We are all-accepting,
all-inclusive,
all-welcoming —
we are progressive
Christians at worship
and in our humility
we are, if truth be
told, a little smug
about that.
The congregation is
made up of a rainbow
coalition of God’s
children — blacks,
whites, browns, yellows,
reds, men, women,
young, old, straights,
LGBTs. Early on in
the service, we
knowingly and proudly
pass the peace from
one to another. Still
for all that, last
Sunday, there was
this family three
rows up — grand-
father and grand-
mother, daughter,
son–in-law,
and three adorable
little girls who
sat quietly for the
full hour and one
little kid who
couldn’t keep her
mouth shut while
her parents fawned,
and cooed and
smiled and kept
handing the little
girl back and forth
and grandpa and
grandma winked
and smiled and
cooed and I wonder-
ed why the family,
seemingly oblivious
to anyone’s right to
not have to listen
to the whining of
the little brat, didn’t
drop her off at the
nursery following the
children’s message,
which would have
been the courteous
thing to do.
I couldn’t hear the
sermon which later
my wife, who appar-
ently has better ears
to hear than I have,
told me was about
tolerance.