At the beginning of the month, my wife and I were in Chicago to attend the death of our former church. That sounds more dramatic than it actually was (though it was dramatic). Gilead Chicago was a Queer, Storytelling, Bar Church, a lovely community whose services took place in various bars and theaters on the northside of Chicago for 8 years. The services featured stories from congregants and guests in the style of The Moth as well as pop songs sung like hymns. It was a beautiful experiment by two ministers from sister denominations, the UCC and the Disciples of Christ. When Gilead announced it was closing the reasons weren’t just financial, but they were about the fact that the congregation hadn’t really bounced back after COVID. Attendance, volunteer support, and energy in the congregation as well as giving were all on a decline. The decision was made for Gilead to die, and to die well, with months of doing church services they always dreamed of doing (including an Easter Vigil Pro Wrestling Show), and one last big party.
Gilead is also the congregation that ordained me as a minister in the Disciples of Christ. I’m a minister (surprise!) and not a UU minister (double surprise!!). Attending their final service and hearing them read a “Last Will and Testament” for this church that was so important to my ministerial formation was heartbreaking in a way that’s hard to describe. When the service finished, a friend of mine who served alongside me as a hospital chaplain and served Gilead as an intern, embraced me in a hug and we both wept for a couple minutes, recognizing the end of an institution so pivotal to both of us.
I’ve been thinking about the death of our progressive religious institutions a lot this last year or so. Before Gilead’s closing, there was also the closing of Geez magazine, a leftist Christian publication, and the House for All Sinners and Saints, a church in Denver started by Nadia Bolz-Weber. It’s hard to see these institutions box up their work and turn off their metaphorical lights.
All of this is to give a reasonable context for just how thankful I am for UU Asheville. I am thankful that it’s a community that allows Queer folks to be themselves within our doors. I am thankful for the justice work, the children and youth work, and the care work that we do. I am incredibly grateful that we are a progressive religious institution that is growing and thriving! I am grateful that we have so many in this congregation that give so much, that fund our work, that show up, that wash dishes. I hope that we can provide the kind of work that you will be proud of supporting.
Trevor Johnson Connections Coordinator