From Accidental Churchgoer to Deacon at 50

August Quinn
Sep 16, 2025
2 min read

I wasn’t even 50 yet—barely 49. My birthday was the end of July, and this happened in early August last year. Kayla had been on me for weeks about coming to church. I resisted, I rolled my eyes, I said “no” about five different ways. Finally, she just texted me the time and address like I’d already agreed. So I went, mostly to keep the peace.

That first Sunday, the pastor preached about coming out to his Southern Baptist dad—the silence, the fear, the weight of it all. He might as well have been telling my story. I sat there thinking about my own dad, about the air shift in the room when I finally said the words, about how love can show up late but still leave scars. I walked out that morning not annoyed, but lighter.

And I kept going back.

August turned into September, then December. By February, I was being rebaptized—not because I felt pressured, but because I wanted a new start. In March, I was ordained as a Deacon. The guy who swore he’d never step foot in church again was suddenly serving in one.

Here’s the part that shocks even me: I’ve barely missed a Sunday since. If I couldn’t be there in person, I was on the livestream. Week after week, something kept pulling me in. And it wasn’t guilt or obligation—it was grace. It was laughter. It was sermons that made me think and sometimes made me cry.

And last fall? The pastor did an entire Dolly Parton sermon series. Yes, Dolly. Faith, forgiveness, rhinestones, and “Coat of Many Colors” all woven together into scripture. If you’re wondering what finally broke my walls all the way down—it might have been Dolly herself.

Now, at 50, I’m a Deacon. Still sarcastic. Still flawed. But still showing up every week because I found something I didn’t even know I was looking for.

So yeah, Kayla dragged me through the door. But God—and apparently Dolly Parton—kept me there.