The Welcome Table

I was off from WES this past Sunday, and took advantage of the Sunday morning to visit a little Methodist church in a small town in rural Maryland. I was looking forward to being a guest in a tradition different from my own, but for which I have a great deal of affection, having loved my Methodist seminary and my many Methodist colleagues. The experience Sunday morning, though, has me thinking about the difference between a welcome guest and an unwelcome one, and the whole arena of interfaith welcome. One of the decisions I always have when I visit Methodist churches is whether or not to take communion. Methodists have an open table, something I love about the Wesleyan tradition (John Wesley believed that communion could be a means to grace, so you could participate whether or not you were baptized and whether or not you believed). I've attended Methodist services where I haven't participated, and ones where I've felt so welcome that I have joyfully received what my hosts offered. On this Sunday, of course there was plenty of theology that wasn't my own (for the theology wonks: pre-messianic apocalypticism and a TON of substitutionary atonement). But I've had so many wonderful, moving experiences interacting with theology that isn't my own, hearing stories of faith that I don't share but that I found inspiring. So the theology, for me, isn't a barrier to feeling deeply welcomed. What was a barrier was the sense that--well, that I was, specifically, not the person they wanted there, unless I was interested in being pretty radically changed. The sermon was built around the idea of the awesomeness of nature, and a beautiful psalm (66) that speaks about the whole earth singing to God. The minister talked about interdependence, a core value I share. But he also talked about a person he'd met, a young woman who loved nature as he did but who believed in evolution--and how wrong that person was. The sermon illustration was used a few times--how foolish, how sad, how wrong. By the time we got to communion, which was actually presented very beautifully and with a deeply inclusive welcome, I didn't feel that they meant me. I am, of course, a young woman who loves nature and believes in evolution. So surely, I felt by that time, I wasn't really welcome at their table. I want to be clear--the thing that pulled me away from their welcome wasn't the fact that the community believes in creationism instead of evolution. I have friends that believe all kinds of different things. It was that the sermon illustration was so specifically an anti-illustration. And what I took away was a commitment to avoiding anti-illustrations in my platforms (sermons), to finding a way to present my beliefs, my values, without needing to point out who's NOT in the group. Put another way, I didn't expect to be a part of this church--I knew ahead of time that I wouldn't share enough of their beliefs to join them--but I would have loved to have felt welcome, or at least not not-welcome. And I think they wanted me to feel welcome, would have wanted to welcome me even had they known that I was a young woman who loved nature and believed in evolution. The whole experience has me aware of how hard it is to find the right balance between stating our values and allowing in, welcoming in, guests who believe differently. That, I think, might be the challenge of a lifetime!