By the Rivers of Babylon
When I first moved to Minnesota one of my first actions was to look for a church to attend. I went to the Yellow Pages to find Methodist churches near where I lived and found two that got my attention. One was an African Methodist Episcopal Church which appealed because I have attended AME churches in the past, have relatives in Chicago and Texas who are members of AME churches, and love the music which sounds like the music in the Methodist churches I attended growing up. The other was a United Methodist Church which appealed because I’ve been a UMC member since I was a teenager in Chicago.
As I rode the bus to job interviews and walked around my neighborhood to see where I had landed, I rarely saw people of color but I kept seeing signs on street corners directing me to “Epworth UMC 3 blocks ...” or “Epworth UMC 7 blocks ...”.
When that first Sunday arrived, I realized I didn’t know where that street with the AME church was located but there were those signs pointing me to Epworth. I stepped out walking one block to the first sign and followed it to church. I sang, “God’s Trying to Tell You Something” with every step I took.
God is trying to tell you something
God is trying to tell you something
Maybe God is trying to tell you something
Right now. Right now.
“Maybe God Is Tryin' To Tell You Somethin'” by Andrae Edward Crouch, David Francis Del Sesto, Quincy D. Jones, William D. Maxwell
After I became a member of Epworth a few months later, I learned that St. James AME is Epworth’s “sister” church and we share some events together. My sister and other black folks I know ask me why I don’t go to St. James. It’s more like the church of my childhood and more like the Methodist church I attended in Chicago – lots of other black folks and more of the spirit-filled songs I love -- like the song that led me to Epworth. I know why they wonder because it is hard to be the only one like me sitting in the pews each Sunday.
I don’t know but maybe, like Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, Epworth is where God called me to be at this time of my life. Maybe I’m meant to be that voice telling them something they need to know. And sometimes we find common ground as we worship together; however, outside of worship, we often don’t.
What a fellowship, what a joy divine
Leaning on the everlasting arms
What a blessedness, what a peace is mine
Leaning on the everlasting arms
“Leaning on the Everlasting Arms”
by Elisha Albright Hoffman and Anthony Johnson Showalter
Coffee Hour (now re-named Fellowship Time) is Social Hour at Epworth. Most people sit at the same tables with the same people they always sit with – their church friends or their families. My family does not go to this church (or any church) and my church friends are busy with after church concerns (serving coffee, counting the offering). I table hop, sit with visitors when we have some, or busy myself with my own after church activities.
This is my regular “alone” hour in the midst of other people. This hour reminds me that I do not fit. Conversations are too often about topics with which I’m unfamiliar. Mostly, I sit quietly because when I do speak on a topic that connects to me, others are often taken aback or have nothing to say. I’ve been told I intimidate people because I speak so forcefully (passionately?) on controversial topics – Black Lives Matter, GC2019, the current White House occupant -- as if I know more than they do. They’ve come to Fellowship Time to relax and socialize with friends. Apparently, I make them uncomfortable.
When I find myself alone in a crowd at church, songs run through my head, probably because I’m thinking about different drummers, different drumbeats. Songs are my prayers and music takes me away from where I am to a place that warmly welcomes me. And because I’m not looking for a place of peace and quiet – I already have that where I am – I tend to focus on spirited songs that make me want to dance.
We who believe in freedom cannot rest
We who believe in freedom cannot rest until it comes
“Ella’s Song” by Bernice Johnson Reagon
For some reason, although I want others to enter the song and pray with me, I don’t sing aloud.
This I know: I’ve hung my harp on the poplar in this foreign land by the waters of the Mississippi but I am here by choice and not compelled to perform “one of the songs of Zion.” Worshipping in this place where God has called me has taught me that I am the songs and they cannot be taken from me. At the same time, I’ve learned how to find that Zion spirit singing in the people I encounter here. This is the joy in my loneness.
Yet, at times, I still weep and sorrow.
Yunghi Kim/Contact Press Images
So what shall I do? I will pray with my spirit, but I will also pray with my understanding; I will sing with my spirit, but I will also sing with my understanding.
1 Corinthians 14:15 (NIV)
There was a Black Lives Matter demonstration at the Mall of America and several people were arrested and/or charged. One was a young Black man on a break from his job at the Mall who had stopped with others to observe. Although he was not one of the protesters, he was arrested. His employer and co-workers supported him but the MOA management and police told him he could not return to the Mall to work because he was part of the protest. I joined with others writing letters and spreading the word via social media.
When I brought it up in a Coffee Hour conversation at church, several people expressed their discomfort with the Black Lives Matter movement. They brought up another BLM demonstration that blocked a highway located not far from the church that many congregants take. They felt the demonstration inconvenienced “innocent” people trying to get to work and to the airport.
One of my fellow church members (whom I consider a friend) bemoaned the fate of one person who missed her plane and was not present to say good-bye to her mother who died before she got there. I pointed out the protest was in support of Philando Castile whose mother also did not get a chance to say good-bye to her son and also for other mothers of Black sons who regularly face this ugly reality. I argued that the value of convenience does not compare with the lives of Black people. I also pointed out that her comment was akin to “All Lives Matter” which diminishes the message of Black Lives Matter. This was just one conversation during our Fellowship Time where I made others uncomfortable. I may have gotten too loud.
By the rivers of Babylon there we sat down
Yeah, we wept, when we remembered Zion
"Rivers of Babylon"
by Brent Dowe, Fran Farian, George Reyam, Trevor McNaughton
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