for good, and while
it saddened me in a way, it also made me thankful to have already
started the next chapter. Sitting in the worship service this
morning, I had a different feeling, not of missing something by not
being at my old church, but that this is my church now. I am
here, and there’s no going back. It’s no longer an act of
rebellion but one of belonging.
I had come to feel
cast aside by the Episcopal Diocese of North Carolina, not valued and
not wanted. By contrast, I feel welcome and wanted at Christ
Lutheran. Every Sunday I have attended, at least two people I did not
know have introduced themselves and welcomed me. Strange as it may
seem, I feel this is where I am meant to be, and I look forward in time to
becoming a full member of this church.
