So, last Sunday my Dad and I went to the Chuch of Christ downtown. They're located on 11th, near where the old Dairy Queen used to be. I really had no idea what I was in for except I knew they were some kind of Christian church that placed a heavy emphasis on the Bible. My Dad and I showed up at the requisite time, a little before 11;00 AM and the parking lot was mostly full but no activity. It felt like we were late. We waited a few moments until about five minutes before the hour and then went on ahead inside. We are still a bit scarred from the experience at the Bible Baptist church so we like to shave it a bit closer on our arrival time.
To the extent that much of church depends on what you bring through the doors yourself, today wasn't boding well. The church is in a sort of late 1960's vintage building, perhaps mid 1970's. It has that tired downtown Fairbanks look to it. The parking lot was only sort of full and I was sort of expecting a dying congregation. A gathering of the faithful, but by the exterior appearance, I was expecting a rather uncomfortably intimate experience, amongst a very small set of worshipers. I wasn't in the mood particularly for my weekly dose of God and devotion. It was a nice morning and there were many things I'd rather be doing. I couldn't imagine it would compare favorably to the big Friends Church of the previous Sunday. That low bar of entry was so easy and I knew this bar would be higher. I can't say it compared favorably and yet I found it the most challenging and thought provoking experience to date.
The minute we walked through the door I knew I was wrong about my apprehension and foreboding. There were people milling freely and talking easily. A plainly dressed lady with an open face and bright eyes gave us the morning devotional papers, and welcomed us to go on inside. Easily as open and welcoming as at the Friends mega-church, only on a much smaller and more intimate scale. Yet, she didn't try to hold our eyes or interrogate us at any level. We were simply welcome to enter. She wasn't pretending or 'being' in the role of greeter, she believed and was wholly present in her role in the simplest of ways. We ascended into the main worship area which embodies a large 1970's era vision of worship space. Four huge glue-lam trusses support the lightly stained tongue and groove pine ceiling. The whole space has very comfortable padded pews and a nice ascendant light, if somewhat period in design and inspiration. As we took our seats I noticed that many of the women we wearing head-scarves and all the women that I saw were wearing skirts. Not pants.
But there was an apparent earnestness. A sincerity. The women in their head-scarves and skirts, the men and boys in simple slacks and button down shirts, mostly patterned, not white or 'Sunday Best' but ordinary wear, slacks and plaid or patterned button-downs. These are not the same crowd as those who appear at the mega-church. Nor have I seen the same kinds of kids at Randy Smith or West Valley. There is a humbleness to them that is immediately apparent. Sometimes, women and men 'dress' for church. In a way that glorifies the self a bit. These folks weren't about that at all. It is a delicate line of distinction but these men and women were cut of different cloth. Though I entered sort of dreading the event, I was surprised. I felt I had actually journeyed out of Fairbanks. There was an actual cultural difference in this room and I felt energized by it. Like visiting Japan or Egypt, standing amidst people who are, as one, different than myself, is kinda cool. Exciting. These folks, I had no idea they existed in Fairbanks, let alone congregated en masse. The women in their head scarves and skirts, the men in their plain clothes, it had the feeling, a bit, like an Amish community. Something almost from the 19th century.
My dad leaned over to me and whispered, a little too loudly, 'I think the greeter was relieved to hear that we were father and son.....for a moment, I think he thought we were a gay couple!'.... we both laughed. The place was pretty darn squeaky in terms of parents with kids and fairly traditional family units around. Except, for in that moment, an elderly woman and her daughter came to sit in the aisle in front of us. Along with her came her other daughter/son. She was obviously not your average daughter, with very male features and physiognomy, long thin hair, yet with a bald spot, and manicured nails with some sort of red-white-and-blue design. Everyone seemed absolutely comfortable and loving and unphased by this appearance. Throughout the service, the man/woman cared for his/her mother with tenderness and gently rubbed the aging womans back throughout the service, stood and sang off key with a man's voice despite the obvious breast augmentation or perhaps the enhanced results of estrogen therapy.
This, I would say, wouldn't have gone over equally in any church I've visited. The parishioners were genuinely earnest in their expressions of welcome and greetings in ways that almost defy description. Just to say that I think if, at any desperate time in my life, I found myself in need, this would be a group of people that I would most choose to fling myself upon and find some sort of fabric on which to land. If no other group availed, as in, if lost on foreign shores. These folks represent some sort of western ideal rarely found - and I'm not sure that they really are that, but they do a damn good impersonation of such.
