Mary Lambeth Moore’s Statement of Faith for Baptism on March 31, 2024

Warm greetings to everyone this morning, and happy Easter! 

Bill and I first came to Pullen almost exactly twenty-eight years ago.  We raised our son, Max, in this community, and in some ways the three of us have grown up here. We’ve been shaped by the many spiritual gifts we’ve received and memories and friends that we’ll cherish through our lifetimes.

But those of you who know me might be wondering, why – after all these years – am I choosing to be baptized now? In fact, if this were happening a day later, some of you might wonder if this is an April Fools thing. Or you might have assumed I was baptized a long time ago. The answer is no: not this way. As a baby Methodist, I was sprinkled with a handful of water.

I don’t see one kind of baptism as being superior to another. In fact, I don’t believe I need to be immersed to follow Jesus or to achieve some kind of salvation. But to me, here at Pullen, full-immersion baptism has always been a deeply meaningful rite. As I’ve witnessed many other baptisms in this same room, I’ve never failed to be moved by the words of faith and the ritual itself.

Many years ago, when Nancy Petty asked me about being baptized, I wasn’t ready. She accepted that. One of the many things I appreciate about this church is that I was never pressured. And one thing I love about Baptists: they believe in waiting until a person is old enough to make a conscious decision.

I believe I’m old enough.

I see this rite as a Celebration of Life—a term usually reserved for funerals, but it seems fitting to me today. I see this as a celebration of the life of Jesus and His love, forgiveness, healing and peace. This marks a deepening of my faith and a desire to go deeper. This is a celebration of the Pullen community and its people. And this is an expression of gratitude for my life and for Life itself, with its 10,000 joys and 10,000 sorrows. 

My Path

I spent a lot of years playing hide-and-seek with God, beginning as a small child. I grew up in Reidsville, North Carolina, just north of Greensboro. My siblings and I attended a Methodist church nearly every Sunday. There I learned a lot of Bible stories, for which I’m grateful. 

I also learned about the Bible in the public elementary school I attended. In my small town during the ‘60s, there was a lot of concern about racial integration in the schools, but no concern about integrating religion into school curricula. My second-grade teacher read from the Bible every morning, right after the class stood and said the pledge of allegiance to the flag. Later, in the fourth grade, the entire grade assembled in a big room, where a scary hellfire sort of Bible teacher—Mrs. Ray—lectured and led us through “sword drills.” 

I didn’t enjoy the sessions with Mrs. Ray, but it was reassuring to hear that Jesus liked children. And I loved hearing the beautiful and exotic names of the books of the Bible, words like “Leviticus,” “Ecclesiastes” and “Corinthians.”  I was drawn to the action-packed story of Moses, and also to the 23rd psalm, even though I wasn’t clear on the literal meaning. “I shall not want” … what? What was the thing I wasn’t supposed to want? And why would God make me lie down in a pasture? I didn’t know, but I loved the words anyway.

I don’t remember anyone specifically talking about Mystery in faith, but I felt it. In my first diary, which I received as a third grader, I wrote about God almost like I was writing about a secret crush. At that time, even though I was going to church and hearing Bible stories in school, God Himself felt like a secret to me. In my own way, I was wondering, and I was seeking.

All of this is to say that Christianity is in my bones. I could have been born a Hindu, Muslim or Jew, but as I like to say to friends, Jesus is my guy. 

I have not been faithful to Him. When I was in the ninth grade, my friend Kathy and I read a book of philosophy that introduced us to the concept of being agnostic. Identifying as agnostic became important to me. It seemed smart. And being smart was important to me, because especially as I hit my teen years, I never felt like I was enough. 

Although I was a closet rebel in many ways, I tried very hard to look good on the outside. Being a good student felt essential to me. Making A’s felt like life or death. Like most teenagers, I wanted to be viewed as popular and special – especially by boys. Being loved by a boy felt like life or death. I was never smart enough, never pretty enough, because there were always people smarter and prettier than me. 

So I went through college and collected my A’s. I got a good job in Washington, DC, where I was always the first one at work in the morning, feeling like the dumbest person in the office—but at least I could be on time. I went to graduate school, where again I felt like the dumbest in the class, and I often got up at 5 AM to finish assignments.

After that, there were ups and downs with work and love. I ran from one job to another, one romance to another, and even with all my many privileges, never felt like I was enough. I had to always be on time, on top of things, perfectly dressed, always productive. If I did everything exactly right, I would be okay, I thought. I was living the definition of insanity, doing the same things over and over again to feel okay and rarely feeling okay. 

Therapy helped. Writing helped. Learning about Buddhism and meditation helped. Meeting Bill, the love of my life, helped a lot.

Coming to Pullen

In 1996, Bill and I were expecting a child—the baby who became Max—and we decided to look for a church. We weren’t at all confident we would be able to find a faith community that felt right for us, and we intended to visit several churches. We had heard good things about Pullen, so Pullen was our first stop. 

Mahan Siler was our preacher then. He spoke from the pulpit in a way that was new to us – he conveyed a quiet wisdom, loving presence and authenticity that made us feel like it was okay to be ourselves. We were happy about the church’s unqualified acceptance of gay and lesbian seekers—radical at that time and all too rare today. “Just as I am” seemed real at Pullen. Long story short, we didn’t visit any other churches. In early 1997, we stood in front of the congregation and joined the church. 

