When I first visited Church of Beloved about a year ago, I was homeless. Not in a physical sense, but in a spiritual one. I was in the midst of a very difficult transition time. My family and I were letting go of our nomadic lifestyle, our missionary dream we’d lived / breathed for nearly ten years had taken us to China but had come to a screeching halt. As we settled back in the U.S., we were homeless in another sense as our home church in the area had dwindled to only a handful of people. We’d lost that close-knit community of believers to share life with. This was especially hard since this was when we needed them most. Not surprisingly, I was hurt, confused, and disillusioned with my lot in life and my God. My faith felt fractured, raw, and tenuous. Unsure if I still believed in anything I once held true, I found myself functionally agnostic and theologically pessimistic. I’d often ask myself: Is God even present in these little-c churches around the world? Where’s that big-C hiding? If He’s not here, in His place, maybe he’s nowhere? Maybe God has left the building. But one windy day in July, casting my net of doubt on the other side of the boat, I caught a big- very different-sort of capital C- Church. At the time, I thought I was just visiting, that I could remain invisible and anonymous, that my stranger-status would offer immunity, allowing me to look without touching. Even though I had come to check things out I didn’t want to get involved. I’m sure I got in my car at least one time that Sunday in an attempt to bail out on my visitation plan. But I stayed; I wanted to mark another one off the list. But that wasn’t how things worked. Strangers are warmly welcomed at CotB, and typically they won’t remain strangers for long. The intriguing thing about Christ, clothed in his church, is that His love is compelling, it woos people and draws them off the streets, direct mail and viral campaigns are not necessary. Christ will be enticing to most who catch the slightest whiff like a fresh baked loaf of bread or the sound of laughter. I felt enticed like that by what I heard, saw, felt, tasted and touched that first time. I wanted to know more so I brought my family back. And then we came again…and again…and here we are. What I ultimately found in CotB was a home, a respite, a refuge, a hope, and a sweet, sweet song. God was not being packaged in a different way to be sold as a new product. Instead God was being unpackaged from our human trappings, he was unpackaged in various ancient and new traditions, so that we’d see He isn’t (and has never been) a product we consume. He’s an All- Consuming fire. Terrible, beautiful, awe-inspiring. He grows pumpkins and writes sonnets. In admitting and owning our human brokenness, the gospel message lived out at CotB in sacraments / community continues to be restorative, redemptive, and hopeful—for me at least and I’d say many others. Even in my persistent doubting, I love and hang on—with my people. (I consider hanging on to be a spiritual gift. How about you?) I jotted down some cryptic notes that first Sunday to describe CotB to my wife: Art / Creative / Welcome Stranger Focus, Liturgy, Beautiful Music, Can’t be a stranger, painting, theology &. psychology, pastor = pastoral. These positive bullet points still hold true, but have grown into paragraphs too numerous to read. The past year has been a time of healing for me and my family. We’ve become part of this family—that we needed and still need desperately. God has met us here, time and again, and continues to dream big dreams for us and this part of His body. From the backyard baptism of my daughters, to Christmas caroling with accordions, from drinking the pink lemonade (yes, I’d risk it again) to breaking the bread and drinking the wine. Encouraging, praying, helping, serving, nurturing, growing, grieving, asking, playing, writing, advocating, protesting, and creating. The beauty of being Beloved is the realization that God is renovating a place in each of us— a place He has always called home. I want to keep living in that big-C place with all of these big-C type people. And like Peter to Jesus, I’ll close with the same question: “Lord, where else could we now go?” Amen and amen.