Sacred and segregated. That’s how most of us who attend any kind of worship service on Sunday seem to prefer it.
Like many aspects of our country’s history, segregated Sundays date back to slavery. Although our country is becoming more racially and ethnically diverse, according to the 2003 book “United by Faith,” only about 5 percent of our nation’s churches are racially integrated, defined by the authors as no one racial group making up more than 80 percent of the congregation.
The further west — beyond the Mason-Dixon line — one ventures, the more likely you’ll find multiracial congregations.
A year ago, as I was seeking to renew my own spiritual walk, I found a church home in Aurora, helmed by a black pastor, which boasts a number of white members. It surprised me at first because black churches have been historically homogenous.
When my Southern-bred parents first moved to Boulder more than three decades ago, we briefly attended a Methodist church, the denomination in which my parents were raised. Once my mother discovered there was a black church in town (albeit Baptist), however, we became regular worshippers there. I can only surmise that despite stark differences in how the services were conducted by the two — Methodist, more stoic and formal; Baptist, more expressive and informal — that it was important to my mother that her children be nurtured and embraced by a community reflecting her racial heritage and cultural life experiences.
During the summer, the doors of the downtown, intimate stone sanctuary built in 1908 were often left open, allowing the sweet melodies of spirituals to waft out, summoning any unsaved passersby to stop in and be redeemed. Occasionally, a white person might come through the doors and sit through the service as though it were a novelty.
At Colorado Christian Fellowship, where I regularly worship, white congregants aren’t curiosity seekers; they’re invested members interested in hearing a clear and concise message built on biblical principles. But they’re also unusual in that they’re choosing to place themselves in a position of being the minority. The service is flavored with contemporary music, but laced with gospel and rhythm and blues. Pastor Phillip F. Smith Jr.’s style of communicating his message is “palatable, playing off of African-American humor, but you can be of another race and get what I’m saying,” he says.
Back East, and in the South, social segregation remains part of the culture.
“Here in Denver, it’s not like that, which speaks to an attitude about the geography. If it were in Boston, Chicago, Philadelphia or New York, I believe it would be less multiracial,” says Pastor Phil.
Why? Because among other things, he says, the attitudes about racial consciousness, on the East Coast, in particular, are very strong.
When I first began attending what was to become my new church home, my initial inclination was slight discomfort, as I wasn’t sure why white people would attend a predominantly black church. But over time I’ve realized that they, too, were looking for the same meaningful experience and understanding of God’s word that I was, as opposed to attending church based on societal expectations of where their place should be. I’ve come to realize that it’s more important to be where one is comfortable and gets the spiritual message that he or she needs, than to conform to the expectations of others.
Jennifer E. Mabry (jennifermabry@hotmail.com) is a writer living in Boulder.
