c. 2007 Religion News Service

DAVIDSON, N.C. _ I asked the six families preparing to baptize their children: What was their best experience as children growing up in churches?

“Community,” nearly all said. They cited church friends, feeling safe and loved, being allowed to help, not needing to compete, belonging without having to earn their way in.

When their families moved from town to town, they knew church as a welcoming place.

Now, as young parents, what did they want for their children in church?

“Community,” they said, where their children can be known by name and made to feel welcome. Even though they live in separate towns in this suburban corridor north of Charlotte, they want their children to have a church family in addition to the neighborhood play groups, sports programs and schools that will fill their lives.

To that end, we baptized their children on Easter morning, in full view of a packed house, with no apologies for crying and squirming. I carried babies down the aisle to give grown-ups a good look at them, because it is their duty to maintain the open doors and open fellowship that are necessary for welcoming.

To this day, I carry with me the memories of growing up at Trinity Episcopal Church in Indianapolis. I remember the names of every Sunday school teacher, the faces of those who loved me even at my most obnoxious stages, and the church friends whom I saw only on Sundays and yet were essential to my self-awareness.

I don’t remember sermons or lessons. I never developed an interest in doctrines or church politics. But I remember the sensation _ physical, emotional, spiritual _ of walking into the doors at Trinity and feeling at home. It even has a unique smell in my memory bank.

Later, of course, I had to find other places to know God, and the God I came to know had to become larger than what I sensed as a child at 33rd & Meridian. But there the die was cast. Of the many churches I have tried, joined and led, none has felt authentic unless it approximated the warmth, safety and love that I knew as a child.

Some faith communities get this, and some don’t. You can always tell the difference.

The ones that get it make room for children, wear name tags, greet strangers, embrace diversity, and always have time for the person who is suffering. The ones that don’t get it want children out of the way, encourage anonymity, freeze out the odd, rarely have time for human needs, and demand that people take sides in their endless squabbles.

Christianity’s health isn’t about doctrine, liturgical style, location, architecture, or anything that can be bought or intellectualized. From childhood through adulthood, church is about community, places to feel safe and loved, so that we can dare to grow up, dare to make our way in the world, dare to disagree with the powers-that-be, and dare to face death.

If Christians could stop arguing about things Jesus didn’t mention or value, and if we could turn down our institutional ambitions and pride, we would see that our singular contribution to these difficult times is community. Not just niceness and smiles, but radically open and transformative community.

Jesus said, “Be one,” not “be right.” He said, “Love one another,” not “judge one another.”

Our anonymous and fragmented world is desperate for authentic community. That need starts in childhood, and I don’t think we ever outgrow it.

(Tom Ehrich is a writer, church consultant and Episcopal priest in Durham, N.C. He is the author of “Just Wondering, Jesus: 100 Questions People Want to Ask,” and the founder of the Church Wellness Project. His Web site is http://www.morningwalkmedia.com.)

KRE/PH END EHRICH

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