Sedona UMC

Before I forget, I wanted to blog about my visit to Sedona United Methodist Church on Sunday, Oct. 1, while my daughter, son-in-law (who joined us for the weekend), and I were visiting Arizona. Katherine was in a veterinary continuing education event about behavioral problems in cats, so Jonathan and I attended church together.

It was raining gently, a somewhat rare event for Arizona. We got there early, of course, because I am always overly eager to get to church, even if it is not one that I serve. We thought we would sit 10 minutes or so in the parking lot, but no – here came a man with an umbrella up to the car. I rolled down the window, and he offered to escort me into church under the umbrella. That gave the church big welcoming points in Pastor Cheryl’s book.

Once inside, Jonathan and I were attacked by a small army of greeters who immediately took down our contact info and stuck name tags on our shirts. They pushed all kinds of church freebies on us, including a cool magnetic cross, which I stuck on the refrigerator at Massey’s Chapel. It was overkill, however, and we could hardly extricate ourselves to go sit in the sanctuary. “I don’t live here, people!” I wanted to shout, even though that had been the first question out of their mouths.  

The sanctuary was lovely with big clear windows, it had a back balcony where the sound system was set up, and was built for a larger congregation than the 50 or so souls who attended that day. I forced poor Jonathan to sit on the second pew from the front with me. The worshipers were dressed up which meant my son-in-law and I were not dressed up enough. I wondered out loud what the small separate stage, flanked by flags, was for – children’s Christmas plays? He answered it probably was for a praise band. Oh… right. Pre-pandemic perhaps. You can tell what kind of churches the two of us are used to.

The worship service was standard United Methodist, the piano music was all Communion hymns from The Faith We Sing projected onto a screen, and there was a small choir (no praise band). Because I did not know the songs, I could not sing loudly, which was probably just as well. The "mature" white male pastor gave a sermon about not getting discouraged, and I uncharitably wondered if he were preaching to himself. I know I do. I'm also mature, okay? Just not that mature. 

There was no congregational sharing of prayer concerns, and no passing the peace. 

It was World Communion Sunday (which explains the music), and during Communion everyone came forward and received bread that was pre-cut into small pieces and plastic thimbles of grape juice (to be thrown in a trash receptacle before returning to our seats). There were three Communion stations for the congregation, which meant it all ended very quickly. The Communion servers were wearing white plastic cafeteria gloves which was a turn-off that I cannot explain theologically. I’m sure it was a remnant of fearful Covid days; ironically, no one wore a mask. 

Jonathan and I were mobbed by friendly people at the end of the service and invited to attend a post-worship coffee and snack time, which we declined. When we emerged from church, the sun was shining brilliantly. We picked up Katherine and headed to lunch, followed by the drive back to Phoenix and flight home the next day.