Choosing to be Episcopalian

“Did you reflect yesterday or this morning before arriving today?”

That question came from a member of my cohort waiting to be either baptized, confirmed, or received into the Episcopal church during the Bishop’s visitation.

I fumbled. I was mid-sip of some very hot coffee and caught off guard by the question. 

To a fault, I’m often the first with an answer. 

I happily lead our young adults Sunday Bible studies with historical or literary context behind the scriptures we are reading, and am quick to offer my own theological insights as well.

But this isn’t a parable that can be dissected from five different angles or the story of the Israelites in the desert. This is… me. And even in the comfort of home with the ability to type and re-type this very post, I wonder if I’m capturing it right. 

What I wanted to say is that 32 years after being baptized in the Catholic Church and 16 years after being confirmed in the Presbyterian church, more than anything, I’m just glad to be home.

A lifetime in church, but not one church

Over the course of my life, I have attended roughly nine churches across five denominations (if you can count non-denominational as one).

Today, I was received into the Episcopal church — where I plan to stay.

Why?

That’s the question I chewed on while driving down the Mass Pike at 7:45 this morning to Boston. 

Racing down the highway in an attempt to be on time, I was greeted by the sunrise and corresponding orange, red, and yellow foliage along my drive. Like the church, a good New England autumn has been the steady backdrop of my life. They're there every year and taken for granted before being sorely missed once they’re gone.

As I drove, I reflected on my confirmation in the Presbyterian church. 

We didn't choose it for its theological differences from the Catholic Church (of which we did not know). Instead, we started attending because my dad’s business partner and friend went there, and I thought I would benefit from attending the youth group with his son.

You could say we went on a whim. And, like many whims in life, God used it to work out His will. I've realized that my reception into the Episcopal church is not all that different. 

I’ll be the first to admit (with some shame, might I add) that I did no research on the Episcopal church before attending Trinity Church in Boston. I did not know the hallmarks of Episcopal theology, and I never once held a copy of The Book of Common Prayer. 

But those weren't going to convince me that this is the right choice anyway.

I’ve done those things since I began attending Trinity two years ago. During that time, I’ve also served on two committees, volunteered as an usher, and through all of that learned all I needed to learn to know that the Episcopal church is where I want to call home. 

What the Episcopal Church means to me

It’s not the terminology, the rituals, or the liturgy that calls out to me.

It’s the people.

As I’ve shared, I have been to many churches in my life. Some good. Some… not so good. That Presbyterian church in my childhood was the first time I felt true unconditional love from a church community, and it changed my life.

Unfortunately, I’ve since learned that love like that is not a given, even in church.

For instance, there’s the church I attended after college, where I was told that I was “disobeying God” for dating my then-girlfriend (now wife), who is Jewish. 

Or the non-denominational church that, with the loss of its senior pastor, struggled to find its way and identity. With people leaving the church and funds drying up, the new pastor spent an hour-plus admonishing the congregation, telling us that we were not showing up or giving enough, and if we couldn’t meet the new standard, we should leave. It wasn’t too long until I left. 

I spent a year with no church whatsoever (and even debated returning to my Catholic roots!) when I remembered hearing good things about Trinity church. Tired of spending Sunday mornings at home, I did just enough research to warrant a visit. To my dismay, my first trip was not 10 minutes early but 50 minutes late — the church had switched to its Summer schedule, where the service is bumped an hour earlier. The ushers kindly welcomed me, letting me know I was just in time for Communion. 

In some ways, I’m glad that my first in-person encounter with the Episcopal church was the Eucharist. 

I sat quietly in the back pew waiting for my turn, and was ushered up to the front. As I approached the altar with its massive cross overhead and Art Deco facade behind, I was flanked on either side by the choir mid-hymn.

This is holy. This is beautiful. I thought. And I still think that every Sunday.

Today, I knelt at that same altar as the Bishop placed her hands on my forehead, officially welcoming me to the Episcopal church. I wish I could say I felt the Holy Spirit rain down on me, but as I walked back to my seat, one member of my cohort shot me a “thumbs up” while all my pew neighbors greeted me, shook my hand, and welcomed me to the church. 

I didn’t get a dove flying from the rafters, but I did receive the love of God reflected through His people, and that's more than enough for me.

Where do I go from here?

For now and as far as I can see, I am an Episcopalian and a member of Trinity Church Boston.

But more so than that, I am a Christian with a home. 

I’ve spent five or so years as a spiritual nomad. I’ve bounced around churches and denominations and got far too used to sleeping in on Sundays during COVID. I’ve gotten too used to ducking into a seat in the back and leaving on time. I’ve been an observer of too many communities, rather than a participant. 

Rather than stay on the outskirts, I've been thrust into the fray and asked to pitch in – something I am thankful for.

For the first time in many years, I wake up looking forward to church on Sunday. And it’s not (just) the quality of preaching or the beauty of the ceremony, it’s the fact that every time I look up and around, I see someone I know.

I’ve spent many years studying the Bible and theology, and while that can reveal certain mysteries about God and the cross, it is not a substitute for sharing in the love and grace of God with others.

You may read this as the ill-informed (or worse, uninformed) postulations of someone who leaps before he thinks. You may tell me that the Episcopal church is not the best denomination to join, or that I’ve completely misunderstood the Episcopal church.

Frankly, I don’t care. 

After years of searching, I’ve found a home, and through its people, I’ve found God.