Bethel Lutheran Church, which partners with the Lutheran Campus Ministry, frequently displays messages advocating for equality and inclusivity. (Photo by Jamila Dawkins)

“Rub-a-dub-dub; thanks for the grub.”

“Amen,” the group says, accepting the prayer, and they begin to dole out food, directing me to my own plate.

When I first approached the Lutheran Campus Ministry building (known as LuMin by attendees) to sit in on “Dinner and Jesus,” their weekly dinner and worship, I knew immediately that what I’d walked into wasn’t only a ministry, but a home. Or at least a “home away from home,” as Campus Pastor Tina put it while showing me around the building. The ministry resides in a renovated two-bedroom home right beside the ministry’s partner organization, Bethel Lutheran Church. The space exists for St. Louis college students — particularly Washington University and Saint Louis University students — to worship, do homework or curl up on couches. 

“We all know the code, so it’s always open for naps, studying, getting something to eat, laundry…whatever, pretty much,” said WashU junior Cecelia Anderson, a member of LuMin since her freshman year. “[It’s] really nice to have that space — especially this year, now that campus is so busy. If I need to study for an exam, that would be a great place during the day to kind of just escape from the stress of campus but still be close by.” 

Growing up within the Church of Christ, I had limited contact with denominations outside the one my family attended every week. I’ve since stopped attending weekly services, but I’ve never quite stopped being curious about religion, or religious people. Having spent so much of my childhood trying (and failing) to have faith, I wanted to know more about those who do, and widen my perspective beyond the small picture of religious life I knew. So, not quite knowing what I was looking for, I decided to spend an evening with LuMin. I felt sure that talking, laughing and eating with people from a faith that was foreign to me could teach me a thing or two — or at least, give me a free meal.

And talk, eat and laugh we do. Over a hearty plate of lasagna, Pastor Tina — as well as Tori Santiago Troutman, LuMin’s administrative assistant, and Jamison McCarty, a SLU student (and the deliverer of the rub-a-dub-dub prayer) — discuss everything from fond memories to difficult religious and political complexities. Their love for their work and learning more about their faith shines through in their discussion, with attendees being swiftly swept into the conversation throughout the night.

Before going into “Dinner and Jesus,” I didn’t know LuMin by name, but I did have some idea of their political stance and allyship from the big electronic billboard that Bethel Lutheran Church displays next door to the ministry. During freshman move-in, I remember watching the display flash phrases in support of the LGBTQIA+ community, my mouth agape. I hadn’t known that there were churches that displayed messages like that so proudly. The LuMin ministry continued to break my preconceptions with how frankly they told me that the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) is one of the whitest denominations in America. In talking about these issues, LuMin reflects a growing change within the ELCA toward acknowledging their lack of intersectionality and fighting for social justice. Two of their main topics of discussion are looking at ways to improve diversity within the Church and to serve the greater St. Louis community. They may not know the answers, but they ask the hard questions, and seem to do so determinedly and in good faith. 

Most surprising, though, was the warm, unconventional humor and fun of the ministry — and the way I, despite being non-religious, was welcomed in as a guest. At worship, when they offered the bread and wine, I declined, and without pause Pastor Tina kindly blessed my love for writing, praying that I’d be able to continue to explore it. In conversation at dinner, someone mentioned a past experiment grilling s’mores. (Cecelia, the culprit, remembers the incident with a smile. “Yeah, we did do that. They turned out really good,” she said, laughing.) When I expressed how much I loved the idea (and s’mores), she turns to Jamison and (half-jokingly) asks, “Should we bring out the fire pit?” When I first stepped into the house, I was perched on the edge of my chair. By worship, I was tucked into the corner of a couch, singing along with the hymns. It wasn’t a conversion experience, and it didn’t need to be. I was content enough to learn about a religion and group I knew little about — to replace my own expectations of rigidity with real, complex and kind people of faith. 

The charm of LuMin is not only the environment, but the people. People who are eager to welcome and be welcoming. People who didn’t judge me when I passed over two sizzling pans of lasagna to fill my dinner plate with brownies and cookies; people who taught me something new, gave me a blessing and sent me home with a can of soda and tupperware packed with food. People who welcomed me as a guest and didn’t let me lift a finger. (Pastor Tina: “The first time, you’re a guest. The second time, we put you to work.”)