What Brought You Back

Last Easter I was manic. We went to a church I used to lead, sat near the back. I videoed all the music from the pew and posted it on Facebook. I thought I was fine. Better than fine. I had no idea what was coming.

This Easter was different.

We were visiting Jacksonville First Methodist — the second Sunday back in that room. I sat in a back pew, holding the bulletin, looking at it the way you hold something when you are not sure you belong there but you came anyway. The pastor, an old friend, looked me square in the eye during the communion preparation and called my name. Asked me to help serve.

I felt like Mary at the tomb, shocked to be named.

I set the bulletin in the pew. I walked to the front. I had not done this in a long time. I held the cup while he held the bread and we looked into the eyes of people coming forward one at a time.

After months of not attending church at all. After wondering if I had lost my faith. After wondering if resurrection was possible, let alone beginning.

The words came the way they always had. The blood of Jesus, shed for you.

I did not earn that moment. I did not make my way back through sheer discipline or spiritual effort. Grace came through Heather. Through my parents. Through friends who kept calling when I did not answer. I did not receive it alone.

That is Emmanuel — God with us — not from the sky but through people. Through the pastor who called a name. Through the woman who handed me coffee on Easter week and said your ministry will be stronger because of what you have been through. Through my kids, who asked to read Harry Potter again, who let me light the candle and sing.

Here is what I know about returning: it does not feel like arriving. It feels like being named by someone who was already in the room.

If you are waiting to feel ready before you come back to something — faith, community, prayer, the version of yourself you used to be — I want to tell you what I know from the bulletin in the pew.

You do not get ready and then return. You return, and then, slowly, something opens.

Matt Headley

Founding pastor of Ecclesia Community. Ordained United Methodist. Flower farmer. Builder. I walk with a limp. That is why I can walk with you.

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