Skip 'em

Several months ago, I wrote at length about my confusion surrounding the place of spirituality in my life. Without a definitive upbringing to serve as framework, I argued, it has always been exceptionally difficult to feel at ease with religion. I traced this discomfort to a lack of knowledge on my part. Indeed, save one visit to my neighbor’s youth group, a couple of weddings, and touring a number of magnificent cathedrals abroad, I had never really even been inside a church before, let alone experienced a worship service.

This changed, however, in early January. Joe accepted an invitation to sing with a local church’s choir around Christmastime. Though he didn’t at first intend to join the choir permanently, he liked it so much that he decided to continue. Considering our typical Saturday night activities, committing to waking up at 8:00 every Sunday morning is a pretty big deal. We spoke a bit about it and, despite not knowing what to expect (or even what denomination the church was), I was curious enough to join him one weekend.

Since Joe had to don his robe and prepare to sing, I stood alone for awhile in the front entryway (what I would later learn is called the narthex). Unsure what to do, I feigned intense interest in studying the bulletin boards and artwork on the walls. Fortunately, Maryn and Janet, two older women, approached me to say hello. They were exceptionally welcoming, as was everyone else I met that first day – John, the retired Foreign Service employee, Shirley, the perky member of one of the church’s many committees, and Leon, choir stalwart and husband of Maryn. I observed at least four separate people come up and welcome a very old man back, presumably from an extended illness that had prevented him from coming to church. Even at first glance, the community seemed so closely knit – it says a lot that people know each other well enough to have immediately recognized a stranger in their midst. It says even more, I’d contend, that they actively sought to welcome that stranger with open arms.

For that reason alone, I think, I would’ve come back. But the rest of the service was great too, though a little bewildering to my uninitiated senses. During the passing of the peace, for instance, people rise from their seats and warmly greet just about everyone within handshaking distance. “Children’s time” dumbs down the preceding scripture reading to help all of the young kids (and me) better understand it and relate it to their lives. The hymns are kind of fun to sing and the wide variety of music is beautiful. And Rich Smith, the reverend, delivers a great sermon. He’s not overly preachy and is able to realistically relate the scripture to current events and modern, daily life. In fact, on that first Sunday (days before Inauguration), he titled his sermon “An Open Letter to President Barack Obama.”

Over the following few months, I’ve attended services regularly and come to know much more about Westmoreland Congregational United Church of Christ. The UCC has evolved over time from the merger of several Protestant denominations. It is run from the bottom-up, with individual congregations suggesting changes in policy, which are then voted on by an annual conference of representatives. Subsequently, each local congregation is independently able to vote on whether or not to accept these changes. For example, several years ago the UCC voted to recognize same-sex marriages. Westmoreland, in turn, democratically decided to embrace this and become an “open and affirming congregation.” There are surely other local branches of the UCC that chose not to take this step.

I greatly respect this emphasis on individuality. One of the things that has always bothered me about organized religion is the perception that many church-going people are like parrots, repeating verbatim what is written in the Bible. Rather than apply religious teachings to their lives, they allow the church to dictate their views, seemingly without room for dissenting thought.

This is not the case at Westmoreland. Rev. Bob Maddox, who treated me to dinner a few weeks ago, helped me to understand this better. He told me that there are plenty of old traditions at the church, but that the congregation has kept them alive because people enjoy them, not because anyone from the national UCC has declared that it should be so. We were discussing the possibility of me formally joining the church, and being baptized. (Having come from a background as a Baptist minister, Bob was quite excited by this). I was concerned that I might be acting hypocritically – that my enthusiasm for the church community would be somehow cheapened by my uncertainty regarding my internal beliefs about religion.

Bob was quick to reassure me. Westmoreland, he explained, has no creed that its members are required to recite. The Bible, to him, is much more a book about ancient interpretations of God’s teachings than an inflexible doctrine, passed down directly from God Himself. To lack certainty and understanding is natural. Bob promised me that I was not alone in this. Further, he suggested that I use aspects of religion that baffle me as the impetus for greater personal exploration. And his advice regarding parts of the Bible that seem outmoded or don’t sit well with me? “Skip ‘em.”

In a lot of ways, that is all I’m looking for in religion – a supportive source of grounding and stability that makes no judgments about my past or future beliefs. This experience shouldn’t be unpleasant or exclusive – without growing up with a religious background, why would I choose to join a church that made me feel uncomfortable? At Westmoreland, the sense of inclusiveness is profound. And the church’s progressive and active stance on social issues helps to minimize any disconnect I might feel between religion on a theological level and its relevance to everyday life.

Even without having read more than a few passages of the Bible and without fully sorting out my internal confusion, I’m considering joining Westmoreland in the next month or two. And I’m confident I’ll be warmly welcomed, because despite not being a formal member, I already feel like a part of the community.