Why am I Presbyterian?
General Assembly moderator Bruce Reyes-Chow asked for answers to the question: "Why am I Presbyterian?" either via Twitter, Facebook, or blog. We talked about this in Sunday school last week, but we never got to my answer. That's fine, but here's my answer anyway. I think you'll find we're all very similar.
I think there's a theologically "right" answer: God called (and calls) me to be Presbyterian. We Presbyterians believe that all aspects of our faith are responses to the grace of God in Christ.
But while the answer may be "right," I think it's misleading because there's a lot more to it. God didn't move me into the PC(USA) like a puppet on a string. What really happened to me is a much better story:
I've always felt like I was on the outside, my whole life. I guess especially as a teenager. I remember going to dances where I didn't like the music, didn't like the dances they were doing, and couldn't find anyone to even look at me, much less talk or dance with me. Depending on where you are in your life, you probably read that and think that I was either pathetic, creepy, haughty, pitiable, or just like you.
How you judge the teenage me doesn't matter to me much now except that, as a youth leader, I chaperon youth dances and events now and again, and I can always spot the people like me. If you pay attention, you'll see them too. I try to seek them out and at least let them know that I notice them, that I'm glad they're there. It's not easy for me, but "hard" isn't an excuse.
Of course, that's what people like me have always wanted: someone to pay attention to us, someone to at least notice us. We find it very hard to reach out, but very hard to be alone.
So anyway, there I was, a geeky, perhaps creepy, teen with a social life that was limited (to put it mildly), and while I knew my family loved me, I figured they had to. No one chose to love me, I thought. No one would choose to love me. I was "emo" before "emo" was cool. (Not that "emo" was ever cool, but I digress.)
I was wrong, of course, but it felt like the world just wasn't made for me.
Then, when we were in the process of finding a new place to worship (another long story), we met the late Rev. Ed Gouedy. (I'm pretty sure that's how he spelled it. It was pronounced "Gowdy.") He met with my parents, of course, but he also met with my brother and me.
He told us, in front of our parents, that if, for any reason, we wanted to meet with him about something, to just let him know and he'd set it up. Our parents didn't need to know. He wouldn't tell the session. He would help us as best he could.
He told us the only exception to his confidentiality was if he felt there was an immediate danger to ourselves or someone else. He was clear that he was not talking about drugs, he was talking about something like "I'm going to kill myself tomorrow."
He was my pastor. He would risk my parents anger and even his job for me. He cared about me, maybe even loved me, even though he didn't know me at all. What was going on?
A while later, he led a mid-week Bible study group about Presbyterianism, and I asked if I could attend. "Of course," he said.
The class studied the first edition (then the only edition) of Chistian Doctrine by Shirley Guthrie. I discovered that Ed cared about me because he knew he had been led to me by Christ. I learned that Presbyterians held that we were all connected, and that we all belong, even, and especially, those who don't belong anywhere else. I learned that "leadership" for Presbyterians meant service; looking for people who don't like this life's music, and don't like this life's dances, people who others think are pathetic or even creepy. Being a faithful Presbyterian meant singing and dancing with just those people.
So, I guess I'm Presbyterian because I want to be like Ed. Or Kay Allsbury, the youth leader who had a youth group of four kids (including me and my brother), and yet never made us feel like we were a waste of her time, or all the other people I've known over the years who weren't related to me, didn't have to care about me or love me, but did anyway.
I'm not Presbyterian because the brochures were slick. I'm not Presbyterian because I think I'll get rich, or climb the social ladder. I'm not Presbyterian because I think I'll win a bunch of arguments. I'm not even Presbyterian because I think it'll get me into heaven when I die.
I'm Presbyterian because, for us, loving each other is more important than being right, more important than being useful, and more important than being righteous. I'm Presbyterian because God called me to this church where "being together" is central to our existence, central to our worship of Christ, and being "together" is one thing I never thought would happen to me.
I think there's a theologically "right" answer: God called (and calls) me to be Presbyterian. We Presbyterians believe that all aspects of our faith are responses to the grace of God in Christ.
But while the answer may be "right," I think it's misleading because there's a lot more to it. God didn't move me into the PC(USA) like a puppet on a string. What really happened to me is a much better story:
I've always felt like I was on the outside, my whole life. I guess especially as a teenager. I remember going to dances where I didn't like the music, didn't like the dances they were doing, and couldn't find anyone to even look at me, much less talk or dance with me. Depending on where you are in your life, you probably read that and think that I was either pathetic, creepy, haughty, pitiable, or just like you.
How you judge the teenage me doesn't matter to me much now except that, as a youth leader, I chaperon youth dances and events now and again, and I can always spot the people like me. If you pay attention, you'll see them too. I try to seek them out and at least let them know that I notice them, that I'm glad they're there. It's not easy for me, but "hard" isn't an excuse.
Of course, that's what people like me have always wanted: someone to pay attention to us, someone to at least notice us. We find it very hard to reach out, but very hard to be alone.
So anyway, there I was, a geeky, perhaps creepy, teen with a social life that was limited (to put it mildly), and while I knew my family loved me, I figured they had to. No one chose to love me, I thought. No one would choose to love me. I was "emo" before "emo" was cool. (Not that "emo" was ever cool, but I digress.)
I was wrong, of course, but it felt like the world just wasn't made for me.
Then, when we were in the process of finding a new place to worship (another long story), we met the late Rev. Ed Gouedy. (I'm pretty sure that's how he spelled it. It was pronounced "Gowdy.") He met with my parents, of course, but he also met with my brother and me.
He told us, in front of our parents, that if, for any reason, we wanted to meet with him about something, to just let him know and he'd set it up. Our parents didn't need to know. He wouldn't tell the session. He would help us as best he could.
He told us the only exception to his confidentiality was if he felt there was an immediate danger to ourselves or someone else. He was clear that he was not talking about drugs, he was talking about something like "I'm going to kill myself tomorrow."
He was my pastor. He would risk my parents anger and even his job for me. He cared about me, maybe even loved me, even though he didn't know me at all. What was going on?
A while later, he led a mid-week Bible study group about Presbyterianism, and I asked if I could attend. "Of course," he said.
The class studied the first edition (then the only edition) of Chistian Doctrine by Shirley Guthrie. I discovered that Ed cared about me because he knew he had been led to me by Christ. I learned that Presbyterians held that we were all connected, and that we all belong, even, and especially, those who don't belong anywhere else. I learned that "leadership" for Presbyterians meant service; looking for people who don't like this life's music, and don't like this life's dances, people who others think are pathetic or even creepy. Being a faithful Presbyterian meant singing and dancing with just those people.
So, I guess I'm Presbyterian because I want to be like Ed. Or Kay Allsbury, the youth leader who had a youth group of four kids (including me and my brother), and yet never made us feel like we were a waste of her time, or all the other people I've known over the years who weren't related to me, didn't have to care about me or love me, but did anyway.
I'm not Presbyterian because the brochures were slick. I'm not Presbyterian because I think I'll get rich, or climb the social ladder. I'm not Presbyterian because I think I'll win a bunch of arguments. I'm not even Presbyterian because I think it'll get me into heaven when I die.
I'm Presbyterian because, for us, loving each other is more important than being right, more important than being useful, and more important than being righteous. I'm Presbyterian because God called me to this church where "being together" is central to our existence, central to our worship of Christ, and being "together" is one thing I never thought would happen to me.
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