As a young child growing up at Main Street United Methodist church in Covington, I was loved and taught and encouraged by so many folks who have since joined the saints that continue to surround me. I knew the stories of Moses in a basket and Jesus blessing the children. I knew that a boy along with Jesus served the five thousand with only a basket lunch. I knew the good and loving God who had created me, in the Divine's very image. That I was destined to be the hands and feet of Jesus.
By the time I was 12, I had witnessed a few moments of the underbelly of church.
There were arguments of women wearing pants in services, what color should the carpet be and, of course, who could play the piano that a cantankerous woman had "donated" to the church but seemed to think she would make the rules. Baptism was another topic that could get people worked up as well.
There were times when I thought, even then, aren't we supposed to love one another. Where is God in any of this? and more practically, who gets the final word at church?
When I began my confirmation classes in the 1970s, I remember vividly how interesting and impressed I was by the structure of the United Methodist Church. It felt like, for lack of a better analogy, there were plenty of "checks and balances" for anything terrible to really happen.
Even then, I loved the rhythm and tradition in the denomination and in my own small church as well. It felt good to recite the Apostle's Creed and sing the doxology, knowing that other United Methodists were doing the same all across the country.
The church idealist that I was then also loved that Methodist pastors were well educated and that ordination was no walk in the park. Even the Book of Discipline seemed to me to leave room for growth and discovery in a world that was and is evolving and changing.
I was witness as the denomination made way for those divorced as well as recognizing the call in women. And, while the Bible was front and center, with weekly readings from the Psalms, the Epistles, The Old and New Testament, we were not worshippers of the Bible but of the living and loving of God. We followed the teachings of Jesus.
I'm no longer part of the UMC, mostly because that the wheels for inclusive love were moving way too slowly for me. I was fortunate enough to find a church that welcomed and honored all of my friends and family, not matter who they loved.
For better or worse, my parents still remain.
Over 60 years they've given to the Methodist Children's Home, packed countless UMCOR buckets for disaster relief, sponsored missionary trips. They've walked along side young confirmands, taught Sunday School and run the Mountain Mission room that sends home items to Eastern Kentucky. They've mowed the church's grass and served in any way possible with the preschool program. They've visited and cared for the sick and dying. My mother, perhaps, has even snuck a few pre-packaged communion wafers and juice to share with those who could not come to church.
In other words, they've bore witness to the good and bad in the Methodist Denomination, and they have stayed.
Over the years, while active in no other denomination, their vision of God's love has grown and broadened. They've devoted themselves to the teachings of Jesus. They are supportive and empathic for those who have suffered through a divorce. They celebrate babies whose parents aren't married. They learn from pastors who are women. Their friendships are inclusive of every walk. In other words they try desperately to love God and love their neighbor. They see the divine in all of us and recognize that Jesus' created us all.
Because of the conservative climate of the county that my parents live in, their church has decided to vote on whether to disaffiliate from the denomination because of the long-coming change to the Book of Discipline that gay and lesbian folks can be active church members and seek ordination. Apparently, this is the sword that some members are ready to die on, willing to pay out not an insignificant amount of money to disaffiliate.
Now at this point, I could go on and on how we are all created in God's image, that we should celebrate our differences and honor God's call in every person's life, but I'm not even going to preach that sermon. The sermon I will mention is that if you choose to believe that the LGBTQ community has no place in the Methodist Church, then leave your local church and join the church down the road.
Unfortunately, in a small rural county anywhere in Kentucky, you probably have a quite a few homophobic, misogynist churches to choose from. Don't simply vote to disaffiliate and destroy the local Methodist church.
Saints that helped to build the church long before you came worked with and for the denomination. They never thought the political climate of a community could be leading the way to disaffiliate. Let there be one safe place that fully embraces Open Hearts, Open Minds and Open Doors.
I'm not sure what my parents will do if their church chooses to disaffiliate. I do know their hearts are broken that people would deny the presence of God in those who love someone of their own gender. Their God is bigger, and they will continue to follow the inclusive love and teaching of Jesus. They will continue their prayer that all people recognize and honor the Divine who lives in every single person.
Thanks be to God for parents like mine. And, while they grieve, I could not be more proud.
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