Going Home

Dear Friends,
I have changed. I change all the time. I suppose we all do. Entering seminary "should" have made me even more into the image of my family. I followed in the footsteps of so many who have gone before me. We should be able to converse easily with one another, using the secret language of the initiate. But, no. I embraced what they resisted. I have resisted what they embraced.

Once I had the great joy to attend a lecture given by my professor to a group of clergy that included a member of my family. This professor is well respected in his field and has published some 14 books or more. He earned his PhD forty years ago and has continued to read and study and write ever since. The man knows his stuff and I adore him. I leaped for joy, literally, when he asked me to serve as his research assistant. I have now been his RA for nearly five years. I've read most of his books, but one in particular changed my life forever. Here is the moment when my two worlds meet and the golden gate is opened for me to enter into the heart of my own family. He rises and speaks with such wisdom and grace, intelligence and plain old knowledge gained from so many years of disciplined work. We come to the first break and I seek out my family member and eagerly ask, "What did you think?" The reply, "Well, I disagreed with everything he said, but other than that it was okay, I guess." This family member then turned away from me and walked away.

Not long after that my mother was invited to do a workshop at a church in the town where I live. One of my friends is the minister of that church. He and I have coffee and conversations as often as our schedules allow. I admire him greatly and we talk easily about all things God and church. Actually, he heard about Mom's workshop from some other source, not from me, but when he found out she was my mother he was delighted. The day came for their first planning meeting and my mother introduced herself by distancing herself from me. "Nice to meet you," she said. "You need to know that I am nowhere near as liberal as my daughter." Thanks Mom.

I followed in the family footsteps but they led me away from them instead of to them. How can that be? And so I return "home" for Christmas, to attend church with loved ones who want nothing to do with me theologically. I should worship with them knowing they disapprove of me. Every other member of my family will participate in worship by singing in the band or reading scripture or serving communion or preaching. Not me. I will sit alone and observe worship as one with her nose pressed against the glass, too little and too late to enter into the joy of the family. Yet it would insult them if I were to choose to worship with people who embrace me on that holy night. Ah, is there room at the inn for me? Perhaps I should just make a pallet in the stable out back. Good enough, eh?

Sorry, no I do not think I am the Christ child. But somehow I feel an affinity for the predicament of being called for a mandatory appearance only to find there is no room for you there. And unto us a child is born. Unto us a son is given.
Imagine peace, hope, love, and joy with me. Would you?
Mary