God in Active Voice

_________________________________________________

I like crying in church. 

I know that's a very strange way to summarize what I'm about to explain, but it's true. I like when I cry in church because it's different than when I cry other places.

Now, I cry a lot in general. You can blame that on my mother. Back when her friend was about to have a baby and was talking about what each of the friends in the group as going to do, thye described it as "Kristy is going to cry. That's what she does."

That's what Beth does too. I cry at everything. TV shows, movies, music, musicals, books, news articles, stories, people...

What was I talking about? Oh right. Crying at everything. I'll even cry at things most people wouldn't even choke up about. 

For example, I cried at the end of HAIR: The American Tribal Love Rock Musical which is about hippies who do drugs and get naked onstage and last night at Deadpool 2, which is part of the raunchiest franchise I have ever seen in my life. Trust me, I cry a lot and can cry at anything.

But even when I cry at things no one else is going to cry over, there is always a clear reason. Whoever created the thing I'm crying about intended to evoke emotion. When the character sees their loved one for the first time, or when a character dies... It's intended to evoke emotion. You're supposed to connect with what's going on. That's it's intention.

When I choke up during Elisa's passionate speech in The Shape of Water, it's because Guillermo del Toro wants me to connect with the idea that love means someone sees you for who you truly are. When I cry at the episode "Halloween" from Parks and Recreation when Ben proposes to Leslie, it's because Mike Schur wants me to be happy for these characters. When I bawl at the song "Everything I Know" from In The Heights, it's because Lin Manual Miranda wants me to think about my own grandmother who taught me so much growing up. 

The creators want to evoke emotion and feel things. As I writer, I do it too. Words are a medium through which I want people to feel and connect.

But when I cry in church, it's rarely because there was something meant to evoke emotion. The words of the prayer, the Bible verse, the phrase said in the sermon... they're not the ones that are supposed to make you cry. In fact, that's not the intention at all. At least, not the pastor's intention, but rather a universal Creator who wants me to connect with what's being said.


The highest praise that can be given about a church, at least in my opinion, is a visitor saying "there's something going on here... I think that's the Spirit. I can feel it moving here."

That was said to me once a while ago, and I have not been able to forget it. 

It's the reason I was drawn to King Ave UMC in Columbus in the first place. There was a big sign that hung on the belltower that said "experience inclusiveness as God intends", and when I came in to worship, I could feel the love of God moving and working inside. 

If you aren't familiar, King Ave UMC is one of the predominant Reconciling churches in Columbus, OH. King Ave is fully inclusive of LGBTQ+ persons, and is an active leader in reconciling the church to those who have been hurt in the name of God so that all may be welcome.

Our church is sometimes referred to by people outside the church as at best "misguided" and at worse "sinful", so having such kind words spoken about the church that is so dear to my heart is especially meaningful to me.

It is a place that is open and welcoming and that seeks to live the word of God.

Before I began attending King Avenue almost three years ago, despite being raised in the Methodist Church and attending worship and small group for the first two years at college, I was never really... active in church.

I never kept sermon notes or feel it was important to have a Bible of my own choosing. I didn't really want to go to church on Sunday mornings or help in Sunday School or turn in prayer cards every week. I did not go to any conferences or give offerings regularly or have any actual epiphanies on Epiphany Sunday. And I never, ever cried in church.

All of these are things are different now.

Finding my church home has changed me a lot, but for the sake of this blog post, we are talking specifically about crying in church. But I had to explain what has changed because that is a significant part of why I cry in church. 

Since a mission trip to Honduras in 2014, I have never doubted the existence of God. But seldom between then and beginning to attend King Ave, did I regularly feel God. Because, up until then, I didn't know that God was something you could refer to in active voice.

God, up until then, was something that seemed only to be referred to in the past tense. 

Jesus wept. The Holy Spirit moved. God listened. 

It was past tense. It happened once a very long time ago and that was it. 

How am I supposed to connect with something that happened to people who died two thousand something years ago? How was that supposed to encourage me to worship and everything now? Is God still working in us? Is God still listening?

When I cry in church, seldom is it because the words said or read or sang are supposed to make me cry. Instead, they are reminders or triggers. 

The relief, sadness, anger, happiness... whatever I cry about is not because of those words. It is because I am experiencing that active voice God. She is speaking to me directly through those words. She is listening to my prayers. She is guiding or correcting me. 

Jesus weeps. The Holy Spirit moves. God listens.

Or better yet...

Jesus is weeping. The Holy Spirit is moving. God is listening. 

God is an -ing, not an -ed.


About a year and a half ago, I had the pleasure of hearing Bishop Gene Robinson talk at a conference. At one point, he mentioned how he was asked by former President Obama to give the prayer at Obama's first inauguration. 

He express that he worried over his words a lot prior to the inauguration because he wanted to be representative of not just Episcopalians like himself or Christianity alone, but of as many beliefs and faiths as he could. He thought and thought until he decided on these words:

To the God of our many understandings... 

I love that phrase so much. Not just because it is inclusive of other faiths and beliefs but because we all have a different understanding of God. It's not a matter of who is right or wrong, but rather what we've been through and how God has moved in our lives.

A few years back when I was asked for my opinion as "a real Methodist", I had an identity crisis because I had no idea what that meant. I chose to look up what the core beliefs of Methodism were and found that faith through good works and service and God's gift of grace were also the principals of my faith in God. "Methodist" became part of my faith identity. (I guess the real Methodist was inside me all along.) 

I had an epiphany on Epiphany Sunday back in January that I understood God to be a Mother and that I wanted to refer to Her in the feminine. (When the congregation went forward to have our baptisms reaffirmed that day on the celebration of the day Jesus was baptized, I wept from then to the end of the service). 

And the twelve or thirteen times I've cried in church over the last few years have shown me that my God is active. She puts issues or problems on my heart because they are what I need to consider and think about right now. She points out phrases that move me because they are the words I need to hear. She guides me to things, places, or people becuase that is the direction I am meant to go.

My God is in active voice because I need a God in active voice or else I don't think I could believe in God.

I need to know that Jesus is still weeping with those who are in mourning because there's a lot of people mourning right now.

I need to know that the Holy Spirit is still moving people to share the love of God because there's a lot of people in need of love and support right now.

I need to know God is still listening because there's a lot of people who are in need of help right now.

I need to know that God is active because otherwise what's the point? If there is not a God who still cares about the hurt and the lost and those who have suffered injustice and hatred, then what's the point? If the God who sent Her Son to die on the cross so that we could all come home to Her two thousand years ago no longer cares that we come home to Her now, then what's the point?

When I see people continue to suffer injustice, I need to know there's a God out there listening, because as long as She is active, then I'll be active too. My purpose and path is guided by Her, so as long as She's working, I'm working too.

My God is an -ing, not an -ed, and as long as I keep crying in church, I'll know She's still with me working in my life.