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In 500 words today I want to talk about the
sweet little black lady I saw at the grocery store on Friday. In ordinary
circumstances whether she was black or white of rainbow striped wouldn’t matter
to me, It doesn’t really in this circumstance either except the she herself
made her ‘colour’ integral to the story and exposed something more intently
disturbing to me than racial bias.
We were sharing space around the ‘big deal’
bins just inside the front entrance of the grocery. The ones you bash your cart
into because there isn’t enough space to steer directly into the produce
department. I was choosily scouring for perfect peppers (three bumps for
eating, four bumps for cooking). Across from me the sweet little black lady was
talking to a young couple (of like complexion) about her fabulous church. They,
(and I because I love listening to people talk about things they love) listened
intently as she extoled the virtues of her congregation and their pastor. She
talked excitedly about their celebrations of faith, church picnics, and ladies
lunches. I listened while she encouraged them to join her on Sunday. I
eavesdropped as she explained that they may have to ask someone to find her
because she was most often in the back busy working at some project or another
for after service fellowship, but that everyone knew who she was and where she
could be found. The sweet little black lady explained that her church was warm
and welcoming like that and that they would feel right at home.
Then the sweet little black lady lowered
her tone just barely above a whisper, donned her very best Christian voice and proceed
to explain to her young prospects that the congregation ‘unfortunately’ was
mixed, with the substantially pale contingent or ‘whites’ accounting for about
half of the worshipers. “It’s not ideal of course.” She explained “but everyone
is nice.” I didn’t drop my peppers but I truly wanted to chuck one at her head,
and then at the heads of her audience who didn’t say “that doesn’t matter to
us” who didn’t say “It sounds like a very welcoming place.” Who didn’t sideways
glance at one another and bulge out their eyes in a “Can you believe she just
said that?” fashion. No, they just all stood their discreetly nodding in unison
their Christian acceptance of misfortune.
And I thought—This is what is fundamentally wrong with Christianity, they allow
people to work in the back who in their heart fail to practice the very principles,
doctrines and commandments that are being preached from the pulpit. And yes, I
know that this is not a flaw specific to Christian ‘faithful’; perhaps I should
have reworded my former statement to read ‘This is what is fundamentally wrong
with religion.’ Because without a doubt and every single day we run into people
who lower their outside voice to reveal their true nature, to contradict
themselves, expose their 6 day a week selves to others who they confidently
believe clearly hold the same core beliefs. What you can say about ‘Sunday
Christians’ (as my cousin cleverly calls people who live differently Monday
through Saturday then they practice in the pew) can just as easily be said
about Saturday Jews, Ramadan Muslims, Watchtower Jehovah’s and virtually every
other organized society of subscribed belief.
It makes me a little bit insane that we
hold one another up, judge and condemn based on teachings and fail so miserably
to live to the same standards. It is the reason I refuse to subscribe, to
attach myself, label myself and belong to any one specific religious practice.
I can’t find one where flockers are the same on the outside as they are in the
middle. I can’t find one where what you believe is what you get and where it’s
okay to be the same person in the grocery store that you are in the choir.
I can’t do it.
I want to worship in a place where people
love people because that’s what they say they will do, where honesty is
important all the time not just when it fits with the deal on the table. I want
to worship in a place where it matters more how you behave everyday than how
well you can recite the rules or beg for the forgiveness. I want to celebrate
my blessings with people who I know are the same in their Sabbath suits as they
are in their bathing suits. I want to worship in a place where we preach what
we practice.
So until my kids choose their own religion
and beliefs, they worship with us at the dining room table; over bowls of
mashed potatoes and plates of green pepper, where we celebrate the many ways we
are blessed, sing the praises of one another’s good acts, encourage one another
to live happily and pray for the courage to always be the same on the outside
as we are in the middle.
I screw-up sufficiently in our practice but it feels like the rightist approach for me. With a little luck if I’ve got it wrong Hell has
Merlot.
Love
M
I think I broke the pump handle and over-shot the 500 target by about 360 words. Must have needed them to put out a fire.
No peppers were actually hurled during the writing of this post.
