Friday, November 7, 2025
stewardship 4
Madeleine Nossiff, Parishioner
Parishioner Madeleine Nossiff speaks to her sense of belonging here at St. John’s.
When Rob called me last week to ask if I would participate in the stewardship program efforts by telling my story, my first thought was, “ NO WAY.”
Allow me to set the scene: It’s Wednesday night. 6pm. I’m in my room getting ready for the gym and my phone rings. I answer and Rob proceeds to say something on the lines of, “You should come speak at church and tell folks about you and why you’re at St. John’s. I think you’d be great for this.”
My first thought? Like I said…Absolutely not.
“Rob, I mean… thank you… but me? Why… I don’t know… I can’t, I don't like speaking in front of people. I’m very anxious, and anyways.. Who… It’s just …”
“Think about it,” He said, "and let me know tomorrow.”
I hung up the phone and immediately started pacing in my room. Hot-out-the-gate lamenting – (call me Job). Just imagine me, doing laps around my room in spandex and sweat pants like I’m warming up for a race. In other words, I proceed to have what one might call a “tantrum”. No more emotionally equipped than a 3 year old toddler, I’m freaking out. Which no, at the moment wasn’t very funny, but looking back there is certainly some great humor to it.
Whenever we are faced with something that hits a sensitive spot– a cut or a deep wound – we react. We shy away, we yell out in anguish, we run the complete other direction. Because to be known is scary. To be seen is scary. To be witnessed and heard and held… is terrifying.
At least it is for me.
For the next 10 minutes during My Tantrum, I compiled a hefty list of all the reasons it should NOT be me who stands at the front of the congregation and gives some inspirational testimony as to why St. John’s is great and why I have the best story to tell about it.
“Why me? WHY ME? That doesn’t make any sense. Rob knows me better. He KNOWS I don’t want to be in the spotlight. He KNOWS THIS.
Why is he doing this to me? Does he think this is funny? It’s not funny. It’s horrific. What would I even say? What could I even possibly say to everyone that would make sense and have them listen to me?
First off, I can’t stand up in front of a crowd of people who have been at St. John’s longer than I’ve been alive, (no shade) and tell them I have the answers, okay? My family doesn’t go here anymore, I show up to service wearing baggy clothes like I just rolled out of bed (I did), sometimes I’m late… I don’t know half of the people's names. Oh, and I swear waaaay too much.
And where do I fit into St. John’s anyway? I’m 31, single, unmarried, childless… did I mention I’m gay? Yeah. A gay Christian. Perfect. That’s great, Madeleine. I don’t attend any of the bible studies or have kids who benefit from the amazing Sunday school and Youth Groups. I mean, I guess I was in the St. John’s Youth Group program when I was little and I sang in the choir, but who cares? Nobody wants to hear that story. Quite frankly, it’s pretty boring. What would I even talk about? Ireland? I mean Ireland's cool, but….”
And somewhere in the 11th hour it finally hit me and I said, “well, shit.”
Because at that moment I realized something.
I realized that even though all these things were true about me, and I had a great long list with plausible reasons and reasonable concerns and undeniable anguish… it didn’t matter.
Even though all of this was true, I still had a seat at St. John’s. And more importantly, I had a seat at God's table.
How cool is that? Do you realize how incredibly awesome that is?
And what’s so amazing is that if this is true for me, it means it’s also true for you. You have a seat waiting for you at St. John’s and you have a seat waiting for you at God’s table.
Sound familiar?
Well, if any of you were paying attention during service (nudge, nudge) you might know that this isn’t new. In fact, Rob reminds us of this exact sentiment every single Sunday. That “no matter where you are on your journey of faith, you are welcome here at St. John’s and especially at God’s table”.
Not to be a technicalist, but did you know he’s kind of breaking the rules? Okay, we won’t get into that here because that’s not the point. The point is St. John’s has made the choice to be a place of welcome, refuge and sanctuary that whole-heartedly puts people first. I have witnessed this time and time again. I have witnessed the way grace is given, arms extended, seats pulled up at the table. More is given when there seems to be none left. People stay late. People listen. Generosity grows. Trust is built. Healing happens.
In a world that often feels disjointed, anxious and weary, it’s easy to feel a lack of autonomy, control or even feel fear for our own safety. In this world, it is our job to care for one another, look out for each other, and to boldly choose to live in Jesus’ way.
St. John’s does this. We put people first, love with arms wide open and give what bread we have to offer, knowing that is exactly what it means to glorify God and to live into His image and the vision He has for our collective lives.
As Christians, and followers of Jesus, we are called to not let the story end between the four walls at St. John’s. We are called to go out “there”-- into the world– to love our people, hug them, laugh with them, cry with them. Rejoice. Mourn. Cherish. Behold. Witness.
Most importantly, it is our job to listen to people while they rattle off a long list of every single reason they believe they do not belong and say…
“Okay, well, there’s a seat for you at St. John’s… and there’s a seat for you at God's table.”
That’s the work we do at St. John’s. That is the miraculous hand of God I see at work every day.
So, if you’re in the business of trying to do that kind of work, consider supporting St. John’s this season. Help us live into this mission of reminding each other, every day, that we are children of God– a good shepherd who waits and wants and hopes for each and every one of us. We are deserving of His love, perfectly made in His image, and made to be mirrors for one another.
We need you– broken, tired, weary, sick, healing, divorced, gay, seeking, hoping, grieving, starting-over, trying- again, scared, not knowing which way to turn, and showing up with hands empty saying yes, I’m hungry.
We need you at St. John’s. And we especially need you at God’s table.
With love and gratitude,
Madeleine Nossiff