Looking for a Segregated House

I’ve been thinking a lot about going back to church. We essentially stopped going earlier this year. I wasn’t getting what I needed, so I just stopped going.

The UU church philosophy is a good for me, but the congregation we attended isn’t. I loved the pastor, who seemed to take a genuine interest in me and Hope after services on Sunday. Her homilies often cover topics that I’m passionate about like civil rights and racial reconciliation through a faith lens, but the congregation is not very diverse in terms of race or age–the mean age is well more than 10 years older than me. Additionally, our presence seemed to grow the congregation’s racial diversity by a third; on more than one occasion Hope and I were the only non-White folks in attendance.  I wish I could say I didn’t notice this, but not acknowledging that would be absurd. 

Then there was that one homily about Black Lives Matter that some of the congregants complained about at the little meet and greet right after the service. A gentleman asked me if I agreed with the pastor’s homily because he thought the pastor was getting way out of line with this BLM discussion. I was polite but firm that it was refreshing to be a part of a church with a leader who recognized the need to talk about race, injustice and how the fit in the practice of Unitarianism. He promptly excused himself to get some juice, and never rejoined the conversation he initiated. You can only imagine how welcomed I felt in that moment. #sarcasm

Shortly after the election of my discontent, I just became even warier of where I worshipped. Real talk: Honestly, it’s been a hard year trusting White folks. Yes, yes, I know #notall, but really as a larger block, White folks stayed disappointing me this year. The demographics that led to the election of the person currently occupying the American White House (I try to refrain from uttering his name, kinda like #Beetlejuice) undermined a lot of the interracial trust I’d worked hard to personally cultivate.  I found the number of ministers who spoke in his favor to undermine what little remaining faith I had in the clergy, and White clergy with national platforms that I held in reasonably high regard cosigning his foolery?? Don’t even get me started.  As we now ponder the upcoming Alabama election that includes a candidate who allegedly trolled for teenage girls at the local mall and thought this behavior was ok as long as he asked for permission from their parents, I am mystified by how many pastors have come to his defense. It’s hard to have faith in folks who are supposed to lead and counsel our moral compasses these days. #Istaydisappointed #whygotochurchanyway

So, yeah, I’m having a hard time reconciling what I believe and what I see in practice and how much I want to be associated with any of it and why on earth would I want Hope to be exposed. Seriously, this is a major thing when you ain’t sure you want your kid to go to church because the pastor and congregation may be publicly cosigning on some bullschnitt. 

After I was grown and owning a home of my own, I have cyclically gone to church. Every few years or so I would feel very strongly the desire to go and be in fellowship somewhere. And then that desire and/or need would fade and I would step down to couch worship and then no fellowship or formal worship anywhere. I’m starting to cycle back into wanting to be in fellowship somewhere, but everything feels very different now.

As an adult, I’ve been adamant about my desire to be in fellowship in spaces that were diverse and integrated. Sundays are the most segregated day of the week; I don’t want that for myself and I don’t want that for Hope either. I also want to be somewhere that was going to be progressive in its profession and practice of faith; I’m not checking for homophobic sermons, rants about liberals or a congregation that believes that American Christians are under attack, what with all the Christian privilege in this country. I’m also not checking for pastors advancing the prosperity gospel. I’m just not interested in these and a few other key things central to my faith, but that leaves A LOT of fertile ground to talk and teach about.

But there’s something else these days: I need to be in spaces that are spiritually, psychically and racially safe. I slug it out in very White spaces day in and day out talking about and promoting diversity, and it exhausts me. I love my job, but make no mistake facilitating discussions about diversity and inclusion is not easy work, and I don’t even think I’m on the real front lines of this work. I come home sometimes spiritually and psychically empty because it’s just that hard. And although I have constructed a life in which some of my closest ride or die friends are White (and I LOVE Y’ALL so much it hurts), the day to day grind this last year has worn on my racial identity more than any other period of my life. Sitting around watching young White folks carrying tiki torches at night talkin’ bout how threatened *they*  feel because some statues of Civil War losers erected purely to intimidate Black folks might come down will really mess with you. Hearing your mother, who integrated her high school 50 years ago, talk about having similar fears that she had during Jim Crow effs with you. Having a White House occupant who still believes in the guilt of the DNA exonerated Central Park Five and who will tweet nasty things at Black and brown folks who he doesn’t think are respectful or grateful enough just grates at you. Wondering what the worst case racial scenario when you’re brown or black in this country might look like in the coming years will keep you up watching the ceiling fan turn at night. These times…these times are or should be hard for the emotional and spiritually minded among us. 