Services began with singing, good singing. The lady in front of us, an older lady in head-scarf, white hair, skirt, and dark sweater, sang these soaring counter-melodies. An African Americal woman across the aisle sang melodies amazingly. No musical accompaniment. That is when my dad remembered that the followers of the Church of Christ don't believe in musical instruments. They don't believe in any of that and they do believe in the infallibility of the bible. Further, that the Bible is more or less a blue-print for everything one needs to know in life. If it's not in the bible, they aren't going to do it. They're descendants of what is sometimes referred to as Christian Primativism. These folks are totally warm, totally welcoming, but also some of the most conservative I've met. Probably, Rick Santorum isn't conservative enough for them. So far outside the norm of my expectations that I felt I was in a different world and pretty much suspended much of the judgement that I feel within my own kind. When amongst the baptists, for instance, I find them so at fault for their shortsightedness and fearful take on the world.
The sermon was wandering a bit, but mostly beseeching the congregation (less than 100 souls for the second mass of the day) to be faithful. Be vigilant. If you're hanging around those who don't walk with Christ, telling yourself that you're going to lead them to Christ, then isnt' it about time you talked with them? Isn't it about time you shared your heart? And if you are afraid of their reaction, are you sure you should continue hanging around them? Because Sin rubs off. You can be led into wrongdoing simply by hanging around the wrong sorts of folks, people who are making poor decisions. "Be careful lest you want to eat of their delicacies", said David. 'Fitting in can become more important than being God's friend." It went on. It seemed to me to be somewhat isolationist. The pastor, a man younger than myself, spoke of the dangers of associating with those who aren't on the right path. But, I have to say, in a gentle way, not condemning those who weren't on the right path, but beseeching those in the room to be careful. And, with all earnestness and intense caring, to be thoughtful and to be good. They were really focused on 'being good' as interpreted from the New Testament. To 'smite with kindness' those who don't know Christ. And much more quotable fragments but the picture begins to solidify. These folks believe what they're saying. They pass around unleavened cracker and grape juice and partake together. They meet and hope, earnestly, for the saving of a 'detiorating and ever more lost world'. They aren't pretending. Unlike the men at the Seventh Day Adventist Church who absently strummed at their guitars whilst their wives absorbed the limelight at the front of the stage and sang their love of Jesus and God, these men aren't pretending in hopes of getting lucky on Saturday night, or at least simple domestic survival. In fact, these men are alone in service. I didn't understand, at first, what 'Men Who Serve' meant. This calender with names and titles was handed to us as we entered, but it turns out that 'Men Who Serve' are the men who handle all of the various aspects of the service. Women don't handle anything. They can sing but they're not to be in Service.
Sounds kind of anachronistic from our perspective, something we instinctively reject, but looking at this room full of folks from my traveller's perspective, maybe it is a good thing. The vanity of women kind of do distract from the whole thing somehow. It becomes more complicated and about something more in a way with their involvement. It is almost refreshing to have things distilled and free of that added complexity. Or perhaps that is the simple perspective of another throw-back chauvinist.
Yeah, these folks are really conservative; in their belief of the Bible as faultless, and their disavowal of musical instruments, and segregation of women, really, really conservative. Almost like from another time. Ignorance plays a role, willful or inherited. And that is where I got hung up. Rarely have I met 'nice people' or 'good people' that one hopes to believe underly the great masses of American religious. Instead, I find mostly simple ignorance. And yet, when coupled with such earnest intent to do good and be good, what can you say? What to even feel toward them? The Bible Baptist crowd I can consign to the gas chambers of my mind. Their level of fear, anger and simple minded aggression allows me to write them off as insalvageable detritus. These folks, their big eyed earnestness I can find nothing but compassion for. If I find intolerance, anger, or hatred within myself at their almost island-like culture of anachronism, then it seems to me that I become the Bible Baptists. I become the fearer and the intolerant one. And yet, within these people lie the seeds of ignorance that lead to dark futures. From inside their prayer bulletin, they pray for 'Government, that it return to God.' It would be so much easier if they wore loin cloths and gathered around smudge fires and lived a more ancient lifestyle. I could place them in some safe pocket of respectful condescension within my mind. As it is, I really don't know how to take them or how to regard them. The distance between us makes them truly foreign.
The hymn of departure was 'I'll fly away'. They did a beautiful job of singing it in rounds without any apparent direction. I thought of my Dad and both of our struggles with inner demons through the winter. Yes, we're clever in our knowledge of biological and scientific truths, smug in our attendance of these services. We look down from our lofty heights of enlightenment, but I wonder if these folks are also troubled with similar personal demons? Perhaps they hold some heights of their own? As we departed, the pastor caught us at the door and turned from his entire congregation to have a few words with us. To find out why we were there and who we were. To take a moment and say he'd love the opportunity to get to know us better. He wasn't just saying it. He wasn't pretending. He really meant it. In all earnestness. And that was more than I was prepared for, more than I had brought through the door, that day. Dodging awkwardly out the door and out of the potential for conversation with only a few quick words of thanks, breaking eye contact from his open intensity, left me feeling uneasy. Perhaps we had eaten of their delicacies.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Churches_of_Christ
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