I'm currently reading "Reluctant Pilgrim" by Enuma Okoro. One of the themes in the book is her search for a church home, a congregation where people noticed her presence and her absences and told her, "we're glad you came back." She even took a multi-year sabbatical from going to church at one point because she was so fed up with it.
Only once in my life have I had serious trouble finding a church home when moving to a new place, and that was when I moved to Philadelphia for grad school (the first time). It took me two months, and in the end I realized, it was my own fault. During those two months, I was going to churches I could walk to from my apartment in West Philly, churches my new friends went to, a mega-church out in the suburbs. At some point, I finally realized that I wanted to go to a United Methodist Church. I had officially joined two years before, had attended one through all four years of college, and was missing some of the liturgy and format in the churches I was attending. First, I went to Conshohocken UMC, about a 20 min. drive from my apartment. I don't remember why, but it wasn't a good choice. So during the week that followed I looked up, between the phone book (this was 2001) and the internet, the five United Methodist Churches closest to where I lived. I called all five for service information and at only one church did a person answer the phone. So that's where I went. Tindley Temple UMC in downtown Philly. And I was home.
As soon as I stepped in the door, I knew that it was where I was supposed to worship for the two years I was in Philly. Even though I was one of an average three white folks who regularly attended this historically African-American church, I felt at home. Most of the congregation welcomed me and told me the next week that they were glad to see me back. A few reserved their opinions until getting to know me better over the next two years as I got involved in Disciple Bible Study and teaching Sunday School. A small handful always resented my presence, but that was their right. In a sense, I was trespassing on sacred space, space where folks could be free for a few hours from racism. I felt privileged to be allowed to temporarily join their church family. Even though I visually stuck out like a sore thumb and others wished I wasn't there, that didn't bother me. I really can't explain why I felt such a peace about attending Tindley Temple, 2.5 miles from my apartment.
My mom mentioned a couple weeks ago that my time at Tindley was preparation for Unidos por Cristo. My mom (and sisters, stepdad, dad, stepmom, stepsister, and grandparents) only attended one service at Tindley, the Sunday of the weekend I graduated from Penn. My Tindley church family gave me flowers and a plaque, thanking me for my help in the church school. I was incredibly touched, and surprised, and so was my family. My grandparents didn't even go to my Penn graduation after that, they were fatigued and felt they weren't going to hear anything better said about me than what had been said at Tindley. But I don't think that's what my mom had in mind when she compared it with Unidos por Cristo.
Needless to say, in many ways Tindley is a typical "black church." The service was always at least two hours, if not more. The senior pastor, a homiletics professor at Wesley Theological Seminary in D.C. was fantastic, as was the associate pastor, a recent grad of Wesley. I've never heard such consistently good preaching in my life. It made you not mind the time - or even notice it passing. The music was incredible - I had never enjoyed singing with an organ in church until I got to Tindley. Choir members gave moving solos and testimonies through their music. You'd hear "Amen!" coming from the pews and "c'mon preacher!" during the sermon. Surely I don't need to explain the black church style of worship, nor do I consider myself qualified really to do so.
What does Unidos por Cristo have in common? Service length doesn't matter. We finish when we finish. Unlike Tindley, there's no clock in the sanctuary. Sermon length doesn't matter. In fact, the longer the better. These folks are hungry to hear the Word of God. And, personally, I like to get verbal feedback during my sermon and prefer it - it means people are paying attention! The more the congregation punctuates the sermon with "Amen!" and "Gloria a Dios," the better. Same goes for prayers. I've noticed since Nicaragua that many Hispanics don't think it rude to pray along out loud with whoever is leading prayer. I know my prayer is better and I'm hitting the mark the louder the prayers of those who are accompanying me. It's not just the preacher or the pray-er by herself; the whole congregation gets involved.
On the other hand, there are some major differences. Music, for one. Unidos por Cristo has no formally trained musicians. Some are self-taught, some were taught by others who had some training. Mostly it's their willingness to do it and a little talent that keeps it going. Tindley is a historic urban congregation dating to the 1930s with a proud history, and also a declension narrative (things used to be better; the pews used to be all filled). Unidos por Cristo is practically brand-new, in the rural south (where many Tindley members have ties), and is just getting started. The best is yet to come. Of course, I'd argue that for Tindley, too: God's kingdom is still coming. And perhaps one day all the pews at both churches will be full!
So, is similar worship and preaching styles what my mom was getting at by comparing the two churches? It might be. Of all the non-Hispanic churches I've attended, Tindley probably is the most like Unidos por Cristo. And I'm still working with my congregants to remind them of the lesson I learned at Tindley: tell visitors, "we're glad you came back."
No comments:
Post a Comment