This weekend was full of church activities. We'll see how many I have time to talk about – they were all very enjoyable and meaningful to me. The Sunday service was exciting because a friend of mine was confirmed. This friend was raised in a very conservative tradition (no homosexuality, alcohol, evolution, rock music, or earrings) and because of that had been turned off to religion for a long time. But she knew some people at my church, and we had some good discussions about religion, and she started attending and decided to join. And I got to present her, which was really meaningful to me.
The joy I feel at baptisms and confirmations is interesting and kind of curious to me. I definitely feel that something very good is taking place, but it's hard for me to describe exactly why. I don't believe that by baptizing we're snatching people from the jaws of hell, and I don't believe that Christianity is the only way to live a good and moral life. But I guess I do believe that it's one way, and it's a way that works for me and that I see working for others, so I figure the likelihood of success for people who join is pretty high. That doesn't really explain the joy, though. I think that part must come from the community. When you're part of a community that emphasizes the fact that all are welcome and you see that invitation being accepted and someone new joining, it's very powerful. I'm glad to have more people joining fully in the life of the community because they bring their own strengths and perspectives and make us more than we were. Everyone present, whether I know them or not, enriches the whole community with their unique gifts. Ideally, this is also true in the world at large. I think that's how we're meant to see each other. The thing with church again is that it's a place for us to practice that with intentionality and with the knowledge that we're all kind of on the same page. Practicing community at church helps us to live it in the larger world.
One of the other events of the weekend was a Liberian dinner Saturday night. This was a fundraiser to help support a girls' school in Liberia that my church has established a relationship with and is helping to support. It's our way of responding to the Millennium Development Goals to eliminate global poverty. And it was a great time. The food was delicious and there were lots of people – one of the other parishioners mentioned that it was an unexpectedly large turnout. I invited some friends – a couple and their two little girls – and we had a good time. I like the fact that we can often combine doing good with having fun. One might argue that it was frivolous – why bother having a dinner when people could just make donations to help the school and save the money spent on food and preparation? But again, I think it's about the community. We aren't robots that go around emotionlessly doing good things. We're human beings that need a connection to one another and to the work that we're doing. We love our community and we need to celebrate that – and I definitely felt that joy and celebration at the dinner as the committee members talked about the work that's being done, and as a representative of the Liberian community within the church honored another parishioner for the work that she's done for that community. It was a joyful time, and valuable in and of itself, besides its function as a way to raise money for the school in Liberia.
It also turned out to be an opportunity for me to live out the hospitality I've mentioned in other articles. I'm a bit hesitant to write about this because I don't want to seem like I'm trying to show off or to say look how great I am. But I do want to write about it because it's important to me to understand my experiences in the context of welcome and hospitality. So here's what happened: while I was waiting outside for my friends, I was approached by a man who asked me what was going on at the church tonight. I told him about the Liberian dinner and asked if he'd like to join us. He expressed concern about not being dressed appropriately, but I told him that wouldn't be a problem. And I knew I could to this truthfully because I've seen the way the rest of the parish acts towards people who are dressed differently for whatever reason – with welcome and without any hint of reproach. I got the impression that he didn't have much money – his clothes looked old and he was missing several teeth – so I bought a ticket for him. I had already paid for my ticket, but I went back in and let the parishioner selling tickets know that I was buying a ticket for this man. And again, she didn't bat an eye, didn't give any indication that this was unusual or inappropriate – I can't overstate the importance of even that subtle support – it's part of the whole ethic of welcome that's so relevant and lively at my church – and that's why my writing this isn't about me – many, many people at my church would do the exact same thing. So he sat with my friends and me for dinner. It was a little awkward for me because I hadn't told my friend I'd be having another guest, because I didn't know. But they took it in stride without any indication that it was a problem. It turned out that he was also stranded – had no money to get a bus ticket home and no way to contact anyone – I was able to call his family on my cell phone so he could arrange for someone to pick him up at the bus station, and the rector and I both explained which bus line was free and where he could catch a bus that would take him to the station. The man was grateful, both for the meal and for the help, and I was glad to have been able to help him.
The morning before the Liberian dinner was yet another church experience, this time a planning meeting for Vacation Bible School. One of the other parishioners had invited me to join in since I like kids and like the Narnia books that are going to be the theme for this year's VBS. Five of us met at a coffee shop downtown and had a great time brainstorming and sharing ideas and building on each other's suggestions. I had been uncertain whether I would have anything to contribute, and I was delighted to find that I did. It was a wonderful, dynamic, cooperative, exciting meeting. The VBS my church runs is free and open to the community. It functions both as something fun for children of the parish and as an outreach to the downtown Durham community for kids that might not have as many opportunities – and last year the mix was about half and half parish kids and larger community kids.
So in case you haven't noticed, I love my church and I love the work we do together.
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