By: Kate Devlin June 15, 2009 ©

Today, I stepped onto the corner of Henry and Waters for the first time in about a month. Asbury Memorial United Methodist Church: the clown church, my church for the past five years. There was no significant reason for missing the previous missed Sundays, just excuses for collecting another hour of sleep. But as soon as I entered the building, I felt a smile spread widely across my face. It didn’t matter if I had missed three Sunday’s or thirty, this was home and I would always be welcome.

I smiled as the social hall, usually filled with the chatter of mingling church members and the clanking of spoons and forks, filled with the sound of “Love Lifted Me.” The social hall had become our temporary sanctuary, as renovations were taking place for an entire six months. I thought this change in scenery and extra added service might take away from the “church” experience, but I found myself enjoying it even more. No the acoustics weren’t that great, and no, the seats weren’t that comfortable, but no one, including myself, really seemed to mind.

I smiled as a mother held her newly baptized baby boy, and my dad nudged me thinking about a new baby for him to rock in the nursery. I thought about my parents, and how it must feel to watch three children, all completely their own, grow and change and transform into the people that they would become. I thought about how it must feel to know that they, as parents, had the ability to really create a life. I thought perhaps that was the closest to God anyone could ever feel. Watching the baby being carried up and down the now single aisle, I hoped he would experience joy and love here as my family and I have.

I smiled as my older sister, Maggie, was recognized as a high school graduate. Her time here was ending, and the next step in her life was just beginning. The years we had spent together as members of the youth group created some of the greatest memories I have of us. Maggie helped me grow into my own beliefs, even if they were different from her own, and now, with her leaving, it was my turn to do the same. I rejoiced in the fact that we had all grown up in this church, a place where questioning was just a part of discovery and all differences were not only accepted, but celebrated.

I smiled at the dedication for Vacation Bible School workers. I had spent a week out of every summer for the past three years, volunteering with the pre-schoolers, and I would not trade it for the world. It was a week I spent holding hands, making bathroom trips, persuading four year olds that they weren’t too cool to dance, and remembering what it was like to be that young, not having a care in the world. At the end of every Vacation Bible School week, they showed a video that a few chosen adults spent countless hours making, and each year I found myself on the verge of tears. Watching those videos, I felt as if I was a part of something bigger than myself, and that maybe God laughed at the things four-year-olds say the same way I did.

I smiled during the sermon, the way I always do when something finally clicks in my head. I had never in my life heard anyone deliver a sermon quite as beautifully as Rev. Billy Hester. Week after week, year after year, I always find myself leaving the sanctuary (or social hall) with something learned, something to think about, something to question, something to use. Each sermon seamlessly combines testament scripture and personal stories and bubbling laughter and provoking questions and Broadway songs and Fiddler on the Roof comparisons all to create a message so powerful l sometimes get chills.

Mostly, I smiled knowing that I would always have a place to belong, a place where I would love and be loved, a place where I could be cherished not despite who I was, but because of who I was. I smiled knowing that I had already found that place, a place that some people spend their entire lives searching for. This to me is the definition of a church. A church is not built on scripture or belief or money or tradition or rules, but on love. An unconditional, never-failing, bond-creating love. A love of each other, a love of God, and a love of the journey. A church is not meant to be a place where thoughts, ideas, and beliefs must be uniform, where people can be looked down upon and discriminated against, where there is persecution. But where we are all equals; stepping forward in each of our own spiritual journeys, and living not for Heaven, but to create Heaven here on Earth. And knowing all of this, there is a smile on my face and a piece of heaven in my heart that will never be broken.