Morning Glory

This was Sunday #2 at Carver Park Baptist. Since we were leaving this afternoon for Dallas to see the Lady Bears, we decided to go to the 8:00 “Morning Glory” service.

I have to be honest -- I liked it much better than the 10:45 service last week. It was not nearly so overwhelming. First of all, there weren’t very many people there – only about 10 when the service started. By the time we finished I think there were about twice that many. We were all gathered up close to the front. Two women led the singing. (One of the women had the tiniest, thinnest little ankles I have ever seen. It's funny what you notice, isn't it?) It was praise songs again, which are not familiar to me, but I felt much more “with it” this time. Craig and I joined right in the singing and clapping. I enjoyed it much more than last week.

When it came time for “all visitors to stand,” we stood again even though we had stood last week. It’s not like we could hide very easily; they were looking right at us when they said “visitors.” During the meet and greet time every single person came by and gave us a big hug and welcomed us. Craig says we'll stand for three visits, then we'll sit when they ask about visitors. I will miss the hugging.

The sermon was great! I'm guessing, based on a few things people said, that they rotate ministers for “Morning Glory.” This morning was Minister Carlotta. One of her legs was in a soft cast up to her knee, but that did not seem to slow her down a bit. She hobbled up and down the aisle full speed. All in all this service was much more what I was expecting when we signed up for the church swap. It was basically like one of our services, but much more energy. Where last week everything seemed really disjointed and I never did quite get into the swing of things, this week I felt much more at home, much more like I was at church.

Is it cheating to want to go to the service that is more comfortable to me? I wish I could convince CT to make this our regular service, but I doubt he will be willing to get up for 8:00 church every Sunday. I did like it much better, plus I feel like with fewer people we might actually get to know a few folks.

We didn’t end up staying for Sunday School, but we did ask about it. Minister Miles explained the options. “There’s a Senior Adult class and a Young Adult Class – Young adults are people around my age,” he said, “50 or so.” I liked that I would be in the “Young Adult” class.

First Day at Carver Park - a lot to think about

Craig and I had our first Sunday at Carver Park. It was far more different than I thought it was going to be. I had kind of imagined it to be like our church, but on steroids: more rockin' music, more energetic preaching, etc. But it was way more different than that. It’s kind of hard to explain. The best I can do at this point is just list out some random observations.

I felt a little more intimidated than I thought I would just walking in the front door. I don’t know how much of that was just going to a new church where I didn’t know anyone and how much was being the only white person in sight. The people there were super, super friendly and they certainly didn’t make any kind of big deal about it – still, I felt weird. I was very glad Craig is doing the swap with me. I would have felt really out of place by myself. Several of our “swappers” are doing it by themselves. I hope they have a wonderful experience, but I am glad I have a partner.

The music of course was totally different. We expected that. But one of the first things we noticed was that there were no hymnals at all. When we saw there were no hymnals, we expected a screen with words, but nope. The music minister just lead the songs by singing and having us repeat. The songs were all very simple choruses – no verses. Very repetitive, so it wasn’t hard to pick up on them. Of course everyone was clapping and singing and there was a full band, not just the piano and organ we are used to. I know there are plenty of “white” churches that do the music that way, but it was different from our old fashioned “hymn book” church.

The sermon was very different too. The actual “sermon” part seemed pretty short – maybe five minutes – about the woman with the issue of blood. But then there was a long “call and response” part that felt kind of rambling to me. The preacher, Pastor Foreman, is a big guy, taller than CT and stockier. He was really working. We were laughing later that Dorisanne (our pastor) doesn’t work nearly that hard. We almost never see her break out a towel to mop her brow in the middle of the service.

Also, the content of the sermon was very different from what we are used to. It seemed to really emphasize "holding on" and "overcoming difficulties." He kept repeating over and over again -- "Are you desperate enough?" (to reach out for Jesus.) And I couldn't help but think, "No, I'm not really desperate at all. My life is pretty easy." I am still pondering that.

The church is also much more charismatic than any other church I have gone to. There was lots of speaking in tongues in the congregation. The ladies directly behind us were especially loud and emotional (to our uninitiated ears)with their tongue-speaking. We might experiment with sitting in a different place next time. The preacher even spoke in tongues a little from the pulpit. That is such a strange thing to me. I don’t doubt the people who are doing it are really experiencing something amazing– I just can’t imagine it myself. It would be like suddenly discovering that I can fly – it feels that unlikely to me that I would speak in tongues. I’ve been around people speaking in tongues before, but I have to admit, it still seems really strange to me.

All in all, it was really some experience. It doesn't feel like "church" to me yet because I was too swept up in noticing all the new and different things, and wondering whether I was doing things “right” to really relax and worship. Also, my habit of worship has to do with being quiet – and this was definitely not very quiet. I wonder if there will come a time during the three-months we are doing this swap that I will get over feeling like a spectator and start to really worship.

Me in Memphis

I wrote my mom that we had been to Memphis on our Civil Rights Tour and that we had gone to visit the National Civil Rights museum which is housed in the Lorraine Motel -- the site where Dr. King was assassinated. I asked her if she remembered anything about that. She surprised me by writing back, "You might not remember it, but we were living in Memphis on Tahiti Lane when MLK was killed."

I don't remember that at all. I knew that we had lived in Memphis for a couple of years when I was little, but I hadn't worked out the dates to figure out that we were there when the assassination took place. It turns out I was six, the age I am in this picture of me and my Granny Mears. I guess I think of Dr. King as a kind of a super-human character, larger than life. Even though I know intellectually that his assassination took place during my lifetime, I always think of it as something that happened a long time ago in a place very different from any place I have been -- maybe another dimension. I don't think of him as a regular person.

Seeing this picture of myself at the age I was when he was killed, and finding out that I was living in the same city where he was killed, at the time that he was killed, changes my way of thinking about him. I feel a more concrete human connection. He was a "regular person" -- a human being -- like me. I think it is important for me to remember that my heroes are human beings like me. They live in the same cities where I live, and eat the same food, drink the same water. They probably got dorky pictures of themselves taken with their grannys. I should not make them "super-heroes from another dimension." That's a way of letting myself off the hook.

The Little Rock Nine

The highlight of our Civil Rights Tour for me was visiting Central High in Little Rock. They have a great visitor's center catty-cornered across the street from campus. The little museum there does an excellent job of telling the story of the Little Rock Nine with all kinds of pictures, video, audio, etc. The most moving thing to me was a quote from Elizabeth Eckford. She is the black girl in the famous picture taken the first day the Little Rock Nine had planned to try to attend classes. Here's the quote: "I tried to see a friendly face somewhere in the mob -- somebody who maybe would help. I looked into the face of an old woman, but when I looked at her again, she spat on me." That quote choked me up. Imagine feeling so vulnerable -- you are only 16 and a mob of strangers is screaming terrible things at you, even threatening your life. You are just looking for one sympatheic face -- and when you finally think you have found one -- that person spits on you. I know people do much worse things to each other, including killing each other, but for some reason that story of a grown woman spitting on a 16-year-old girl broke my heart more than all the violent images.