Pentecost2017: The Churches I Love, Because Their People Love

Sometimes the journey home takes a winding route.

By Nancy Flory Published on June 2, 2017

In “Pentecost2017,” Stream editors share personal stories of the ways their fellow believers have changed their lives. Here associate editor Nancy Flory writes about her search for a church home and what the love of others has done for her.

I guess I’m not a stickler for denomination, although I love my church family at St. Michael’s Catholic Church down the street. For part of my childhood I went to the Baptist church. Then my folks decided to have home church for several years. When I was seventeen, we attended a charismatic nondenominational church.

My parents stayed there. I went looking for a church that felt like home. It took me years.

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What I Found Out

My journey for a church home was not a straightforward one. I attended a Messianic Jewish Synagogue, a Baptist church, a Covenant church, a Lutheran Church … you get the picture. One day, a girlfriend invited me to a program her church offered for people interested in the Catholic Church. I liked the program and stayed to find out more about it. I loved the Church’s rich history and the servant’s heart I found in many of my new Catholic friends. But I found out more about myself than anything.

I realized that I couldn’t find a church home because it wasn’t about the building. It wasn’t about the denomination. It wasn’t about how far it was from my home. It was about the people.

My brothers and sisters in Christ. They were the catalyst that brought Christianity to life for me. They were the hands and feet of Jesus. They were his love in action.

When I was pregnant and scared, a leader at that church went to the ultrasound with me and held my hand. She expressed joy at the sight of my unborn child. “Sweet baby,” she whispered to me. She didn’t make me feel like I was crazy for being scared. She just walked with me through a difficult time.

Some ladies at another church I attended knew I was struggling financially. They directed me to a food bank, then gave me school supplies for my sons. They ushered me in to see the priest, who prayed with me and comforted me. They talked with me about my situation, without judgment, and helped me where I had a need.

Years later, I attended a protestant church during a particularly difficult time in my life. My husband and son left home for different reasons and I never thought I’d get them back. I began attending one of its small groups. One night I broke down and bawled like a baby. Although it wasn’t protocol, one woman stopped the meeting and asked if everyone could pray for me at that moment.

My brothers and sisters there were a lifeline to me. They brought food, kept me company, babysat my toddler and provided financial help and bodies to help me move across the metroplex. They cried with me. They prayed with me. They loved me.

My Church Home

And that’s the kind of church home I was looking for.

I wanted to be involved and make a difference in the lives of others who were hurting or needed help. I wanted to be part of a community that was committed to loving others even in the worst of times. I once organized a Christmas cookie bake and caroling event for a nursing home because I was inspired by those around me who were changing lives for the better every day. Some of the residents were so lonely they just wanted someone to talk to. I was honored to listen.

It isn’t where you go, or how big the building is. It’s people who love Jesus working to meet the needs of others. It’s loving the people around us.

It’s being the hands and feet of Christ to those in need: the Body of Christ.

Now I’m home.

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