E-Minute by Katherine Alexander Futrell

February 24, 2008

I am a preacher’s kid—a P. K. I grew up watching my father preach from pulpits much like this one, in churches, much like this one. I watched my mother navigate the sometimes-treacherous waters of congregational life with the grace and aplomb of a good preacher’s wife. My brothers and I played “church” as often as we played hide-and-seek, dog-earring the pages of my father’s Book of Common Worship as we performed weddings and baptisms and funerals. Being in a sanctuary like this one is as natural to me as breathing. So is being a part of a church family.

My parents took me to church every Sunday unless I was too sick to go. Sharing their faith was important to them. They wanted to bring me up, surrounded and nurtured in community of people of faith. Without question, I put on my black patent mary-janes and my little white gloves and I went to church.

When I became an adult, I continued to go to church nearly every Sunday.  It took me a while to find a church I felt comfortable in, but about sixteen years ago, I came here, to Crescent Hill. I felt welcomed and challenged here. I had found my church home and it became a big part of my life—teaching Sunday school, singing in the choir, working with the youth, serving on committees. Without question, I put on my “church lady” role and I went to church. It wasn’t long before I was married here an soon afterwards, our daughter Elizabeth was born. After her baptism, my focus shifted slightly. I began coming to church because I wanted Elizabeth to be surrounded and nurtured in a community of people of faith.  Without question, I strapped on her black patent Maryjanes and I brought her here to church.

Going to church because your parents find it important or because you feel a responsibility for your child’s religious upbringing are both perfectly acceptable things to do I suppose. I suspect that many of you find yourself here today because of one of those reasons. At least the routine of it all makes going to church seem easy and natural—it was enough for me for many years Somewhere along the way, though, some things happened that made coming to church hard, almost painful to do. Things happened here that caused that pain. I was hurt, my husband was hurt, my daughter was hurt. (Things like this happen even in good church families, but we don’t like to mention that—certainly not in e-messages—so forgive me if this causes you discomfort). The wounds ran deep. My husband left this church and joined another. I found myself questioning my belonging and my beliefs. For the first time in my life, I stopped coming to church.

Only Elizabeth continued to attend here and this September, she started confirmation class. I was haunted by the words of her baptism and the pledges I had made. The guilt just became too strong to ignore, so I came back. My parents were happy. Elizabeth was happy. I was resigned.

I went through the motions of worship with the comfortable numbness of familiarity, but my spirit was dulled by cynicism. But God, in whom the grace new beginnings are possible, broke through my cynicism and my doubts, and tugged at me with his presence. I felt it first watching the baptism of another child of the covenant and hearing our words of promise. I saw it in the back corner of our church when I realized that I have been here long enough to see a generation grow up, loved and nurtured by us all.  I felt God shaping me as I heard the passion and faith expressed in other’s e-minutes, Clara’s and Erin’s in particular. I felt it in the words of an anthem and the hugs given during the passing of the peace. It overwhelmed and surrounded me as you prayed for Elizabeth during her surgery. God’s presence was here. And I was here. And that was good.

The word evangelism has its roots in a Greek word meaning Good News. Spreading the Good News. That Good News is that the power of God’s presence is here. It is here in the care and nurture we give to each other. It is here as we heal and forgive. It is with us as we leave here and do God’s work in the world. In the midst of all that we are, at our very best and yes, even at our worst, God is here. That is indeed Good News.