Has Anyone Seen My Church?

The United Methodist Church I discovered in Lincoln, Nebraska was quite different from my father’s. Take the Bible for example. In Dad’s church scripture was a means to an end. In the Midwest churches (which I eventually came to understand were more typical) scripture was just the opposite being an end unto itself. I was exposed to lectionary preaching that was more explanatory than it was inspirational, more popular than it was confrontational. And the times they were a changin’! The church to which Americans had flocked by the millions in the early sixties were somehow proving to be irrelevant to the societal upheaval that was taking place in the latter part of the decade, and substance was succumbing to appearances as folksy coffee house guitar strumming attempted to halt the growing exodus from mainline sanctuaries. I, still being of the belief that “good” churchmanship was the appropriate way to respond to my calling, began a frustrating church to church search for anything that seemed vaguely in alignment with my understanding of the faith as it had been taught me.