inclusion matters

I want to tell you all my origin story.

I grew up in the pews. Church wasn't just a place we went on Sundays - it was home. I was in Sunday school, youth group, choir, mission trips like UMARMY, and even on the worship team. I loved being a part of it all. I loved serving, singing, learning, and being surrounded by people who felt like family.

Church was my safe space.

But as I got older, I started to feel a quiet tension growing inside me, something I didn't have words for yet. After high school, that tension became harder to ignore.

After high school, I realized there were no spaces for someone like me. I started to wrestle with a part of myself I had kept hidden. I prayed the gay away. I thought maybe God made a mistake. That led to depression, self-harm, and substance abuse.

I found a young adult group and started to feel hope again. I even felt called to missions and ministry again. I became close with many of the members, especially our group leader - who was also my mentor and friend. I decided to come out to her. She was going to be the first person I told. But the day I was supposed to share with her, I found out she had passed away. I was devastated. I came out to others, but the response wasn't what I hoped for.

Over and over, I found myself in churches where once people knew the truth, I was no longer welcome to serve. I was told I couldn't work with kids. I couldn't be on the worship team. I couldn't even run the slides.

Just a lot of....

I love you, but...

I love you, however...

We want you to stay, you just can't...

Through my experience - being excluded, silenced, and told I couldn't serve, I've come to realize something: I wasn't just looking for a church. I was looking for community.

I once read a reflection about how Jesus built community - not through comfort, but through crisis. His disciples didn't have homes or steady jobs. They had no choice but to depend on each other. They had to be vulnerable, to be broken together. That's how they became a true band of brothers.

And that hit me - because I've been through my own storms. I've had to walk away from places that said, "We love you, but..." I've hidden parts of myself just to stay in the room.

But Jesus didn't say, "Come to me once you've figured it all out." He said, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened..." He didn't shut people out; he welcomed them in.

That's why inclusion matters. Because real community - the kind Jesus modeled - only works when everyone is allowed to show up fully. When no one must hide. When love doesn't come with conditions.

I still believe in the Church. I still believe in the power of community. But not the kind that asks people to shrink themselves to fit in.

I believe in a church where no one must hide who they are to be loved. Where queer kids don't grow up thinking they have to choose between their faith and their identity. Where people are seen, celebrated, and called into deeper relationship with God - just as they are.

And I'm grateful to be standing here today, in a church that lives that out. You are creating a space where people like me can show up fully, serve boldly, and be loved unconditionally.

Thank you for letting me share my story. And thank you for being a community that reflects the radical, inclusive love of Jesus.