That was a life-changing decision. It was the beginning of rediscovering the faith we had grown up with. 

At first the change was mostly a change in thinking. We took Pullen’s “Foundations” class and learned from brilliant people who had studied the Bible deeply – people like Deborah Steely, Mike Watts, Suzanne Newton and Lisa Grabarek, just to name a few. I learned that it is possible to have a deep love and respect for the Bible without idolizing it. We learned that deep faith and deep questioning aren’t in conflict, but are actually a symbiotic necessity.  

Heart Changes

But those were all head changes. I’ve also had heart changes here – experiences that cracked my heart open. Sermons that spoke to me deeply – so many wonderful sermons. Music that seemed to pierce right through me. Max’s dedication as a baby and, later, the joy in his face when he returned from Baptist Youth Camp. The many meaningful conversations with Pullen friends who make me think hard and laugh hard – and who celebrate with us during good times and bring covered dishes during bad. 

I love you all. 

There’s one experience in particular that stands out to me. I don’t remember what year this happened, but I was attending Suzanne Newton’s “Seekers” class. Some of you here today will remember it – a Bible study that Suzanne led for years with humor and great wisdom. My attendance was sporadic, but there was one Sunday lesson I’ll never forget.

On this particular Sunday, we read the parable of the Prodigal Son.

I was familiar with this well-known parable, the wealthy father with two sons. The younger son asks for his inheritance early, and then leaves home and proceeds to blow all the money in a spectacular binge of partying. He ends up broke and homeless, so he makes his way back to his father’s house. He probably wasn’t expecting a grand welcome, but a grand welcome is what he got – his father is overjoyed to see him, and pulls out all the stops to celebrate, including ordering the slaughter of the fatted calf – a special occasion meal.

I had never given this story much thought. But that day in Suzanne’s class, she asked us to focus not on the prodigal son, but on the older son who stayed at home – the one who worked hard and always obeyed his father and followed all the rules.  So when the older son sees the preparations for greeting his wayward little brother, he’s angry. He confronts his father.  “You’ve never even given me a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends.” In essence, he says, “This isn’t fair.”  

I was sympathetic, and I could identify with the “good” boy. It really didn’t seem fair at all. I remembered how the father responded. He said they had to rejoice, because the younger brother was lost and now found. That was the part I had focused on.

But before the father says that line, he says something else that I had previously overlooked. The father—who can be seen as a stand-in for God—says, “Son, you are always with me, and everything I have is yours.”

“You are always with me, and everything I have is yours.”

This message hit me like a lightning bolt in my chest. For the first time in my life, I understood the meaning of grace. 

Before this, grace was something I associated with a dance class. I had grown up believing that everything had to be earned. The Protestant work ethic, an ethic that goes hand-in-hand with capitalism, was deeply ingrained. To be worthy, I had to be punctual and diligent and always, always hard working. If I wasn’t being conscientious and productive, I was worth nothing.

It was a moment of supreme grace. That morning I understood in my bones and in my heart that God’s love is infinitely abundant and always available for everyone. Even though I still forget at times, for that day I could feel the infinite amount of love that surrounds us every moment … and I knew I was enough. 

Countercultural/Commitments

Believing in that kind of grace is counter-cultural in our hyper-capitalist society – just as Jesus challenged the cultural norms of His time.  In a small way, what I’m doing today feels counter-cultural, too. It’s counter to the views of some of my friends outside Pullen, who have developed an utter disdain for Christianity. They see the hypocrisy, the disrespect for other religions, the idolatry of the Bible, and the alarming rise of Christian nationalism. Understandably, they want to keep their distance. 

Those things are deeply disturbing to me, too. And that’s a big part of why I made the choice to do this today. 

The world is broken. We need faith that’s grounded in truth, justice and hope. We need to continue doing Jesus’s work: ministering to the marginalized; embracing those who are shunned; and where these is hate, standing up for love, justice and peace. Now more than ever, we need Christians who follow Jesus not as a way to gain power but as a way to magnify love.

I am coming out as someone who wants to follow Jesus. That feels like the most audacious statement I’ve ever made – a declaration made with full knowledge that failure is certain – I will fall short every day, sometimes every hour. 

I no longer call myself agnostic, but I still hold a lot of uncertainties. Even so, there are a few unproveable things I feel sure about:

Mystery. There’s more to this life than we can see and measure. Part of my faith is leaning into to this unknowing. 

Grace:  We are surrounded with an unending abundance of love. That’s what Jesus came to show us.

Community. In a culture that prizes individual rights and achievement, the importance of community too often gets lost. I feel incredibly lucky that Bill and I found this community where people care for each other while working to disrupt injustice in the wider world. Where questioning is not only allowed, it is encouraged. Where so many people here are further along this journey and who teach and inspire me just by being themselves. A place where ALL are welcome and differences are truly valued and respected. 

So, in being baptized today, I celebrate mystery, grace and community. I commit to keep learning with you, to serve with you, to laugh with you during good times and cry with you during bad. I cannot express how grateful I feel. Thank you.

-Mary Lambeth Moore