I Am Proud of my Church

"Let the little children come unto me, and do not hinder them, for the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these."
                         --Luke 18:16


Every once in a while I stumble on to something that makes me proud to be a Christian and a member of the church. It happened last Sunday. In the middle of the service we had a Parent- Child Dedication Service. But this part of the service was unusual because down the aisle there strode two women and their new baby. Trailing behind them were the parents of one of the women. Nobody left the church furious. Nobody acted like this was a more special dedication than any other baby. It was just another Sunday when we lifted up before the Lord this new little girl and prayed for her parents and rejoiced on this new birth.


It was a moving moment for me. I remember when they first came to church well over a year before. They sat close to the back. They had felt uncomfortable in a number of churches—and so they were a little skittish. But members welcomed them after the service and invited them back. The next Sunday they sat a little closer than they had the Sunday before. Later they told me how grateful they were that they had found a church that would accept them. No big deal like “Aren’t we the super-Christians that welcome everybody!” No. They felt like we had opened our arms and taken them in. It wasn’t long before they left their safe pew and walked down the aisle and joined the church. The congregation rejoiced in our new members. Months later we found that one of the women were pregnant. So they had always wanted a baby—and so she was artificially inseminated. The couple was so happy and our church gave them a shower.

And so when the little girl was born we did what we always do when couples bring new life into the world. We welcomed them to the front of the church, dedicated the baby and pledged to stand by the parents and rejoiced together.


Weeks before our inner city church celebrated the hundredth anniversary of being in our beautiful old sanctuary. In the sixties Deacons stood at the front doors of the church and turned away those of the wrong color. But that was then. Since that time, the doors were slowly opened to everybody—everybody. And looking around on Sundays you see homeless folk and the well heeled and gays and singles and young married couples and a multitude of little children. Our mission statement says: “Building an inclusive Community of grace.” And we are trying to do just that.

Oh, we have our problems like any other church. We are far from perfect. But I am glad to be part of a church that can change its history. A church that can courageously stick its head out in a deep-South town. A church that can take that part of the Gospel seriously that says: “Whosoever will may come.” Last Sunday, especially I was glad to be a member of the church.

(This meditation is dedicated to Georgia Elizabeth Loague Long and her proud parents: Mary Long and T.J. Loague.)