This weekend is Diocesan Convention for Episcopalians in Montana. I should confess that I love Diocesan Convention.
As we Episcopalians are wont to do, we quibble over what should or shouldn’t happen, what’s appropriate or unnecessary at a Diocesan Convention. And whatever my opinion may be, I will love Convention.
This is my family. The one not related by blood and that I didn’t entirely pick.
These are the people who have loved me from the time I was fifteen.
These are the people who taught me what it meant to be Christians, to be Christ’s body, the Church.
These are the people who gave me a voice before I understood that I had one.
These are the people who gave me shelter in the middle of family upheaval.
These are the people who showed me the best of organized religion.
These are the people who showed me the worst of organized religion.
This is my family.
This weekend is Diocesan Convention. And I’m thrilled. Not because I’ll work from Friday to Sunday; not because of the necessary business we’ll conduct; not because of the parties and friends I’ll get to make and reconnect with.
I’m thrilled because this is my family. This group of people, changing and transitory as it is, have been essential to my life. They have encouraged me to love; taught me to persevere; encouraged me in my life; supported me in my priesthood.
Together we have struggled; we have survived; we have worshipped; we have mourned; we have celebrated. Together we are family.
Thank be to God!