Nobody's Counting

Three Sundays away from my own parish taught me what that lawn sign actually means.

I didn’t go to Trinity today. I went to Faith Congregational, Hartford’s oldest African-American congregation, UCC, where a friend and colleague gave remarks as part of a historical worship service. Last week I was at our Cathedral. The week before that, I didn’t make it anywhere, too busy getting the twins ready for sleep-away camp drop-off. Three Sundays, three different answers to “where were you,” and not one ounce of guilt attached to any of them.

That’s new for me. I grew up in a church where an absence like that would’ve gotten my parents a phone call, or worse, a certain kind of silence the next time we showed up. My grandmother had her own version of this, and I loved her fiercely, but she knew exactly how to make three weeks feel like three years. “Oh, thanks for finally calling, I thought you moved to China.” “Glad you called, I thought you had a case of amnesia and forgot about me.” I always called back. I just also always braced for it.

I don’t brace for anything when I walk back into Trinity. Nobody’s going to ask where I’ve been in a tone that means something other than curiosity. Somebody will ask about the twins, how camp went, whether they came home with fewer bug bites than last year. That’s the whole interrogation. It isn’t a test I have to pass to be let back in.

“The Episcopal Church Welcomes You” is written on street signs across the United States and worldwide, and it would be easy to read it as a nice slogan and nothing more. I’ve had three Sundays this month to find out if that sign means what it says. Gone a few weeks for camp season? Welcome. Gone a few years because life happened, or grief happened, or you just needed distance from church for a while? Still welcome. No conditions attached. You just walk back in.

Part of what I get to do in this work is reassure laypeople that missing church doesn’t put their faith in question. They’re free to explore their call without worrying that God’s keeping score. I believe that for them. My old church still lingers in my fiber, so I’m still working on believing it for myself. A church that only wants you when you show up on schedule isn’t forming disciples. Thankfully, mine isn’t like that. I can miss a Sunday, or three, and know exactly what’s waiting when I come back: a warm welcome and someone wanting to hear about camp.