Rector's Blog: When I Became an Episcopalian - Part 2

She invited me to a class that she described as sort of a Christianity 101 and I said, “Well I’ve been Christian my whole life and I’m not sure I’m up for that,” but then she mentioned that dinner was included, and it was free. Well, she said it was pay what you can – which I translated as free. Free dinner was a big deal to me, and I said if I was free a week from Wednesday when it started, I would go.

I really wanted not to be free. I hardly knew her. I would definitely not know anyone else. I’m an extrovert, sure, but not a glutton for punishment. A week from Wednesday showed up. I had nothing going on that night. Here’s a thing you should know about me: I told this near stranger I’d show up if I was free. It didn’t matter that if I flaked, I’d never see her again. It didn’t matter that she probably wouldn’t even remember me. That this was Los Angeles and someone saying they might show up to something meant less than nothing. I had said I would show up if I was free and I was free. So, I had to go. That is how I work. So, I showed up.

Everyone was a stranger. I was very uncomfortable. They were all very nice, and they signed me up and assigned me a table and I sat down. You will sometimes hear people call it church shopping. But my friend Rod once said to me it isn’t shopping. Shopping is groceries. It’s a checklist. It’s unemotional. You get what you need, and you go home. Rod said it’s more like church dating. All awkward and exciting and awful, and you feel vulnerable and wonder if you’re dressed right. You are looking to see if this will become something deeper, lasting, meaningful. I was on my first date with the Episcopal Church.

It was not love at first sight.

Oh, I didn’t hate it. But this isn’t a story about how I found myself at home the moment I crossed the threshold. It was fine. I remember three things about that first class.

I remember the smiles. Genuinely, people were kind to me. They weren’t trying to recruit me or save my soul. There was no bait and switch. Los Angeles is the most lonely, crowded place I’ve ever lived. Have you ever experienced that kind of isolation surrounded by people? That’s how I felt so often. It’s hard to live in a new place, even when you know a few people. That night I stepped into a space where I felt welcomed. It was a little formal and awkward, but it was authentic. I felt a little less alone. I can still see the face of the person that signed me in.

The second thing I remember is how the teacher introduced the class. He said, and I quote, “There is no question too simple, no statement too hostile.” I had never heard anything like that before. Certainly not in a church. That moment set the stage. No question too simple, no statement too hostile. It framed my relationship with The Episcopal Church so powerfully. Of course, no question too simple is a kindness: A lovely way to say ask anything. But no statement too hostile? Bring your frustration and skepticism and even your anger to the space if you need to. We can handle it.

Looking back, I was not at a place where I allowed myself to be angry about my experience of Christianity, angry with church, angry with those who had formed my understanding of God growing up. The idea of no statement too hostile felt dangerous to me. But it also felt liberating. Could I really be myself and be at a church?

Funny enough, a few years later I went by the church of my upbringing to pay a visit and they were teaching a version of the same class. It was a fairly basic curriculum that different denominations used very differently – as you might imagine. They had a poster advertising the class. Their slogan? “You’ve got questions. We’ve got answers.” Maybe I had some hostile statements roiling under the surface after all.

Do you believe you can be yourself at church? Do you think you can be yourself in front of God? I don’t like admitting that I’ve had problems with this my whole life. I remember during the years when I was unaffiliated with church and was actively questioning if I even believed in anything. I could never bring myself to say I wasn’t Christian, because what if I died in that moment and went to Hell? What is that other than the belief that you can’t be your whole self in front of God?

That night I was at a table with people who all believed different things and said that aloud. A couple of lifelong Episcopalians who never had serious doubts. A gay Christian who loved Jesus and felt safe being himself at this church. One guy who said he wasn’t sure he bought any of it but was there to sort things out. And me – a former fundamentalist turned spiritual-but-not-religious agnostic conservative liberal Jesus lover who’d had a recent conversion experience and was just trying to understand how to be Christian again. And we were all together. It was such a mess. Thank God.

The third thing I remember is the cookies. Dinner was over and we were mid-discussion, and someone rolled a little cart out from the kitchen with baskets on it. Each table got a basket, and each basket was filled with chocolate chip cookies. I am telling you they were still warm. They were delicious. Others at my table were dieting, because Los Angeles, so I got more than one. The smiles were nice. The openness and discussion were wonderful. But to be clear, the cookies were when I decided to come back next week for the second class. I am a simple man.

On my first date with The Episcopal Church, I was treated kindly, I was invited immediately to be myself, and I was given cookies. I was still not sure this was the place for me, but I was sufficiently curious. It took me 8 weeks before I actually stepped foot in the church on a Sunday morning for worship. Next week I’ll finish my story about when I became an Episcopalian by telling you what got me to Sunday and what happened when I got there.