I love our church. I have been your Rector for over eight years, and I love our church more than ever. I am proud of who we are and what we have accomplished. I am excited about where we are headed and who God is calling us to be. I enjoy what I do and the people with whom I get to do it. And lately my love for our church has been spilling over in the form of tears.
Last weekend, I spent some time in Russellville at the fall convention of the Arkansas Birding Alliance (formerly the Arkansas Audubon Society). We set the date for our convention before we knew when our Tippy McMichael speaker would be here, and, as an officer for ARBA, I had to take part.
Saturday night, in between speakers, I sat at a table with some people I know but not well. We exchanged small talk, and someone asked what time I would be leaving in the morning. “Oh, I am leaving tonight,” I replied somewhat defensively. “I have to be at work in the morning.” Remembering that I am a priest, one of the people at the table said something about Sunday being a “busy day.” Mindful of the event I was missing, I said, “Actually, today is a pretty busy day, too. We have a speaker at our church tonight, and I am sorry I cannot be in two places at once.” Perhaps only being polite, someone else asked what sort of speaker, and that gave me the chance to talk about what makes St. Paul’s so special.
One of the things I like about ARBA is that it is not the church. Although I am always a priest and my priestly identity guides all of my interactions with other people regardless of the setting, I like being active in an organization in which my primary role is not as a member of the clergy. I suppose most people know that I work at a church, but I do not look for opportunities to share that information with birders. But, when I had the opportunity to talk about Donald Whitehead, Jr., and our congregation’s commitment to welcoming unhoused neighbors into our church, I joyfully took it.
“Our church is working really hard to care for people who are homeless and to help solve the housing crisis in northwest Arkansas,” I explained. I told them how existing cold weather shelters in Fayetteville did not open until the forecast was for fifteen degrees and how some parishioners had gotten to know the unhoused people who slept around our church at night and were worried what would happen to them when it was bitterly cold but not cold enough for a shelter to open. “Could we allow them to sleep in our church?” they had asked me. And, before long, we were letting forty people spend the night inside when it was below freezing.
Getting involved with unhoused people is messy, I continued. Because we were willing to open our doors when no one else was, people started hanging around our church during the day, and they stayed overnight even when the shelter was not open. The demands on our congregation were significant, and it became difficult to be the neighbors we wanted to be. Our relationship with those overnight guests has had to evolve in ways that seek to meet both their needs and ours. As a result, I explained, every morning around six o’clock, a volunteer goes to the church to wake everyone up, allow them inside to use the restroom, and serve them coffee before sending them out into their day.
What started as an explanation about our Tippy speaker became a full-blown recitation of our evolving relationship with our neighbors who do not have a home of their own—for whom St. Paul’s is their home. “You must be really proud to work at a church like that,” one of my fellow board members said. “I am,” I replied with tears filling my eyes. Our church’s commitment to opening our doors to strangers in the hope that they would become our neighbors and friends has affected me in powerful ways.
The next day, during the announcements at our 8:45 a.m. service, I invited participants from our children’s eucharistic formation class to come forward and sit in the chancel across from the choir. Beth Maze and Charles Martin had spent time on Saturday morning helping our second and third graders learn what Holy Communion is and why it is important to us, and we wanted them to come close to the altar during the eucharistic prayer.
Without really thinking about it, as I invited the participants to come forward, I told the congregation that we want all our children to know that they belong in church. At our Baptism rehearsal, I explained, I remind the parents of our baptismal candidates that we want their children to grow up always knowing that this is their church—that this is their home and that they belong here. Sometimes parents feel the need to sit near the back of the nave with their children, and that is okay, too, but it is also good for us to bring them right up front to remind them that they belong just as much as anyone else.
As often happens when I talk about children belonging in church, I got choked up. Tears filled my eyes, and my voice cracked. Some of you may be surprised to learn how easily I am overcome with emotion. I tend to operate in a more rational, less emotional register, but those who know me well know how often I tear up at tender things. As I reflect on them, these two episodes from last weekend remind me how important being part of a church that believes and practices genuine hospitality is to me.
As Christians, we believe that, in God’s house, there is enough room for everyone. As Episcopalians, we believe that our belonging to God does not come from prescribed doctrinal unanimity but arises through and as an expression of our common prayer. As members of St. Paul’s, we believe that offering anything less than a universal, Christ-like welcome falls short of who we are and who God has called us to be. Our church lives out our faith as fully as any church I know, and I think we should all celebrate that.
Admittedly, we are not always able to provide the welcome we believe is due. We know that welcoming all people to breakfast and dinner is the right thing to do, but, given the increased foot-traffic from our unhoused guests, we have not figured out how to open our Sunday and Wednesday tables to everyone, although we do share our abundant leftovers through the Friendly Fridge. On really hot or really cold days, we want to be a place where guests can seek shelter, but we have not solved the logistical problems of letting unknown and largely unsupervised guests into our buildings when Caring Friends or Choir Club is taking place.
We know that things are not the way they could be, and we are not satisfied with that. We have experienced the magnitude and expansiveness of God’s love, and we want to share it with our neighbors until everyone has a place at our table. We are motivated to continue to expand our welcome in ways that are safe and responsible both to the needs of our congregation and to the needs of the wider community. I am saddened and frustrated when we miss the mark, but more often my eyes are filled with tears of gratitude and pride when I think about the welcome our church offers to other people.
The Sunday is Celebration Sunday, and the theme of this year’s annual giving campaign is “Plenty Good Room.” We believe that God has made plenty of good room at God’s table and that Jesus has called us to make the same room at our table. When we share our financial gifts to support God’s work of welcoming all people, we make space in our hearts for the needs and concerns of others. Giving up a sacrificial and, thus, life-changing amount of our treasure as the first priority in our financial life teaches us that there is enough to go around. It reminds us that, because God is the one who provides and because God is the one who welcomes, there is always enough room.
I hope you, too, have experienced the deep, soul-nourishing welcome that our parish seeks to embody. Partly, I am touched because I feel welcomed by St. Paul’s, but, more than that, I am inspired because I get to be a part of a community that seeks to extend that welcome to others—until no one feels left out. That is the message of the Gospel. It is the invitation of our savior. It is our ethos and our hope. Come and share in it with us.
Yours faithfully,
Evan D. Garner
