Where all means all—finding a place to belong

Belongingness and love—the third layer on Maslov’s hierarchy—fills a deep spiritual and emotional need. It heals us of past rejection, isolation, and disappointment. With this need fulfilled we are able to develop a healthy sense of esteem which leads to the ability to achieve our full potential. Belonging is central to our wholeness.

The most impactive decision of my life was made in 1994 when I joined St. James AME Church in Odessa, Missouri. The Reverend Gloria Butler was the pastor—she invited me to preach and I went back every Sunday thereafter. When we talked about me becoming a member, I asked so many questions that she just gave me the 1992 Book of Discipline to read—which I did. 

I found my connection in the mission and purpose statement—I just knew that this was where I belonged. Reading the historical statement, however, gave me a sense of pause. Was I intruding in space not intended for me? I was confused—how could I feel like I belonged in a community where I was not supposed to be? 

Rev Butler listened to my tearful lament and sent me back, “You missed it, go back and read again”. This time I saw these words, “For all people”. Mother Butler said, “Baby, all means all!”  Perfect! I joined the church. My children were baptized in the AME Church. I was licensed to preach in 1996, ordained Itinerant Deacon in 2001 and Itinerant Elder in 2008. I graduated Payne Seminary in 2014 and am on track to graduate Payne in 2023 with a DMin. 

To say that the AME Church is my church gives me a sense of belonging to something greater than place or person—it is connection to identity, purpose and vision—to the past, present and future. One of our leaders affirmed my sense of belonging, “Renita, you are ours. You are a product of us. We love you…” 

For me, the sense of belonging feels like being a kite, of sorts. I feel the freedom to fly as high as possible, to reach my full potential, yet connected to someone—something—holding me, guiding me, guarding me. In some ways, the Book of Discipline is like the hand that holds the kite string and the church is the string—the connection. At times when I have felt most afraid, I have also felt most secure knowing my connection was strong and secure. 

I have taken great pride in belonging to the AME church and have proudly promoted our having theological authenticity that others lack. I say, for example, that we don’t just do charity, we do justice. We don’t just talk about poverty as something to be pitied, we talk about it as an evil and we do something to eradicate it systemically while simultaneously ministering to its dreaded effects. This, I say, is theological authenticity—our behaviors and beliefs are in alignment. 

People are desperately searching for theological authenticity—for a faith community that provides a place of belonging for all—where all means all. Talking about our theological authenticity in community and modeling this in our ministry has caused people from all walks of life to give to our ministry and to seek out pastoral care—most have experienced the pain of being shunned from or shamed by a church where they wanted to belong. They are genuinely grateful for our connection.

It has been such an honor to create a safe space where people can gather for all types of community meetings and community serving. Never was there a greater witness of God’s presence than when a self-professed atheist posted on Face Book, “This atheist feels the presence of a power greater than this universe in this place”. 

Recently, however, my profession of our theological authenticity has been confusing to people in our community—and to me, too, admittedly. The source of confusion lies in the barrier to belonging for non-heterosexual humans. Last month I was asked to officiate the wedding of a non-heterosexual human couple who has served in our church, given to our ministry and found peace in our sanctuary. Declining was hurtful for me and to them. 

It was hurtful for them to learn that while non-heterosexual humans are encouraged to consider our sacred space safe enough to serve and give, it is not a safe place to be fully human—they  cannot get married in their church by their pastor. It was hurtful to explain that while I can officiate the marriage of heterosexual non-Christian humans, I will be stripped of my ministerial orders if I fully pastor non-heterosexual Christian humans. 

I confess that I was tempted to say yes. In my moment of righteous indignation, I pulled on Rev. Dr. King’s words, “One has the moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws.” But, does this mean unjust church laws, too? I weighed the balances—would the good of breaking the law outweigh the consequence? No, not in isolation. 

It has been disconcerting to confront our theological authenticity and admit that it has limits. It’s so difficult for me to be a benefactor of this amazing gift of belonging and not be able to extend it to others who so desperately seek safe space. Suddenly, the place where belonging felt good, safe, and edifying feels less certain. What does it say about me to enjoy the strength of belonging while others are left out?

There are some deep questions I’m pondering in my heart.

®   Regarding just/unjust laws: Can a law be just if it is not moral? 

®   Regarding humankind: If we embrace all humankind as our family, are we intending to message that there are some who are not human enough to be included?

®   Regarding morality: When is denying a person’s full humanness moral? 

®   Regarding belonging: Can any of us authentically belong if some of us are excluded?

I don’t pretend to know the answers to these and other questions. I’m not sure I really want the answers, either. 

Soon we will assemble the 51st Session of the General Conference. I deeply hope that we will remove the barriers that prevent the full belonging of our human family declaring with certainty that to us and to God, all means all.