Sunday, February 11, 2007

SUNDAY WORSHIP

I have heard it said that Sunday morning at eleven o'clock is the most segregated time in America and I arrived at church this morning prepared to the parish through the eyes of one newly enlivened with energy to witness and confront racism and other forms of exclusivism. I was not surprised by what I found.

The worshipping community that I love was almost exclusively white. From outward appearances, there was one Hispanic family and one family with a mixed race mother. From all appearances we are exclusively one race. I continue to be surprised by the extent that the parish accepts and does not question the lack of diversity in this place. We come together in a community that is home to a significant Hispanic population and and smaller representation of black and island heritages. We drive past these neighborhoods en route to church and do not question the fact that we are for the most part ignoring their presence in our community.

As I think back on this parish that I have known for more than forty years, I can remember almost every person of color who stayed around long enough to claim membership. There was the Jamaican couple who read the lessons in church (We loved the British sounding accent.) and the family who moved to the area from an unknown French speaking part of Africa. They were at the center of many activities and I went to high school with the only son. Couple these two families with the two mentioned earlier and there you have it -- four families in forty years. Clearly, something more than chance is happening to keep these numbers so artificially low. As I picture each family in my mind, I am struck by the extent to which each family appears to be 'white' in every way except their skin color. I wonder if the message that people of color receive is that it is okay to be here as long as you don't rock the boat. Are they somehow getting a message that says "Don't act, talk, think, dress, or appear ethnic and you can stay."

Right now, I have a sick feeling in my stomach. Is this really the parish I love? Can we really be this callous? Are we this shallow? Am I portraying the place honestly? Would others see the same parish and see things differently?

I have no answers, only more questions.
Sunday mornings aren't ever going to be the same.