
On 2 November 2008, I was ordained by the Presbytery of Middle Tennessee in the church that raised me as a young child and helped me find my way as a teenager. My call to ministry was born out of a love for the church. Even as a teen, I treasured the sense of something sacred in church spaces, the invitation to ponder a mystery far greater than myself, and the opportunities for friendship and belonging. My call to ministry was logical. As I visited colleges, preparing for a pre-med track, I realized I did not really love studying science. What did I love? Going to church. This must be what God was calling me to do with my life.
In April 2024, after serving in two incredible congregations, I left congregational ministry to serve full time in the social-enterprise ministry I founded called Progressive Pilgrimage. There is so much I am grateful for in those calls: the people I got to love and serve; the leaders who were shining examples of grace and authority; the precious moments like births and baptisms that I witnessed – I even got to name a child! Even the hard stuff is precious to me: the deathbeds where I sat and funerals I officiated; the church conflicts that brought growth; the unhoused neighbors whom I loved but whose challenges I could not solve. I would not trade any of it, but after fifteen and a half years, the fire had gone out of me. I could not remember what it felt like to love going to church. Is this why my mother – an expert seamstress and quilter – has never wanted to make sewing her occupation?
One of the great gifts of these past 18 months has been finding my way back to that young love. For several months I did not go to church at all. Then, with a strange sense of anxiety, I occasionally slipped into the pews a local UCC church where my dear friend is the pastor. For a year of Sundays, something in worship sent a tear running down my cheek; I never went to church without a tissue in my pocket. (This also happened to be the year after my father died, so everything was tender.) Hymn after hymn, sermon after sermon, feast after feast, it felt good to let the holy mysteries do their work on my soul. I didn’t have to construct or plan any of it. All of it was gift. After seventeen years of church leadership, finding a place in the pew feels a lot like coming home to myself.
On this, my 17th “ordiversary,” I will not be going to church. That’s because I’ll be driving to the airport, instead. I may try to catch the first part of the service online before I head out the door. I may watch it later, or maybe not at all. However, this, too feels like a gift – the opportunity to pursue God’s call in new ways that are less prescriptive and more liberated. Maybe this week my worship will be a quick moment of solitary prayer, but I will remember that seventeen years ago, a community of saints invited me to take the vows of ministry, laid their hands upon me, and prayed for God’s Spirit to fill me and use me. Wherever and however I worship today, I will remember that I am connected to a great communion of saints who make up the church. And I will be deeply grateful to know that I still have a place in this family of faith and, that I am, in my own way, still called to serve.