My Story, Pt 1

More that two years ago I started attending Central United Methodist in Albuquerque. I can’t really tell you why I started going there. They weren’t the biggest, or the fastest growing, or even the closest to my house. All I can figure is that they were across the street from the University where my wife went to school and that she and been in their building a few times because her accompanist played there. She personally wasn’t all that interested in a formal church thing. Not against it mind you, just wasn’t her deal at that point in her life. I, on the other hand, had grown up going to church. At least sorta. We were Creaster Christians, we attended on Christmas and Easter. Otherwise Sunday was hang around the house time.

I had been talking for a while about going back to church and my wife thought it was a good idea. So one Sunday I decided to get up and go. No fanfare or anything, it just seemed at the time the thing to do. I went to the early 8:30 service since I was more of a morning person anyways. It wasn’t terribly crowded and I found an empty pew near the middle to sit in. Most everything was how I remembered it from home. Stained glass windows, choir up front, preacher in the pulpit, and same red hymnals with the same songs. It was rather comforting actually.

The service progressed as I expected it to with hymns, scripture readings, and choir songs. I had to dig feverishly in my pocket to find a couple bucks with the plate came around, guess I forgot about that part. I followed along step by step in the bulletin until it came time for the sermon. I had always felt that listening respectfully was very important. So I fixed my stare on the minister and listened to his message. Then, I cried. It was like he took everything in my life I didn’t like, ripped it out, laid it before me, and ask “So what are you going to do with this?”

Strangely I kept going back. Not every week, but semi-regularly. This went on for several months. In that time I changed jobs. Away from one that had me traveling constantly all over the country to one only minutes from my house. Suddenly I had all this free time. Evenings weren’t being spent in hotels and eating at bars. I was home, and I was bored. I started to think about doing something more than just work.

Again, I can’t tell you why, but I got the idea in my head that youth ministry would be an interesting thing to try. So a few Sundays later I decided to fill out the little “Membership Request” card in the pew back. At the end of the service that asked that if anyone would like to join the church they could come to the front as we sung the final hymn. I’m not sure if it was common or not, but I decided now was a good time. So I got up and headed down front. Charles, the senior pastor, seemed a bit surprised, but not to much. To be honest I’d never seen anyone else actually come down when they said that over the past several months, so I’m not sure how common it is.

Once the service was over Charles shook my hand and asked a little about me. I filled him in on the vitals. He seemed a little confused when I told him I was married but my wife wasn’t with me. To his credit though he didn’t go too far down that path, and I was grateful. As we wrapped up our chat I told him I was interested in working with High School kids. He told me he wasn’t very involved in that ministry but he gave me the name of the youth director and that he was the man to talk to. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was busily scribbling down a name that would change the course of my life in ways never expected, Eric Bickelman.