THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, November 3, 1996 TAG: 9610300050
SECTION: REAL LIFE PAGE: K3 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY TERRI WILLIAMS, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: 79 lines
AT FIRST, spirituality for me meant sitting between my mommy's knees and having my hair pressed and greased until it was nice, shiny and straight for church on Sunday.
It meant sitting with my family at Eighteenth Avenue Baptist Church, only minutes from Tennessee State University where my parents met and fell in love at a fraternity party. It meant listening to Sister Anna reverently testify to the Lord in her strong, hoarse alto voice. It meant trying not to giggle when Sister Eula got the spirit and fell out near the church pews.
When we moved from Nashville to Houston, my parents found spirituality at First United Methodist Church downtown at Main and Clay Streets.
Sure enough, we kids had to follow.
It wasn't a church in the African-American tradition.
The pastor, Charles L. Allen, was definitely a WASP, and the hymns the choir sang were conservative and straight-laced. No more Sister Eulas falling out near the church pews. No more yummy coconut or strawberry cakes after service.
Yet it was an integrated church; about 15 percent black. But when I turned 20, I decided to find a United Methodist church that was more than 15 percent. After all, I was and am a single black woman, so the black male-to-female ratio meant everything.
I've since moved to Virginia, and spirituality is not revolving around men. Actually, I've found spirituality close to home, my apartment and surrounding neighborhood.
A good Sunday for me means slipping my toes into my Birkenstocks, drinking some 7-Eleven coffee and diving into my Bible and quietly reflecting on His word. It means long jogs along Norfolk's waterfront while Stevie Wonder blasts ``The Secret Life of Plants'' through my ear phones.
I've visited more than a dozen churches in Hampton Roads, and I've found that church doesn't necessarily mean an altar and pews.
I first sought a United Methodist church. But in Hampton Roads, unlike Houston, it's hard to find a truly integrated church. I'd love to have my parents' pioneering spirit, but when you've been the lone brown face among a sea of genteel, John Warner and Elizabeth Dole look-a-likes, it can be very lonely.
So I said forget Methodism and John Wesley.
I'll try the Baptists.
I'll try the Unitarians.
But like opposite ends of a discordant rainbow, one sect was too rigid, the other too nebulous.
I almost thought I found one Baptist church in Virginia Beach. It was integrated. But I was quickly disappointed when a blond-haired ``brother'' showed me to the ``little ladies' Bible study.'' And you mean to tell me that the pastors would prefer if women wore dresses and pumps instead of slacks?
Next.
I began visiting a more African-American Baptist church. Forget ``We Are the World.'' I'd rather watch Sister Eula fall out near the church pews.
It was a dynamic service. The Norfolk church was committed to community service.
But then rumors floated that the married minister had an affair - after preaching many sermons on the ills of adultery, you-reap-what-you-sow and other sins.
I stopped going, to the consternation of my mom and a friend at the church.
``How could you allow the trappings of one man, a human who's not perfect, to shake your faith?'' they asked.
I can't answer that. Not now.
Perhaps I'm being as judgmental and moralistic as some of the fiery sermons I've heard at the churches I've visited.
Eventually I may come back.
But until then, spirituality for me means actually trying to live and appreciate His word. Or simply marveling at His wondrous works.
When I jog along the waterfront at dawn, I love to take in the beauty of the sun's rays bathing the murky gray waters in molten gold as tug boats glide by.
I'm trying to live by the Word. It isn't always easy; I struggle with my faults. It's a life-long journey. But it's becoming easier as I grow older. At this point, spirituality isn't always within a church's confines.
It's within. ILLUSTRATION: Drawing
Finding the right church for you can be difficult. by CNB