Saved Twice: Pastor Nancy

I am saved by Jesus—and I also experienced salvation through a white, middle-class, middle-aged, cisgender, heterosexual woman: Rev. Nancy Butler.

When my world blew up, Nancy showed up. She hired me in the church office—just enough structure and a paycheck to get me off the couch and back among people. She leveraged her gift as a connector to draw me into friendships I still have. Riverfront was her dream—an evangelical-hearted church that was open, welcoming, and progressive; a community that rejected homophobia and Islamophobia and tried to live the gospel in public.

Spiritually, Nancy was a truth-teller. We had blunt, loving conversations about my story. She refused to let me play the victim. She named my part. She called me to own my future. She believed in grace, not cheap grace. She held mercy in one hand and responsibility in the other—and didn’t drop either.

Over time she invited me into her Huddle, a small group for life-on-life discipleship. Then came a fill-in sermon. Then the preaching team. Then the board.

In February 2015 Nancy was diagnosed with ALS. By early 2016 she could no longer lead day-to-day ministry. Three of us stepped in, part-time: Liza (her daughter), Jen (our rock-solid family and youth minister), and me. Nancy died in December 2016.

For this book, let me say just this: Nancy helped heal and restore my soul, and she pastored me back into ministry. She modeled what amazing grace looks like in practice: acceptance, truth-telling, integration, and the stubborn belief that God’s mercy can knit a life back together.

Years earlier, in a Cincinnati diner, Bart Campolo told me I had to learn to love God and like myself at the same time. Under Pastor Nancy’s leadership, mentorship, and discipleship, I finally learned how to do that.

Interlude: A Normal Sunday

Belonging opens the door, but high-commitment, life-on-life discipleship keeps us in the room long enough to be changed. Nancy’s “Huddle” model—small, honest, consistent—taught me that orthopraxy is learned shoulder-to-shoulder, not just sermon-to-pew.

I remember my first Sunday at Riverfront Family Church. Back then we met downtown in the old G. Fox building on Main Street. Sunday mornings in Hartford felt like a ghost town—finding coffee was a scavenger hunt. I parked in a corner lot near Hartford Stage and walked to the entrance.

A smiling young greeter handed me a program. Next to them stood a full-size mascot—Doodle the Dog, a golden poodle in costume. Odd, a little goofy, and strangely disarming. It told me this church wasn’t afraid to welcome with a grin.

I didn’t know anyone. Even as a former church guy, walking in as a first-time visitor is awkward. I found a seat, exhaled, and listened. I liked Nancy’s sermon. People were friendly without being invasive.

What struck me most wasn’t in the sermon; it was in the room. There were several gay couples—some with kids. Lots of “regular” church folks too. And no one seemed to care. This wasn’t a “gay church,” and it wasn’t a church that advertised “open and affirming” but didn’t actually have LGBTQ+ people in the pews. It was simply a church—a normal mix of humans who worship, serve, laugh at the mascot, and wrangle kids. Some happened to be gay, bi, or trans. No performance. No signaling. Just… community.

This was not a “gay church”—and I didn’t want one; I wanted a church where I could authentically be me with all my doubts, hurts, hangups, bad habits, brokenness and wounds, and with all my hopes, dreams, wonderment, and longings—a place to belong, a place to be; this was that place.For me, that was new. No one needed me to pre-qualify myself. I didn’t have to present a theological brief or recite a company line. I could just be there—be me—and belong.

Over time I realized that’s Riverfront’s secret sauce: belonging as an end in itself. Not as bait-and-switch, not as a prelude to “fixing,” but as a conviction about how grace works. It was healing. It was powerful. And yes—I was back the next week.

Belonging is what we aim for; these are the practices that make it durable.