Over the course of the past few weeks, I have started attending a new church. This particular faith community is an anglican church, and I've found that I like it a lot. After the first week, I wasn't sure if i'd come back. But then I did return, and now I'm excited to return today. My initial hesitations were multiple, but one was because it is, in fact, anglican. As someone who grew up in a very small Episcopalian church and experienced the ritual of liturgy every Sunday of my life for 18+ years, I never expected to willingly return to this setting. My formative years weren't bad, just devoid of understanding the transforming power of Jesus Christ. I was loved by many surrogate grandparents, but left without an understanding of why it was so important that we did what we did.
And now, here I am. Sitting among a small, anglican worship gathering repeating the same exact liturgy that I did as my 8-year old self. Part of me wants to run far, but most of me feels like something is getting connected. The dots in my 12-year old brain are suddenly connecting to the passions of my 30-year old persona. It's a bit like coming home in a way, but in a new, "ahh, i get it now" kind of way. In a fuller, more complete way.