Article by FCC Elder, Bob Kendall: Infected

 
I am a felon.  
 
The origin word for felon in old French is fel, which means evil.  By archaic definition, I am someone with an undermining hand of dark corruption.  That’s bad enough.  In medical terms, a felon is an infection that can lead to horrible swelling and intense, throbbing pain.  That’s awful.
 
I am a felon.
 
I have been accused of high crimes against the Divine.  At a church, when I was in my late 20’s, from questions that I raised (Huh? Really?) came allegations that I did not, in fact, know God.  And never had.  I traveled occasionally on I-40 to Greensboro for work.  During the hours I was on the highway, a group concerned about my soul prayed for me to have an I-40 conversion so profound that my eyes would be opened and that I’d be born again before I got home.  I always disappointed them and their three-hour prayers.  In the manner they’d hoped, a light never shone, and a voice never called my name. 

And they gave up. 
I remained an infection. 
And I changed churches.
 
I am a felon.
 
At my next stop, I just sat in my pew quietly Sunday after Sunday.  And I smiled, and I greeted.  And I wondered about the condition of my affliction.  Did anyone notice?  It wasn’t long before I was judged just the right person (He’s so nice and smart.) to teach adult Sunday School.  Now I was in my early 30’s.  The class wanted to study a Christian’s approach to death and dying.  We used the classic study about the five stages of grief by Dr. Elizabeth Kübler-Ross as our guide.  One Sunday, a representative from Hospice visited class at my invitation to talk about palliative care for those with a terminal illness. By the end of the day, I stood before my pastor accused of disavowing the power and possibility of God’s healing miracles.  Huh?  Really?  Convicted and sentenced.  I was relieved of my duties. 
​And I left organized church.
 
I am a felon.
 
I decided to keep my infected soul away from church for a while.  Absence turned into years.  Into my 40’s.  Turn the pages past a decade of wanderings, and I found First Christian Church.  And somehow, today I find myself an elder among you.  I’m praying out loud at the Table, I’m delivering communion and I am writing columns. How did that happen?  That’s my most amazing, unanswered question.  Maybe I serve only because I’ve been tagged as nice and smart again. (Easily not so true.  Ask around.)  Maybe there’s another reason, yet unrevealed, for which I am still searching … because I am still infected.  Uncured.  Huh?  Really?
 
So, what’s my point?  Here it is.  If a faith felon like me can finish five terms as an elder in December, you can begin your first in January.  My battle with the hands of dark corruptions continues, and yet I have served, without disqualification, the loving hands of the Creator.  There are only six elders now.  Once there were twelve.  If the call comes with an invitation for you to join the circle, say, “Huh? Really?” And then say, “Yes.”  Imagine what God could do with you.
 
I am a felon.
 
Bob Kendall