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The first service of Unity-Midtown, the church I pioneered in Atlanta, took place on this date in 1990. We met in a space near Piedmont Ave. donated to us by a local chiropractor. The title of my talk on that day was “In the Beginning, God ….” I had no idea what that would mean for me and the hundreds of people who would pass through the doors to that church. Within a few months, we were able to rent the auditorium in the elegant Academy of Medicine on W. Peachtree and 7^th St. and eventually we obtained office and community space there.

It was never a large congregation—125 members was a well-attended Sunday—but it was a remarkable one. A number of the gay men had contracted HIV and were dying of AIDS. Others struggled with the loss of so many of their friends to the disease. My experience as an ICU nurse (and later hospice) stood me in good stead. It was a time of sometimes painful learning and growing for all of us.

Yet Unity-Midtown gave rise to times of incredible creativity. There I learned to trust the intuition that would inspire the paintings I make now and to encourage myself and others to “Let go and let God.” I remember a light-hearted Peter Pan Sunday when everyone who wanted to got to run around the auditorium flapping their fairy wings. (Imagine that!). And there were other rituals that were designed for deep emotional healing: One Mother’s Day, the men in the congregation washed the feet of each woman—so much forgiveness and love poured through the tears.

At the time, Midtown had not yet been gentrified and the surrounding neighborhood was pretty rough. Once or twice I’d arrive early on Sunday morning and see a lot more skin than I wanted to being exposed (To me? I doubt it!)  in the parking lot. One Saturday the admin assistant called me to say she’d gone over to print the bulletins and found a dead body outside the door. An event like this became an opening to explore our fears, especially the fear of death. I recall a Sunday shortly before Christmas when one of our members, an especially gifted musician, conducted the choir while connected to an IV that was infusing medication. He died a short time after this. We were all gutted but there was a willingness shared by almost everyone to look beyond the appearances and find Something More.

Unity-Midtown carried on until October, 2000 when I conducted my last service there as a memorial for what it had been. It was time for everyone involved to move on. Those who wanted to keep meeting changed the name of the church. Another person who I’d not done such a good job training, took on leadership; the whole thing folded within a couple of years. I was sad that I’d not been able to prevent some of the internal squabbles to which I know my ignorance contributed. Looking back, however, I understand more. “In the Beginning, God …. ” and, also, In the Endings, God….

I’m still in touch on Facebook with a few people from Unity-Midtown and cherish the notes I receive from them from time to time. Although much chronos time has passed I still feel connected to everyone who was part of Unity-Midtown. Looking back, Unity-Midtown was never just a place to land on a Sunday morning; it really was a consecrated space that transcended time, an experience of Kairos, heaven on earth. The healings that occurred there were real and permanent, even when it looked like death. The breakdowns did indeed lead to breakthroughs for those who were willing.

On a practical note, I am particularly mindful of and grateful for those relatively few individuals who carried the church (and me, at the time) financially. I hope these words reach you and convey my love and deep appreciation. I consider Unity-Midtown to have been one of those unique and powerful Great Works—an Idea Whose Time Had Come (and, in the way of things, Gone). We didn’t necessarily like each other, but so many, including me, (as they  say in Al Anon) came to love us all in a very special way. Thanks to you all!