I grew up in an Indian Pentecostal Church. We started church in a private school's biology lab. We shared the lab with a friendly boa constrictor. Later, we upgraded to the old sanctuary in the school. Over the years we shuffled around. We met in a store front in Brooklyn. We met in the basement of our Queens home. We met in a Knights of Columbus hall next to a bar. Then we finally settled, after two decades of renting, in a building of our very own.
Since then, the face of the church started to change. A good third of our congregation became non-Indian. Our picnic tables featured carbonated drinks from Haiti and Jamaica. For Thanksgiving once, we had turkey, as well as samosas, as well as empanadas. In my last year at the church, we sang this little Nigerian ditty at camp all Saturday night while dancing around a camp fire. Literally.
One thing I notice about our diversity is that the one thing we mostly had in common was our status as immigrants. Nearly all the families, Indian, Latino, or otherwise, were first or second generation immigrants. We were a church of sojourners.
But underneath the skin of our church, there were conflicts and rumors of conflicts. It started as some families left for more mainstream Indian churches and others left for more mainstream American churches. Insensitive things were said. People were hurt, and quietly left. Months passed. Eventually, rumors erupted. Fingers were pointed. My family and I left. With us, the non-Indian third of the church also left. (Don't know if empanadas are still served at the summer picnics. Shame if it's not.)
Reflecting back on my former church, I learned a few things about racial integration.
One, it's really hard. Integration does not guarantee unity. It can often do the opposite: our church was diverse as it was divided. Some of the difficulty was the fault of prejudice, but some of it was also natural: everything from our sense of humor to our priorities and values are colored by our ethnic culture, creating a real divide between ourselves and others.
Two, it's not the most important thing. The most important thing is a church that is authentically loving its neighbors and loving God. A full Indian church is just as much a part of God's body as any other church. Church shouldn't ever be about getting millenials or any other group of people. Church needs to love its immediate neighbors, and love God. Neighbors include those folks inside the walls of the church - the ammachis and the cousins and uncles, and it also includes those folks chilling at the 7-11 across the street and the people who do the dry cleaning the next block over. It's everybody.
Three, it's worth it. So many opportunities exist in a multi-ethnic church to love people you don't know, to grow in your love's "depth of insight". Christians of different cultures can teach you to examine aspects of Christ and Christlike living that you wouldn't have taken seriously, given your own culturally conditioned perspectives; diversity humbles us. It's such a great thing that expands your ability to love God's people and love the immeasurably wise God who created all of us varied colored people.
So, yeah. I still haven't found what I'm looking for.
Since then, the face of the church started to change. A good third of our congregation became non-Indian. Our picnic tables featured carbonated drinks from Haiti and Jamaica. For Thanksgiving once, we had turkey, as well as samosas, as well as empanadas. In my last year at the church, we sang this little Nigerian ditty at camp all Saturday night while dancing around a camp fire. Literally.
One thing I notice about our diversity is that the one thing we mostly had in common was our status as immigrants. Nearly all the families, Indian, Latino, or otherwise, were first or second generation immigrants. We were a church of sojourners.
But underneath the skin of our church, there were conflicts and rumors of conflicts. It started as some families left for more mainstream Indian churches and others left for more mainstream American churches. Insensitive things were said. People were hurt, and quietly left. Months passed. Eventually, rumors erupted. Fingers were pointed. My family and I left. With us, the non-Indian third of the church also left. (Don't know if empanadas are still served at the summer picnics. Shame if it's not.)
Reflecting back on my former church, I learned a few things about racial integration.
One, it's really hard. Integration does not guarantee unity. It can often do the opposite: our church was diverse as it was divided. Some of the difficulty was the fault of prejudice, but some of it was also natural: everything from our sense of humor to our priorities and values are colored by our ethnic culture, creating a real divide between ourselves and others.
Two, it's not the most important thing. The most important thing is a church that is authentically loving its neighbors and loving God. A full Indian church is just as much a part of God's body as any other church. Church shouldn't ever be about getting millenials or any other group of people. Church needs to love its immediate neighbors, and love God. Neighbors include those folks inside the walls of the church - the ammachis and the cousins and uncles, and it also includes those folks chilling at the 7-11 across the street and the people who do the dry cleaning the next block over. It's everybody.
Three, it's worth it. So many opportunities exist in a multi-ethnic church to love people you don't know, to grow in your love's "depth of insight". Christians of different cultures can teach you to examine aspects of Christ and Christlike living that you wouldn't have taken seriously, given your own culturally conditioned perspectives; diversity humbles us. It's such a great thing that expands your ability to love God's people and love the immeasurably wise God who created all of us varied colored people.
So, yeah. I still haven't found what I'm looking for.