In thinking about all of that and feeling the need to be in fellowship somewhere, I know that more than anything I want to be in a safe space on Sunday morning. I need to be in a safe space on Sunday morning. I need that safety so that I can manage the other 6 days of the week. And #notall churches are safe for people who look like me. #reallyrealtalk

So, for the first time in more than 20 years, I’m going to start looking for a Black church to attend. I realized this after a lot of thought. It kind of goes against all the things I believe in related to diversity, but I’m at this place where…I worry that this is the only way I will make it through this particular spiritual cycle. I need to be safe, I need Hope’s spiritual journey to be safe, and my trust factor has fallen such that my desire to worship in a broader community has taken a backseat to my need for safe spiritual food.

I mentioned it to Hope recently and found that my daughter wants that kind of safety too. If she goes, she wants to be in a space with people who look like us (which by itself should be the topic of another post since how she engages and identifies as a woman of color is fraught with some serious baggage). 

What does it say about the state of things when folks who really want to integrate must segregate for their own safety? Well, it doesn’t say anything new; it just says that this has been the way for so long and it’s just bubbling up and affecting more people.

And what else does it say when churches aren’t safe spaces for everyone?

Hope and I are making a list of local Black churches and will commence to visiting soon. 

I’ll say this…it will be good to hear some high-quality gospel choirs. I’ve appreciated the diversity of congregations I’ve joined or visited, but the music…um, it was just ok. Nobody does gospel like Black churches, so… yeah. We look forward to visiting.

There is no guarantee that we will find what we are looking for, but I’m hopeful. Still, I do really need to sit and reconcile how this diversity professional has been run off from worshipping in diverse spaces because it’s just potentially too painful. Looking for a segregated house of worship wasn’t a part of my plan.

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About AdoptiveBlackMom

I'm a single Black professional woman living in the DC area. I adopted tween a few years ago, and this blog chronicles our journey. Feel free to contact me at adoptiveblackmom@gmail.com, on Facebook at Adoptive Black Mom, and on Twitter @adoptiveblkmom. ©www.AdoptiveBlackMom.com, 2013-2017. All rights reserved. (Don't copy my ish without credit!) View all posts by AdoptiveBlackMom

9 responses to “Looking for a Segregated House

  • Susan

    OMG – I had no idea you didn’t go to a black church and I think you should. Spirituality isn’t something that you participate in to make a point it is somewhere you should go to just melt. Of course a black church could have its own set of problems (not judging – I have no idea what those problems would be – but problems are usually plentiful wherever we go) but I definitely think you should give it a try.

    I grew up in a UU church and did the whole UU thing my whole life. As an adult I have tried again and again to go back and raise my kids in a UU church and I just can’t. From the outside it seems so amazing, liberal and freeing with lesbian ministers and immigrant advocacy groups and I am sure that is how it feels to someone who is white, very well educated and who has a well nourishing cash flow. But most UU members that I have encountered believe in applying their good will to benefit those below them, those with ‘struggles’ those that are different than them – they fully embrace the “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…” rhetoric that so many people with elite mind sets and unending privilege engage in.

    When I was a young mother I had a beat up old mini van that was rusty all over and a young daughter. I was a feminist and I didn’t wear a ring or change my name or ask people to call me ‘Mrs.’ My husband, in the depths of desperation to provide for his family, took a job in which he traveled so much he basically lived in another state and we were so poor we could’t travel much to see each other. I moved to a ‘big city’ and was so eager to take my daughter to the big, fancy, UU church in that town. I can’t even tell you how excited I was. Every week we would drive in our rusted out van and go to the first service (there were two in this big fancy church) and then I would go get Pooky and take her to coffee hour between services. There was a big table with coffee and cookies and two kinds of cups – “If you are new use the blue,” said a sign by the cups. And every week I would use a blue cup and drink coffee out of it and walk around – and nobody ever came to talk to me. Pooky would attempt to play with other kids and the other moms would never talk to me. One day someone finally did come and talk to me and it was a very old man who asked me if he could make a rocking horse for Pooky because he understood how hard it is for poor kids that don’t have dads. OMG.

