Nancy Duncan grew up outside of Boston with a family active in the Congregational Church. Her father encouraged her questions, whether about the Bible or something the minister had said, and it is a gift Nancy still treasures. After college and time spent in a Christian farm community where she met her husband, she felt drawn to the Church. She entered seminary. To her surprise, her Saturday nights working with homeless women were the hours that fueled her spirit the most. After she graduated, they moved to Rockland, and Nancy found work inside the mental health unit at the hospital. Eventually she became a family therapist. Her specialty was working with families with a child at risk of being removed from home. There, she witnessed substance abuse, trauma, mental health issues and domestic violence. But mostly she saw how families under difficult circumstances kept on caring and trying. Little by little she started to wonder if the tools of therapy were sufficient. So, she returned to the Church, and in 2004, the Broad Bay Congregational United Church of Christ asked Nancy to be their pastor. As churches go, it’s a young church, started in 1983 in the North Waldoboro kitchen of Carol and Don Hakkila (CK). For many years, its congregants worshipped in the Grange down the street. In 2002 the Church purchased the historic downtown church building from First Baptist Church. Today, Broad Bay Congregational offers vespers services, evening book studies, art & scripture conversations, concerts, an informal food bank, various food and clothing drives and hosts AA meetings -- all alongside weekly Sunday services and on-going pastoral care.
There’s something about saying “Let us pray,” and taking a deep breath and sitting in silence. If words come, they come, and if they don’t, they don’t. It’s enough to be there in the knowledge that there’s a power, a source, for us to lean on.
I am part of a tradition in which a rainbow appeared after the flood; a burning bush showed up; people wandered in the wilderness; there were plagues; there were healings. Somehow, 5,000 people got fed by Jesus with a few loaves of bread and a few fish. There was an empty tomb.
For generations, people have been through hard times. This is not the first time that people have been overwhelmed with despair. People ask where I find faith. I find it in humility and courage and love.
I think a lot about love. Loving one another sounds super simple, until you try it. Because learning to embrace different people’s differing gifts and opinions is so hard. A good day is when people totally disagree with one another and come away enriched.
The church is not made of people who are super-holy. The church is made up of people who aspire to be good and holy but who are just as confused and misdirected up as anybody else. To pull that kind of group together and to work together, that keeps us honest.
I have two stories.
We had a member who was brilliant. But he was losing his cognitive capacity, and he could feel it. And he was angry and ashamed. One day a friend drove him to church. The friend was ushering that Sunday, handing out bulletins to people as they walked in. He turned to his friend and said, “Well, get to work.” And he handed him a stack of programs. From that day forward, this man, who could no longer do so much of what he used to do, handed out bulletins while making the same joke week after week. He couldn’t remember anybody’s name, but he had a place.
The other story is this.
One Sunday, worship service was shorter than normal. Right at the end, someone started to come in. But the service had ended, and people were getting up. I overheard him say that his wife had died the night before. I invited him inside. “Come back in. Sit down. We’ll say a prayer.”
I grabbed someone else and told them what had happened. Like magic, word went through the congregation. Everyone gathered around and sat back down. There was a violinist playing that day and he was leaving, too. So, I told him and asked if he would stay to play something because I knew the family loved classical music. The violinist returned to the sanctuary and took out his violin.
I spoke a little about the deceased and followed with a prayer. The violinist played this gorgeous piece. After, we all sat together, quiet. Then the recent widower spoke about the last 24 hours. This man was surrounded with people and love. It was holy ground.
On days when I get discouraged about our church being too small or how we’re going to pay our bills, I remember that day, and how together, the community gathered and stayed behind for this man. I think about how man was comfortable coming in late and mentioning that his wife had just died. And I think about how he knew that he would find something here and did.
I think faith is being willing to walk into the darkness. To walk into the darkness of emptiness or terror, and to trust that there is light in that. And to walk into the darkness of disagreement, and to trust there is light there, too. I think faith is taking the light that lives within you and me, and mustering up the courage to walk into the darkness.
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