Bits for Sunday, October 7, 2007

I’m a Quaker turned Wesleyan who attends a Baptist Bible study. If you can figure that one out…good for you.

This morning I went to the homecoming service at the church where I spent the first nineteen years of my life. (That would be the Quaker church, in case you’re lost in my multi-denominational loop.) I’d visited a couple of times over the past decade, but this was the first time in more recent years that I had been inside the building, and I was excited to go.

Don’t get me wrong – I love the church I attend on a regular basis. The past decade spent there has been one of growth and learning and teaching and new friendships that I need and love. But there’s something to be said for going home.

Of course there were the moments of vanity leading up to today. I had to go for a “trim ‘n thin” so that my hair wouldn’t be some monstrosity garnering unwanted attention. I pondered buying a new outfit, but given that nearly everything I own has been purchased within the last decade, that seemed an unnecessary purchase. Then there was the laborious poring over the recipe file to decide what dishes to take to the carry-in dinner. I narrowed it down to two and took them both.

But once I put all that aside, I looked forward to seeing people I hadn’t seen for a long time. And even though I was sure some of them would be people I have seen, since for the most part, we all still live in the same general area, I was excited to see them again in that particular environment.

And I did see so many people that I used to spend time with every Sunday. My high school Sunday School teacher, Jamie, was there – and I remembered all the weeks of sitting in her class, learning from her perspective. There were only a couple of us in the class, but she came every week and taught just the two of us. She put up with our “creative” methods of giving Sunday school offering and allowed class to stop so we could giggle when we heard the ushers being bombarded by a deluge of coins falling out of whatever trap we’d constructed that day.

I saw a couple of my fellow nursery worker buddies. Bonnie and I worked together every second Sunday, and Iantha and I covered every fifth Sunday. Some of those kids we used to chase around were old enough to be running the sound booth and working in the nursery themselves – and even playing in the bell choir. I tried not to dwell on what that meant about my age. (I’m not old, you know.)

Until I saw the tables set up for the bell choir, I’d completely forgotten that I used to play in that. I managed the tiny little bells on the end that just received a random note now and then. It was nice to see that now those bells are taken over by other kids who are just about the age I was when I played them.

Some things hadn’t really changed. The ushers still picked on me. For part of the service, I sat with friends I used to sit with 20 years ago, but we’re all much taller now. The red hymnals are still in the racks, and the pew cushion still leaves a little criss-cross pattern in your wrist if you rest your hand on it too long. I remembered the little wooden offering plates and the great big pulpit that easily hides three people.

After the agonizing decision to leave a decade ago, I wrote this: The first Sunday after I left, I visited a Mennonite church where my best friend attends. During the sermon, I looked at the bulletin. The front of it said, “Even the sparrow finds a home.” I flipped it over to look at the back, which had a responsive reading, a reflection, and a prayer on it. The reflection part opened by saying, “When I was a child, our family moved frequently, yet we didn’t change homes – only houses. Home was wherever Mom and Dad were – a place of refuge and safety.” The writer went on to say that everyone needs a home – a spiritual home. The end of the reflection read, “Each time we meet with other believers, there is a very real sense of ‘coming home.’ Home is where God and our brothers and sisters are, a place of refuge and safety.” I became excited as I read, because I felt that these words were God’s promise to me that I would find a new church home.
And I did. And I love that home.

But I also loved coming home. Coming home to the place where I was dedicated as a little baby. The place where I sang my first (and last) solo. The place where I first taught children’s church. The place where I spoke in front of a group for the first time. The place where I went to youth group and survived all the typical crushes and conflicts of such an age. The place where I learned all the songs that taught me the books of the Bible. The place where I learned to pray out loud without giggling. The place where I always dreamed of getting married. (That hasn’t been entirely ruled out at this point.)

Even the sparrow finds a home…and though I have found my new home, visiting my first home and my extended family there was a welcome blessing.