I feel like talking about my spiritual journey, this being Easter weekend, and all. It’s been interesting so far, with more yet to come (I hope!), so I’ll be doing this in stages. Today, it’s the early part of the journey: my younger years.
I was raised in the United Methodist church. Well, technically, I guess the first part was in the Methodist church, since it was pre-merger. I grew up in a small town in southern Indiana, and it was a fairly small congregation, in a small white-frame church building. For the longest time, until a Church of Christ congregation arrived, it was the only church in town. Even though it wasn’t that big, it was pretty active. Church camps, Bible studies, revivals, various holiday gatherings, we had it all. I remember the music was excellent. There was a lot of great singers who went to that church, including my mother. My father was choir leader, and he has a strong musical background. He played in a jazz group before we moved out of the city. We even had good pianists and organists. There really was a lot of talent in that church!
Anyway, along came adolescence, and I was having some issues. I finally decided I wasn’t going to that church, and I was lucky that my parents didn’t push the issue. I was learning more about other Christian denominations and world religions, and I wasn’t comfortable with a lot of the Methodist theology. That’s where my spiritual journey really began. Through the years, I’ve kept up with what the United Methodist church is doing (although that congregation no longer exists), but I’ve never really felt any need to attend a Methodist church. Apparently, none of the rest of my family has, either. My parents started going to a Disciples of Christ congregation when they move back north (probably a better fit for my mother, who was raised Southern Baptist). My brother’s family goes to a non-denominational congregation of some sort. As for me? Well, that’s what this whole thing’s about. I’ll tell more about that in a future article.