God is my Father, but then who is my Mother?

A reflection on the importance of the Church, and why high-church environments matter in today’s age — from a young, white, 20-something.

“What church do you go to?”

This was the question that followed introductions my freshman year of college at a small, evangelical Christian college. There were seas of “First Christian Church of [Insert Town]”, a barrage of “trendy” churches, with names like Journey, Passion, and more. And even a few Baptists and Pentecostals thrown in to make a nice rounded cross section of the majority of the Bible-belt.

And then, there was me — Episcopal.

As I felt the word slip off of my tongue, into the midst of this foreign land, I could see the eyes widen, contorting faces into windows into the curious souls of people who knew nothing of what we believed, other than our priests wore dresses, and we were “basically Catholic, right?”. As a new person in this elite social club of students sent by their churches, parents, and siblings to “continue the legacy” in the midst of an ever changing culture — I had a lot of selling to do, and fast, to prove that I infact had every right to be there.

There were the chapel services, filled with contemporary music and broad church style. Student led small groups where prayers did not begin with the classic “The Lord be with you // and also with you”. And class after class filled with students who knew much, much more Bible than I would ever imagine knowing, spouting out minor prophets and obscure stories as if they were discussing the latest blockbuster film.

And suddenly — there was familiarity. One early Thursday morning, I trudged myself from my freshman dormatory to the wood paneled, thinly carpeted chapel for “early morning Communion”. Where, upon sitting down and being welcomed by the Dean of the Chapel, I heard familiar words:

“The Lord be with you”

My body froze, as I slowly raised my eyes in astonishment, that this small Evangelical school was administering the Eucharist with a Book of Common Prayer.

And that is the moment that I realized that maybe, just maybe, this place had more going for it than I anticipated. Not just the academic knowledge I would gain, but the unplanned lessons and appreciation for my faith that I would develop.

Fast forward four years, and I have graduated. I have recieved my degree in Biblical Studies, and a lot has changed. I’m no longer quite as reserved, I am not nearly as fearful of saying what I believe, and I’m a lot more socially liberal than I ever would have expected to become. However, one of the biggest things I learned, is the power and beauty of the Church. Her smells, her art, and her music, to name a few things.

The power of the Church, in today’s ever changing, technology-saturated world is not Her ability to give warm fuzzies, rather, it’s the things that she can give that the generic auditoriums of worshippers cannot. The grandeur of the processions that echo the powerful procession of Christ on Palm Sunday, the psalter being sung with a beauty of the angels, and above all, the shared common cup of real wine that ties us all together as one body more than any shot-glass communion set could do. These things are not merely a personal feeling, but rather, a sense of connection with a church around much earlier than any of us, and will continue for generations to come. It is a rock in today’s shifting seas of what is “in” and “out”, where songs change more often than filling up the gas tank and each week the coffee is getting “fairer”, jeans “skinnier”, and lights and tech fancier. This sense of connection is something that not only provides support for today’s young Christians, but the church provides Her flock with something to press against, and question that is based on the ancient creeds and the sacraments, not what a guy with a degree thinks is what Jesus meant.

There is much more that can be said, and much more which should be said, but for now, this will be where I end for the night. That the Church is more than a building, She is more than her current state.

She is history. She is our Faith. She is our Rock. In today’s world, as a young 20-something Christian, I love my Christian faith, and I love all that He has done, but sometimes, it requires knowing that generations have come before, to know that He will remain faithful in the end.