Sacred Homecoming

Today, after 25 years of absenteeism, I returned to my childhood church home, to the familiar pew on the right-hand side, middle row. Over the previous 25 years, I have been fortunate enough to worship with wonderful people in Presbyterian, Lutheran, Hindu, Catholic, Episcopalian, Methodist, Baptist, Evangelical, Nazarene, Unitarian, Quaker, and probably a few more congregations I've forgotten. My spiritual journey has been a crazy quilt of personalities, liturgy, and seeking. Maybe it's true, that eventually everything comes back again, full-circle. Maybe you do "have to go out on your own to find your way back home." (That's a song lyric, I just know it!)

It's comforting, for so many reasons. Just like the silent faculty at my alma mater, the stained glass windows and stately sanctuary here welcomed me back with their quiet inspiration. The people's faces scattered through the hall were the same, with many new ones sprinkled in, and more than a few faithfuls now watching us from Heaven. Just across the way sat my old babysitter, while a few seats up sat the circa 1970s children's choir director, and behind her sat a girl I knew from Sunday School.

The well-worn Wesley hymns comforted, just as they always did, and I was pleased that I didn't need to refer to notes to recite the responsive reading. The Doxology, Gloria Patri, and the 23rd Psalm are written on my heart. Simple as that.

And while the new pastor didn't wear shoes during the sermon today, and the old tile floors have been replaced with carpeting, the place is just the same. Just like it always was.

And there's just something so richly comforting about that.

Be well.