A Contemplation on Grace

Last night I attended a support group.  I was invited by a woman that I work with, one of those shining humans that help you feel okay about going where she leads.  For a couple months she had been talking to me about this group called PFLAG, which is an organization for parents, families, friends, and allies united with the LGBTQ community (thank you Wikipedia).  I was interested but never seemed to get the time right, until last night. 

I really didn’t think much about going, again I was just following that shining human.  All I knew is that I respected this woman and I wanted to see what she was so passionate about. 

Within moments of sitting in a circle made up of small folded out chairs and about ten people I was struck with the reality that I was the minority.  As we went around the room and introduced ourselves and our preferred pronouns that point became even more clear.  Insecurity tightened its grip on me. 

            “What could I possibility offer?”

I have the privilege of being a white, heterosexual, Christian woman in the south.  Besides from being a woman I have most of the advantages to live in this region of the world.  Within this circle, I found myself feeling very small and afraid that anything I offered would be automatically disregarded, or seen as offensive or ignorant.  Did my truth count here?

In my 30 years of life I have never felt that way. 

I had never even tasted the feeling of being a minority.

What a safe life I have lived.

The woman that invited me to this group was leading the circle into various discussion topics.  She was doing an amazing job.  Smiling, empathizing, following the energy around the room, and making sure no one was left out of the conversation.  Even me. 

The first time she asked for my input on a topic my heart, I fear, found a home in my throat.  The hum inside of me, that low voice that steadies me in rough waters, kept singing to me that I would be okay.  This experience will not destroy you.  So I spoke a little from my small place and as I spoke a man beside me began to shake his head up and down in agreement. 

I smiled at his nodding head.  That nodding head was an oasis in the desert.

When I spoke I talked about the place I was coming from.  I grew up in a conservative Christian town and went to an even more conservative Christian college.  I needed the group to know this about me.  I needed to expose myself.  I’m not sure why I felt I needed to do that.  Maybe I wanted to feel I had power, to reclaim the comforts of my upbringing, or maybe I just didn’t know how to talk from any other place. 

It became obvious that this group didn’t care where I came from.

They were just happy that I was there. 

Grace.

I cannot say with certainty if any of these people came to my church that they would be welcomed.  That we, and I have to say we, could let go of our dualistic, judging, and labeling minds for a second and just be happy they came. 

That hurts.

That sucks.

This community of people showed me more grace than I had ever felt from my own church community.  There were no strings attached, no agenda, they were just happy I showed up. 

The religious community often talks about how many people, especially young people, are leaving the church.  Theologians have written books on the topic and what we can do to increase our numbers and turn things around. 

After last night I feel like I understand much more why so many people are leaving.  Because there are other communities that aren’t even affiliated with the church that are providing a much fuller experience of grace. 

I am not ignorant to why conservative churches operate as they do.  This isn’t meant to be a criticism but more of a reflection.  A lamenting.  An observation. 

I am not writing this to change the church.

But I have been changed by an experience of grace.

Truth, is Truth, is Truth. 

And grace transcends.