For the past
couple of years, Elam United Methodist Church has been my “first church.” I attended their early worship service this
morning and then arrived at my “second church” 40 minutes away, walked into the
social hall and almost immediately became aware of someone hugging my
knees. (I have since begun referring to her as my serial hugger.) I looked down and four year old
Annie (not her real name) was looking up at me with big eyes that pierced my soul and a smile
that conveyed an unspoken message in a language I don’t yet know. I met Annie and at least a couple hundred
of her neighborhood friends while I sat, almost on the ground, next to a giant
inflatable sliding board, in the intersection of East Tioga and Ella Streets in
Kensington, a section of Philadelphia (where I was always told no white person
should go), during a block party this fall sponsored by Urban Hope, my “second
church.”
Not even two
months earlier, I journeyed to Kensington in a bit of a prejudiced panic and
yet drawn by two unrelated and spectacular story lines in my life. The prejudice was not along racial lines but
rather against not being crazy about bullets and knives heading in my
direction. This was my image of
Kensington.
Not even two
months earlier, I left my rented home in the Philadelphia suburbs on a cool afternoon
to go to a concert at Urban Hope. I
drove there with my car windows up and doors locked because I’d been taught
that this is what you do when you are in such an area. I found a parking place in a “parking lot”
that left me wondering if I’d see my car again.
It was a long block away from Urban Hope. I opened my car door – a first for me in such
a place and was greeted by the same cool air that I had closed my door on in
the suburbs. I tried to look tough (yea
right!) as I made my way to the safety of the church building. That one block was a really long walk!
Once inside,
I felt safe and welcomed by the people of the church and the band which was
fantastic. As the evening was concluding,
I realized it was getting dark and my car was a block away - maybe. I looked at my friend Rick and asked if I
would be safe going to my car. I’ll
never forget his response: He put his
Puerto-Rican skin toned arm next to my Irish toned arm and said “With your
complexion, everyone will know you’re here with Urban Hope and even the drug
dealers will keep you safe.” In a moment
that needs to hear what I just wrote so as not to be offended by the outrageous
nature of my response, I looked at Rick and said, “Thank God for drug dealers.”
Six visits
and five weeks later, today, without emptying my car of all my possessions prior
to leaving home, I drove to my favorite parking lot, parked, got out, strolled
with ease to the church, got my knees hugged, heard some glorious praise and
worship music vocally led by Brenda who is Rick’s wife, heard a powerful tag
team sermon about overcoming depression as described in 1 Kings 19, had a
fantastic meatball sandwich – OK, two of them, and then casually made my way
back to my car that I knew would be there with all its contents and stopped to
chat with a couple of non-Urban Hope people who were sitting on their porches.
I hopped in
my car and drove away with my windows open so as not to miss the sounds of
Kensington and the slight fragrances of the corner restaurants as I sat unconcerned
at red traffic lights along my path home.
I don’t know
where this journey of attending two churches is going for me but I do know
this: Thanks to Rick, Brenda, Annie, her parents and her friends and so many
residents of Kensington, human beings made in the image of God as are you and am
I, my life has been made better forever.
Thanks be to God!!!
