I
first came to Trinity 12 years ago, in the fall, that season of change. At the time, I thought it was the music that drew me, because if you’re looking for beautiful sacred music, the Episcopal church has a pretty firm grasp of what it’s doing. I knew the then-music
director, so I shrugged and thought to myself, “Eh, give that place a try.”
Until
that time, I was among the so-called unchurched. Baptized Presbyterian, my childhood family was the type who showed up for church on the occasional Christmas Eve and Easter, and had to ask the ushers for directions to the restroom.
But
in the autumn of 2007, as I lurched into my 50s (I’m nothing if not a spiritual cliche), something dormant within roused. I couldn’t even identify this … longing. It felt as if my deep interior would be best expressed by one of those time-lapse videos of a
seed taking root below ground, straining with all its might to break through the surface, toward light and air and *being.*
I
was fed and watered at Trinity. People were gentle. No one rushed me. There were no requirements to be met, no standards to be reached — just people, showing up every week to be together, trying collectively to point our lives toward some kind of North. When
sometimes I’d find myself in tears of gratitude and joy during worship, someone’s arm would wordlessly, lovingly wrap around my shoulder. (I’m mostly talking to you, Jeffrey.)
And
the music was good. Still is.
Trinity
is where my earliest spiritual formation occurred. My heart’s tiny, glowing ember was kindled here; my flame is steadier. I’ve even experienced the awakening in recent years of a new kind of longing — the longing of *doing* — of living out the faith that
Trinity so patiently helped me discover. It is deeply gratifying to be part of this new chapter in Trinity’s history, with a new(ish) priest willing to lead us in discerning our place as a downtown church, and all that might mean for an active ministry in our
city.
Thanks be to God