I’ve sat in the same pew — or close to it if somebody had the audacity to get there first — at my United Methodist Church for nearly every Sunday for 28 years. The church does a slew of outreach, which is one of the main reasons I love it. We feed and clothe children in a local elementary school that has a 100 percent student poverty rate; thanks to an out-of-touch school board that voted to warehouse the least of these. We send mission teams to Sierra Leone, not to screech about hell like the church I grew up in, but to build hospitals, staff classrooms and nurture frail bodies and hungry souls. We get that part right.