    This UU church was so wealthy and had so many advocacy and outreach groups and I realized that to them I was worse to them than all the people that they were trying to help – and I wasn’t even asking for help I was just asking for inclusion. It has been hard for me to find forgiveness for UUs after that experience. After many more attempts and many more UU churches I have realized that it is not the church for me.

    Now I actually do fit the stereotype of the typical UU woman – white, well educated, makes pretty good money and can offer financial and physical support for all of their programs to uplift and empower all the sad people in this world – and I think going to an all black church would be more spiritually welcoming.

    • AdoptiveBlackMom

      Left the black church because the ones I attended strayed far, far away from the liberation theology I felt like I needed. Religion shouldn’t be oppressive and it shouldn’t tolerate oppression. I found that the more integrated churches I attended allowed me to create a comfortable space for my brand of theology; certainly, they weren’t a perfect fit, but really is any place a perfect fit? It wasn’t so much about making a point, but finding a place where I could bring all of me.

      Yes, to the UU experience. I imagine that as a black single mom I fit a stereotype there as well. When we first started going, Hope thrived there. She made a few friends and managed to make connections with other kids from her school who attended the church. Theology wise, I’m all the way down with UU, but that congregation was not a good fit. It feels much too exhausting to find another integrated church situation.

      I can’t help thinking that none of this is how church should be..none of it.

  • TAO

    Go where you and Hope will feel filled up, you won’t get that if you don’t feel safe – that’s the only criteria you need to be concerned about, what’s good for you and Hope. That’s the point of going to church.

  • Beth

    Are you familiar with TFAM (The Fellowship of Affirming Ministries)? It’s an organization of primarily African American churches, with a focus on inclusivity and social justice. It might be a good resource in finding the right church for you both. I hope you can find somewhere you feel safe and spiritually fed.

  • HerdingChickens

    I hear you on this one. We left our church this year after no one mentioned Charlottesville AT ALL. After we left a congregant mentioned that it “might be too controversial.” You think?! So we’re out. Finding another church is daunting. I want to find a safe space that doesn’t back down from doing/saying what is right. I also want to find a space that is accepting and welcoming to the LGBT community. This is very important to us. Surprisingly it’s a lot harder than I thought it would be. With the holidays approaching we have nowhere to go. 😢 Best of luck to you.

  • Beth

    When I decided to start taking my girls to church, I wanted to find an AA church – they are black and I’m not, and I wanted them to have that. I’m also married to another woman and I needed to find a church where that would be ok. I was fortunate enough to find my local congregation of the Metropolitan Community Church, which is a denomination founded by and for LGBT people in the 1960s. My local congregation is about 95% black, which I’m guessing is because white LGBT people locally have an easier time finding accepting churches.

    There was a time I would never have considered going to the MCC because I didn’t want to go to church in a “gay segregated environment.” But now on Sundays I’m happy to be there surrounded by other LGBT people, and I’m almost the only white face, and my children get to be surrounded by other black people, and it’s where we feel at home.

    It can be so hard to find a church that’s right for all the parts of us that we bring to the table, and what we need might change at different parts of our lives. I really hope you can find the right place for your family to feel safe and supported.

  • Melissa | The Cork Board Blog

    Thanks for sharing. We feel alienated by the organized church as well…for different reasons, but in the end we don’t feel safe at church either. We’ve been reaching out to others who are disenfranchised and exploring what a smaller, more authentic community would look like. So much of my church baggage is wrapped up in things that happen once a church gets large enough to be it’s own entity. I’ll be praying you find a community where you and Hope are safe and where you’ll be able to experience corporate worship and gathering again!

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