My journey to TJ starts many years before I joined here. As a young person, I was part of a vibrant and liberal Christian church in Lexington. My dad and I were active in the church, and though we didn’t come every Sunday, whenever we came we always found friends. The acceptance of my family in the wider church community was no small thing, as we were what is often referred to as a “non-traditional” family; having lost my mother when I was six, I was the only child, of a single parent father who also happened to be gay. While we were welcomed in the church, I do not ever remember there being a word from the pulpit that acknowledged gay families. In the 1980’s and 1990’s, the children of gay folks got about as much attention as Unicorns…mostly no one thought we existed. Nonetheless, I felt very supported by my church family, and I grew up taking for granted that the kind of community I had there was what I should expect of a church. Even so, I often struggled with the teachings. As progressive as it was, there were still many beliefs that I had to work hard to translate into things that seemed to fit in with my personal philosophy.
As a college student, I found myself following a much different spiritual path than the one of my childhood. Like many women around the world, I have my own #metoo story, and as I began the difficult journey of healing, I found it hard to relate to the image of a male god. In Wicca and Paganism, I discovered a path of personal power, that valued and honored women, didn’t judge my family, celebrated nature, and that offered me an image of the divine in which I could more easily find myself. I followed that path for many years, practicing primarily as a solitary. From time to time I would find a group with which to practice, but I never found one that gave me that feeling of community I had back in the church of my childhood.
When my husband and I married in 2000, we already knew that we valued supporting the spiritual growth of any children we would have. The longer we were married, the more we also found that we missed the support that couples get as part of a religious community. I was once again examining the void in my life that had been filled by a church. But where do two people with different faith backgrounds, one a Pagan who grew up in gay culture, and one who was brought up Christian in another culture, find a church to call home? Finding our answer was not easy. We spent four years after our older son, Sahil, was born, “shopping” for churches around town. But I always felt the same familiar struggle of trying to translate the words from the pulpit into something that resonated with me.
I don’t remember exactly why we decided to try TJ, nor do I remember the first time we walked through the doors, but some things I do remember. I remember Roger Omanson’s welcome on one of our early visits, the warmth of the dinners we attended at the homes of Dave and Margie Fry, and Dick and Carolyn Brown. I remember the first time that Elwood preached a sermon about gay families. I cried the entire time; I had never before felt visible in a church. I remember the feeling of knowing that at TJ I would still be accepted, even if I came out of “the broom closet” and shared my pagan path. I remember realizing that the sermon felt like it was in my language.
I have appreciated a great many things about the church over the years, but I have never appreciated TJ more than I did in the time after the 2016 election. In the days that followed, even simple things like going to the grocery were terrifying. As I looked around me, I couldn’t help but wonder how people had voted, and if that meant that they were a danger to everyone I loved. I longed for Sunday so that I could come to TJ to find people that not only felt safe, but ones that I thought would stand up to protect me, my husband, my sons, and my father, as best they could. That feeling told me everything I needed to know about why I’m a member here. These seekers, questioners, and thinkers are part of my family, and this church is my home.