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Posted: January 27th, 2010 Rhiannon Fionn-Bowman

As a child, I was fortunate to have a wonderful pastor, B. Gene Williams, who entertained all of my questions about faith and religion as seriously as he would any other question from any other member of our church. Unfortunately, as pastors do, he eventually moved on to another congregation. No other pastor has, to this day, taken my sincere curiosity as seriously.

Until I was about 16, church was a huge part of my life. Though my parents never attended, my grandfather would drive half an hour – one way – to pick me up Sunday mornings and make sure I was in Sunday school, with a dollar for the offering. I eventually taught Sunday school, children's church and art class during vacation Bible school. The members of the youth group were like the brothers and sisters I didn't have.

However, as we studied the Bible, I couldn't help but wonder why certain people weren't welcome in my church. And, it wasn't my imagination. I clearly remember wondering why our entire congregation was Caucasian, why the Koreans who worshiped downstairs didn't join us, and I definitely remember asking the new pastor why our denomination thought homosexuality was a sin, smarting when he said, "Because it is."

That didn't make sense to me. I thought Jesus loved everyone equally and no matter what. It wasn't long after that I left that church, the one that once felt like home.

From there I went on a search. I read book after book on religions. I visited mosques, synagogues, temples, cathedrals and circles around campfires. While I found people were willing to discuss their faith one-on-one in a coffee shop, I often felt a chill in the sanctuary.

That is, until a couple weeks ago when I visited C.N. Jenkins Memorial Presbyterian Church as part of the Xchange Sermons for this blog.

I admit: I was running a little late that morning. It was raining. My head hurt. I was grumpy. And, frankly, I didn't expect much more than the chill I'd experienced at those other houses of worship I'd visited in the past.

To my surprise, I was greeted with the warmest welcome I've ever felt at any religious gathering – even counting return visits to my home church to spend a morning in the pews with my grandparents.

At least a third of the early service congregation hugged me after visitors were welcomed with the welcome song. And, let me tell you about that welcome song: Two ushers stood right next to me, looking into my eyes singing the word "Welcome" over and over. I reached out and held one of the usher's hands. She didn't pull away. She held it and smiled.

At the end of the sermon, even more people came up to me with words of welcome and warm embraces.

After the service, walking to my car -- the rain still falling, my head still hurting and all of the other pressures of the day pushing on my shoulders -- I felt warm inside. I felt hopeful -- not just for myself but for the future of religion in general. "That," I thought, "is how you welcome someone new to church."

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