A Place Where I Belong

Coming home for Thanksgiving is always a welcomed breath of fresh air. Escaping on vacation time to just enjoy family, cool temperatures, bright leaves, good food, good books, reuniting with friends, and peaceful naps renews my soul.

Sometimes skirting around family tensions and disagreements can be tough. We can’t talk politics. Sometimes there’s some sadness when family members grow older and decline in health. Sometimes it’s hard talking about struggles when everyone wants to hear good news.

Despite any of the complications that come with being at home, I know I belong here. I am loved here. I have a place here.

Old memories from childhood and high school come flooding back when driving down roads that are forever ingrained in my mind. I pass streets where I don’t drive down, but I know them well. They are where I used to hang out or where friends used to live. When I was a kid, I was angsty and searching for an identity, and love, and self-worth. With all of the teenage anxiety aside, things were much simpler back then. My heart was a little sweeter, a little lighter in those days.

Endearing memories from college flash in my mind. I remember being young and free, exploring newfound agency and quality education. I remember late nights with friends, laughing until the wee hours of the morning, spending hours solving all of the world’s problems, not getting enough sleep, feeling safe, invincible, and accepted, and having time to do the things I loved, like singing in choir and acting in plays. I remember dreaming big, and I take some pride in achieving many of those dreams already. I remember the friends who I still hold dear in my heart, even if there are some I haven’t seen in four or five years.

I smile at the colorful leaves on the ground and some that are still clinging to the trees. I love the hay bales, cows, tractors, barns, and rolling Appalachian hills. I am warmed by neighbors and grocery cashiers who know people by name.

I probably won’t ever move back to the Tri-Cities again; at least not for a very long time. But this is still my home, and I still belong here.

Knowing that there is somewhere I belong helps me know my worth. I should feel like I belong wherever I live; I should always feel like I have a place and a voice. Who I am as a person, as an individual, should always matter much more than what I do and how I function. I am worth being loved for who I am, not what I can do for others, not what I can offer, and not how I perform tasks. I am not a means to an end, but I am an end in and of myself.

I am all the more determined to belong and make my own home.

Thoughts on “Leaving the Church”

Barbara Brown Taylor knows the way to our hearts…that’s why she is so popular. Her writing and preaching keep her in the list of top influential preachers each year. I have not had the privilege of learning under her, but I’m certain that she’s an incredible teacher as well.

“Leaving the Church” was a timely read for me. As someone who needed out of the fast-paced Atlanta and looking to move somewhere a little slower-paced, I could identify with Taylor’s situation. She begins the memoir in Atlanta where the traffic, the constant sirens, and the fast paced life have become too much. She has loved the work she has been able to do with outreach and homeless ministry, but she practically lives at her church because there is always so much to do. She want to step out of the city into a slower-paced life.

Taylor visits the mountains and countryside of north Georgia and falls in love with a small country Episcopal church. She prays for God to give her the church, and months later she becomes the rector and priest there.

However, she finds that it wasn’t just Atlanta she needed to step away from, but she needed to step away from parish ministry. Taylor sees flocks of geese flying away, wishing that she could be free and fly away with them.

Taylor explains that the dividing line that elevates someone as “priest” or “pastor” can be exhausting. Pastors want love and community and acceptance just like every other person, but being called to be a leader can be isolating. Taylor describes a pool party where she finally felt at home among all the people she was serving, after she had turned in her resignation. At the pool party she was not wearing her collar, just average street clothes. At some point people started throwing other people in the pool, but would stop short of throwing her, their priest, into the water as if it would be sacrilegious. Missing out on this fun was hurtful and only intensified her loneliness. Suddenly someone grabbed her from behind and threw her into the pool with everyone else. Here she was, soaking wet, laughing and gasping for air just like everyone else. For a moment, the dividing line was down between them all, and that’s exactly what she wanted.

The book ends with her receiving a job offer at a college to be a professor or religion. Her story isn’t finished, so that this book is left open ended as to what will come next in her life.

This book is for everyone: church-goers, pastors, seminarians, professors, and anyone who just likes good writing. Most people can relate to Taylor at some point in the story, even if it’s just by understanding her fatigue and desire for freedom.

This is just a brief overview. Please, go read it and enjoy the way she tells her own story. Her attention to detail and ability to paint a picture with words will have you reading this book in just a couple sittings (or one really dedicated sitting.)

All Saints’ Prayer

God of all souls, past, present, and future you have gathered us in the palm of your hand. Thank you for enfolding us in behind and walking before us each step of the way. As the church year comes to a close and we prepare our hearts for a new beginning in Advent, we remember our loved ones who have passed away this year. We pray for all the grieving hearts that are missing their loved ones this year. We trust that our beloved have gone on to be with you, and that if you are always with us then that means they aren’t too far away. Even though this is a comfort, we still hurt and we grieve. For the many types of suffering and mourning we pray peace and understanding.

On this, All Saints’ Day, we remember the souls who’ve entered into the eternal light of Christ. We light a candle in remembrance of those who passed away after living long lives of many years, full of love.

(Candle lighting and bell chime)

We light a candle in remembrance of those who passed away too soon and too young.

(Candle and bell)

We light a candle in remembrance of those who passed away after a prolonged illness.

(Candle and bell)

We light a candle in remembrance of those who passed away suddenly and unexpectedly.

(Candle and bell)

We light a candle in remembrance of all souls who were victims of violence, crime, injustice, and tragic circumstances.

(Candle and bell)

God of every age, we entrust these souls to you. As we mourn their absence in the here and now, we look forward to the marriage supper of the Lamb when we will gather together at your table in reunion and communion. You are the Alpha and Omega, beginning and end, who will wipe the tears from our eyes when the old passes away into the New Heaven and New Earth. Until we are reunited, be our peace and our hope. In the name of Christ, the Lamb of God, amen.

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