Welcomed With Open Arms and One Small Voice of Doom

midwestlivingmag Gene Leahy Mall

As the 175^th anniversary of my church draws near, I find myself contemplating both my lengthy membership and the establishment of the First Central Congregational Church. In 1855, Pastor Reuben Gaylord braved severe winter conditions and the threat of wolves to relocate his family to Omaha, where he founded the First Congregational Church on May 4, 1856. Along with his initial nine followers, Pastor Gaylord played a pivotal role in shaping the city of Omaha and the state of Nebraska. During our 150th anniversary celebrations, I was invited to recount how my family became part of the congregation. I devoted several weeks to crafting a heartfelt and uplifting speech meant to convey my sincere appreciation for the warm welcome we had experienced. However, at that momentous event, my thoroughly prepared words were unexpectedly eclipsed by an impromptu and bitter testimony delivered by an upset five-year-old boy.

In 2006, marking the church’s 150^th year, Pastor Winston and the organizing committee deliberately invited various members to share their personal faith journeys. Their goal was to weave together a rich mosaic of spiritual narratives that honored one and a half centuries of worship, community, and service, while also paying tribute to the church’s roots in Omaha. Each testimony aimed to emphasize the unique ways the church touched lives over the years, whether through formative memories from youth group or the solace and strength found within the congregation during difficult periods. These moving accounts not only highlighted the wide range of faith expressions within the community but also sought to inspire and strengthen the connections among both longstanding and new members alike.

I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness when Pastor Winston invited me to speak at the commemorative service. As I carefully wrote my testimony, I was moved by a strong desire to express profound gratitude for my church’s steadfast acceptance of Ericka and me as a lesbian couple. Living in Nebraska, where we often encountered prejudice and exclusion in the workplace and public spaces, our church served as a refuge of love, understanding, and genuine inclusivity. Their warm embrace and open hearts affirmed our relationship and deepened our faith, demonstrating that spirituality goes beyond restrictive definitions and embraces the entirety of our identities. Including this expression of thanks in my talk was vital, not only as a personal acknowledgment but also as a tribute to the power of empathy and progress within First Central.

On a bright morning in May, our community came together at last for a joyful celebration as sunlight gently illuminated the shimmering riverbank. The atmosphere was imbued with both joy and reverence as friends and families gathered on the verdant grass, soaking in the delightful spring weather. Nearby, children’s laughter mingled with the gentle whisper of new grown leaves and the faint calls of birds, forming a peaceful soundtrack for this meaningful occasion. The river itself appeared to partake in the festivity, its steady current mirroring the vivid hues of blossoming flowers and the clear, azure sky overhead. United in gratitude and remembrance, we honored the legacy of those who came before us while holding hopeful aspirations for the future, transforming this anniversary into a heartfelt homage to our resilient community spirit.

When my moment to speak arrived, my heart raced with nervous anticipation as I approached the podium, feeling the congregation’s kind and attentive gaze upon me. Steeling myself with a deep breath, I looked out at the warm smiles and focused eyes and began to share the story of our search for a church. I recounted how we prayed sincerely for a community where we could nurture our family without judgment, grow spiritually, build meaningful connections, and serve with intention. With each sentence, my initial fear eased, replaced by a deep feeling of gratitude and belonging. The congregation’s supportive nods and quiet expressions of understanding reassured me that telling our story was not merely about narrating events but about contributing our experiences to the collective fabric of faith that unites us all.

During my testimony, a group of children played in the grassy meadow nearby, their joyful laughter and lively voices blending effortlessly with our worship. Their innocent happiness brought an impromptu lightness to the setting, reminding us all of the pure, untainted bond we share through faith. While I spoke, their playful noises ebbed and flowed like a soft hymn, harmonizing beautifully with my message of acceptance and family. Their presence seemed like a divine gift, a living symbol of hope and renewal that strengthened the sense of community and inclusiveness I wished to convey. However, just as I was expressing my deep gratitude for the church’s warm embrace of my family, a small boy shouted, “I hate you! I hate you so much.” The abrupt outburst broke the calm, silencing me mid-sentence and startling everyone. In confusion and surprise, we all turned our attention to the children nearby, curious about what could have provoked such intense anger. Our eyes settled on Matt, a young member of the church, who stood defiantly, his anger focused on a group of older boys. They simply laughed at him while he raged on, his angry words growing louder and more intense, further raising the tension between them. I fought back a wry smile at the irony of the moment, while his mother quickly rose from her lawn chair to step in and mediate the hostile dispute among the children.

As tranquility slowly returned and Matt’s loud cries softened amid his mother's comforting murmurs, I shifted my focus back to the gathered congregation. I chuckled softly and stated, “I hope the church will continue to get along better than children do,” sparking a ripple of laughter among those gathered. It was a lighthearted way to acknowledge the challenges that sometimes arise within any community, yet also a hopeful reminder of the potential for harmony and understanding. Just as children often squabble but ultimately come together in play and friendship, I expressed my genuine wish that our church family would nurture a spirit of unity and cooperation, embracing our differences while working toward common goals. In a world where conflicts can easily divide, fostering such a supportive environment feels not only important but essential for growth, compassion, and shared faith.

Following the service, numerous members approached us, expressing sincere gratitude for our story and the inclusive message it conveyed. Deep conversations unfolded about faith, family, and the ongoing path toward acceptance both inside the church and beyond its doors. As I stood among my close friends and recent acquaintances, it struck me how First Central had grown more lively, diverse, and robust over its 150 years to become a community shaped by the courage of individuals willing to be authentic.

Later, as we gathered our lawn chairs and settled Sophia into her stroller, I glanced back toward the riverbank. I observed the water flowing steadily along its edges, carrying with it the reverberations of the past and the hope of what lies ahead. In that quiet moment, I understood that our faith, much like the river, is a living, flowing force—constantly moving, embracing all who seek shelter within its fold, regardless of where their journey started or whom they love.