Hitzonim | Outsiders

Toward a radically inclusive community

The black birds were unusually large.

And I was, not unusually so, but I was small. A toddler. Strapped into the back seat of the used car that an old lady at church sold to my young, college-aged parents, for $50/month, until she ultimately waved the debt away. The line is pretty thin between gift and pity, likewise between penny-pinching and poverty.

Mom and I drove daily to the campus of Christian Theological Seminary to drop off and pick up my dad, where the black birds perched on the geometric concrete of the mid-1960’s modernist aesthetic. I remember their large frames and pointy beaks crunching the Autumn leaves when they landed. This would have been the early-80’s. This weekend my dad was recognized for 30 years of service at his church, and the presentation included his eight or nine years of service to a new church plant in Scottsdale, Arizona, before Mom and Dad moved us back to Indiana. A few years as a student at CTS, those years in Arizona, 30 years back here in Indy, and you get around 40 odd years in the ministry for my folks. I’m 41. The United Church of Christ is an inseparable part of my life.

For a long time I wanted to be a pastor. This is not a surprise. My dad’s dad, Kenny, known to me as grandpa, went to seminary at 37 years old and became a pastor, leaving his job as a farmer, grain elevator operator, and school bus driver in an agricultural area in north-central Indiana. Then my dad, of course. His two brothers. Shit, my younger brother even found himself in seminary, but that gets things out of order.

I used to pull out the piano bench at home and give sermons in the living room. I was probably around ten years old. My wife would say I still give sermons in the living room, but I just call it talking. I can’t help myself, Dad, Grandpa, two uncles, it’s the family business.

A lot of people grew up in the church and experienced tremendous harm. I hate that. I figure I was fortunate, or lucky, or something to be in the UCC. We had women clergy, and gay folk around, and Jesus was Jewish, and all religions were to be respected, and there was no one, single, authoritative, “true” Christianity. Hell, a lot of us didn’t even call ourselves Christian, preferring the term, “Follower of Jesus.” We emphasized study and work on the historical Jesus and biblical criticism. While it’s admittedly Euro-centric and post-Enlightenment, skepticism and uncertainty always usurped creed and doctrine.

We called the people who showed up “friends” to de-emphasize the inherent hierarchy of “membership,” and we preferred ”growing in discipleship” and “spiritual formation” instead of “Christian education” because the goal was always to more closely follow the Jesus we encountered in the gospels, not to be a “better Christian,” whatever that means. We practiced an open table where anyone could take communion because that wasn’t our table, it was Jesus’, and he didn’t seem to have any exclusive rules about who he fed. He died on a cross because Rome killed him, not because our sins demanded that, “as a ransom for many.” Either way, most of us don’t believe in Hell, so we felt free to interpret the cross in a meaningful way for us.

We focused on spiritual practices, serving the community, expanding Gd’s love, radical hospitality, studying and engaging justice issues, and developing a deep sense of trust in a creator who made us in their image.

I was plain gobsmacked to learn that this life in the church was not exactly the norm in American Christianity. And to raise a point of criticism toward the UCC, despite the denominational Open and Affirming stance (affirming of LGBTQIA people), some two-thirds of local UCC congregations have not satisfied the requirements to become “ONA” congregations. We have plenty of work to do. There is just as much, if not more, to do in our UCC commitment racial justice. As evidence, it was just this year, 2023, 65 years following the merging of other traditions that became the United Church of Christ, did we finally acknowledge the Black church tradition (the Afro-Christian Convention) that was one of five “streams” that joined together in 1957.

Anyway, I always wanted to be a pastor. I still do, I guess. And anyone who read my last post about the people of Israel, you’ll know why I subtitled this post, “Toward a radically inclusive community.” Ironically, in my dad’s church, where I am a lay leader, a handful of folks call me, Rabbi. That is not meant to disrespect Jewish siblings; rather, I think it shows deep reverence for learning more about the Jewish roots of Christianity that I’ve worked to provide through education and guided study in that setting.

I’m a disabled, Jewish pastor’s kid who wants to make the world a little better. I’m happy you’re here because maybe we can all do something together. What would that look like to you? Comments are open.