Surf’s up on religious doubt. We’ve heard about millenials leaving the church in droves (although—trust me—young folk are not alone in disenchantment with organized religion), the spiritual-but-not-religious, the backlash against SBNRs, and atheists holding Sunday go-to meetings. Now we are turning to the Janus of doubt/faith.
When it comes to church, I’m a wanderer: I don’t have a church home so much as a village of church tents. All this wandering has made me a connoisseur of church welcomes or the lack thereof. I can tell you where I did or didn’t feel welcome—though I can’t always say why.
There is a long history in Florida, in the South, in the United States. White peoples—Anglos and Spaniards—came from Europe and collided in Florida, stole black peoples from Africa and enslaved them in the south, displaced indigenous brown people from their homelands in what became the United States.
This is the question that comes back to me, pretty often, when I am
talking with people about dreams: for a community that knows how to play
and loves to work together (and vice versa), eats together and feeds
other hungry people, infects with laughter and deals with tears, loves
and is loving, accepts and is accepting. The list goes on, but those are
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