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Stewardship: a Bridge to Belonging

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It doesn't matter what brought you here.  What matters is that you are here now.  That you live the covenant. That you pray, that you sing, that you are of service.  -- Jay Lavelle

I am a Unitarian.  I am not a Unitarian-Universalist, or  —  God forbid —  a "UU".  I was in the church before the merger and was thankfully grandfathered in so I wouldn't have to deal with the music requirement.  
I would like to able to say that my church childhood was idyllic, walking down the tree-lined streets to the white wood church facing the town common. However, most of my childhood memories are blurred, blended, or blocked.  Or just wrong.  What I do know is that an interest in spirituality attempted to surface in my adulthood.  It was not a review of my past and current lives that brought me back to the fold of Unitarianism, but something far more subtle than that.  
On a cold New Year's Eve I was at Worcester's First Night celebrations, and seeking some relief, I went to the dining room of this church where the youth group was selling hot chocolate.  Trying to stay inside as long as possible I began to read the innumerable announcement and sign-up sheets on the bulletin boards.  There was a sign-up sheet for a women's retreat and I saw the name of someone I knew.  "Wow," I thought, "She goes to this church."  
So, a week later I was sitting in the back of the church listening to Barbara.  I was very impressed.   I had flashbacks to being in the church of my youth - a lively but constrained service in a lovely, austere setting.  Afterwards,  I decided to get a coffee -- it was still winter, after all.  I made my ways through the crowds in the Bancroft Room to the dining room.  This was back in the day when we still used the silver tea services and had people assigned to "pour."  I was surprised to see my friend from the bulletin board was pouring.  I thought, "Great - I'll say hi to her, get a coffee, and make a good day of it." I waited in line.  As I got close. before I could say anything, she looked up, saw me, and said in a loud voice, "Oh my God.  This is, like, so weird!"  And those were the first words anyone spoke to me in this church.  I did come back the next week.  And the week after that.  And in April, when the weather was turning, I decided to sign the membership book in the Bancroft room.  I tried to do this as inconspicuously as possible, but when I finished, I heard a voice -- you know who’s -- from across the room and filling it, yelling "Attaboy Jay !"
I later told all this to a psychiatrist, saying that it was interesting that my friend popped up these three times.  The psychiatrist looked at me and she said in a calm, straightforward way as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Don't you know what that was? Your friend drew you to church, she showed surprise that you actually showed up, and she celebrated your decision.  If that isn't the voice of God, then what is?"

It doesn't matter what brought you here.  Whether you were running away from another church, or accompanying a friend whose judgement you valued and trusted.  Whether you grew up here and never left, or you wandered so far it took God speaking through a very cute woman to get your attention. What matters is that you are here now.  That you live the covenant. That you pray, that you sing, that you are of service.  Don't try to understand why you are here - that's not the point.  You don't have to explain.

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