On the drive to the church, I was pretty excited; it had been several years since I last attended a contemporary service. This was a chance for something new. We found the church building easily and pulled into the parking lot, only to discover we mismanaged our time and were about 5-10 minutes late. We walked into the main worship space in the contemporary services building, thinking we could probably meet an usher who can direct us to some available seats, and found everyone standing and weakly singing along with the praise team. No one greeted us, although some folks did turn around to look at the new guests. There were no seats -- and if you've visited churches anytime in the last century, of any denomination, you'll understand what I mean. Everyone was seated in the back, like they filled the back rows first, trying to stay away from the "stage" as much as possible. Not one person moved to offer us a seat. Not one person said a word to us. I noticed the sound person sitting in the back, very busy managing the sound system. I noticed the ladies by the table of coffee and pastries, busily overseeing the food and beverages (which at that time was not being served to anyone). I noticed that there were lots of furtive glances in our direction, but no movement in response to seeing two strangers standing behind the last row of chairs looking for seats.
Perhaps we looked more than just a bit perplexed, so after a pregnant pause, the pastor (at that time I did not know he was the pastor) approached us and handed us some bulletins. He then motioned for us to follow him towards the center aisle, and proceeded to walk towards the row directly in front of the stage -- where only one woman was sitting.I remember seeing on the carpeted floor the shadow of her head and shoulders projected by the light from the back. (The congregation still singing.)
I'm going to pause to take a poll here... How many visitors to unfamiliar houses of worship would be comfortable and willing to be escorted to a seat in the front row where 99.9% of the congregation was avoiding? Would you say about 1 out of 9 people might do that? I am a PK, and as such, am familiar with the routine of sitting up front and center. For a large portion of my childhood, I was enthroned in the 1st or 2nd row of the sanctuary because that was the place where I wanted to be seated. I don't ordinarily shy away from being up front. However, on that day, I was furious not because I was invited to sit up front, but because the congregants refused to budge. I'd be willing to bet that, if found in the same situation, they themselves would not want to be escorted to the front row. And it did not feel like a designated seat of honor.
I did not follow the pastor to the center aisle and he ended up walking by himself all the way up to the front row and motioned for us to come forward. I was not amused because by this time, everyone was looking at us -- even the praise team -- while they were singing praise songs. Busily worshiping God.
Never in my life had I felt so frustrated, and so angry. The whole situation created in me a sense of marginalization, a feeling of being out of place. It was uncomfortable, disconcerting, and alienating. Inhospitable. No doubt that congregation was very surprised to see us because we were the only two Asian Americans in the whole building. I have never been so put out by such a "welcome" inside a place of worship.
I'm blogging this from a less than positive space because the experience remains a difficult experience for me. Nevertheless, I understand, I know, that everyone was just worried about performing their proper roles in church on that Sunday morning -- I am quite familiar with that strong and rigid sense of duty. This is me we're talking about -- the 10-year-old PK who traipsed about the church in flouncy flower dresses, toting her own meticulously underlined, highlighted, and bookmarked Bible, all the while directing "the kids" to behave "properly" in church on Sunday mornings.
I understand that often it appears like we can't deviate from our assigned duties. Everyone has a role to play: the ladies must oversee the breakfast goods, and the sound tech has to oversee the sound system, and the parishioners have to stand still and sing; the greeters only greet people until 10 minutes after service begins and then you have to close the church doors; ushers stand quietly to one side to distribute bulletins until the start of the service and then disappear.
I get that feeling -- the concern that you're doing something wrong or out of place if you don't do strictly as you've been told. You don't want to be the person noisily greeting latecomers (and God forbid that there should be any latecomers b/c they make everyone shuffle around in the pews). You don't want to be the person walking around, in front of, or behind someone else and disturbing them as they are singing a praise song. You don't want to be the person shuffling your purse, your coat, your scarf, your hymnal, your Bible, your bulletin, and your little white offering envelope, and creating so much noise with your flurry of activities.
I get it. It's hard to step out of our Sunday morning roles. (Isn't it already hard to step into our Sunday morning roles?) However, I think it is even more difficult to step into the real role we have to own each day -- the role of the Christian disciple who extends to newcomers Christ's invitation to join God's family. Bishop Schnase has stated very eloquently (in my opinion) something that we all know: "Hospitality is a quality of spiritual initiative, the practice of an active and genuine love, a graciousness unaffected by self-interest, an opening of ourselves and our faith community to receive others" (20). To open ourselves up to the challenge of radical hospitality, we have to let go of what we think we're supposed to do (which is, unfortunately, often
narrowly defined or restricted by custom, practice, history). The word "radical," cites Bishop Schnase, "means 'drastically different from ordinary practice, outside the normal', and so it provokes practices that exceed expectations, that go the second mile, that take welcoming the stranger to the max" (21).
At the end of the worship service, our pew neighbor -- the woman sitting next to us during the service -- disappeared even before we could turn around to grab our coats. The pastor was busy talking to a member of the congregation (or someone who appeared quite familiar with the church family). The praise team was busy putting away their musical instruments. Children were busy playing like children. No one said a word to us as we picked up our bags and put on our coats. Not one usher or greeter came to get our names or contact information or to simply say hello. I looked around to see if anyone would make eye contact with me, but did so half-heartedly. The whole experience had worn me out and I was tired of extending the invitation -- me, the visitor, the guest, the newcomer.
So, I walked out of that sanctuary, muttering under my breath. Then I got in the car and started hatching a plan...
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