I have been a part of the church for as long as I can remember. I have contributed to and upheld its cultural norms as a zealous advocate. However, a recent incident triggered a major paradigm shift and redefined my philosophy of this bureaucratic organization. I renounce my support for the cultural norms of the Apostolic church. I am convinced that its mores and norms inadvertently affect a spirit of religiosity that is akin to a false sense of spirituality that renders its victim incapable of objectivity.
I would love to dive into my judgment from the onset, but the sensitive nature of the subject warrants some background explanation. The transition occurred in late spring on a warm Sunday morning. My sister, Susan and I arrived at church about half an hour late and were ushered to vacant chairs by a smiling usher who greeted us warmly. Song service was in full swing and we eagerly joined in the harmony. I felt liberated in that glorious atmosphere. I had not been to church in almost three weeks, due to other social, work and class related commitments. My concerned pastor had called a few times to ensure that all was well. I admired his charisma, consideration and sincerity, but I was not there to pay homage to him. I was there because my soul needed a desperate release; a connection with the creator.
As the worship progressed, with hands flailing in the air and bodies swaying to the music belted out by the keyboardist, drummer and saxophonist, the humidity in the atmosphere grew. To my dismay, I realized that the air condition and the ceiling fans were off. I tried in vain to ignore the rising heat and the beads of perspiration gathering on my legs. I pondered my options; I could walk outside for a breath of fresh air, but that would not change the temperature upon my return. I could notify one of the ushers, but one quick look around quelled that notion. They appeared to be oblivious to their external surroundings, or possibly contented and preoccupied with praise.
I tried to convince myself that it was just temporary and employed all my mental techniques on maintaining a consistently cool body temperature, but to no avail. As a last resort, I inquired from Susan, “Are you warm, as well?” Her affirmative nod was the only encouragement I needed to surpass the unspoken norm. I stepped into the aisle, walked to the nearest ceiling fan and tiptoed to pull the string that would hopefully turn on the fan. I watched in consternation as the light went out instead, and dimness emanated through my section. Realizing that I could not reach the shorter string option that would turn on the fan, I turned around to the Ushers to ask for their assistance. I was chagrined to discover that I had become the focus of everyone’s attention; even the musicians were still.
I walked gingerly to my chair with the knowledge that I had ‘broken out of the mold again.’ In defiance of the cultural norm of the apostolic church, I refused to wear a head covering/hat, refused to comply with their values that the adorning should be on the inside and not the outside; I wore jewelry and make-up at my whim. I refused to maintain personal and close friendship with church members and I refused their dress code for a less conservative style. Was I going to hell for it? They certainly seemed to think so. I sat down in my chair, amidst angry whispers of “who she thinks she is?” and “No! She did not lose her mind.”
I forced myself to sit through the rest of the service and maintain a positive attitude. I thought to myself, maybe I was wrong for dishonoring the deeply ingrained mores and norms of this church. I had been attending the church for the past four years and I should not have been incredulous by their response to my perceived boldness. Should it matter that their malicious comments stemmed from a misconception that I purposefully turned off the lights? Why should I try to explain my actions, when they had already cast the first stone? My eyes spanned the congregation, as if seeing it for the first time. No church is perfect, but there were so much visible imperfections; men were purposefully seated in the first few rows at the front, while senior church folks huddled in the rows behind the men and visitors were seated at the back. Such religious segregation on a Sunday morning! There were so many broad brimmed hats that even my tall 5’10” stature could not afford me an unobstructed view of the pulpit. And hats were compulsory!
For those who think I sound blasphemous, just hear me out. It is folks like these who could bring the ‘cussing’ out of you. Just when I thought the ‘old me’ was crucified, I felt like screaming ‘F U,’ to those whisperers, and by that I mean forgive you. I could understand if they critiqued my late attendance, “how dare you show up in God’s house late after all he has done for you.” These are the same folks who fast and pray for revival and souls to be saved and when a visitor shows up dressed uncharacteristically in jeans, they are rejected outright. Folks sanctimoniously raise their eyebrows, glance at each other in exasperation and act like smiles were a costly expression, simply because they do not recognize the answer to their prayers.
Well! One thing is certain, God is no respecter of persons; anyone can get their prayers answered. I believe this experience was rather essential for a defined direction and a more profound understanding of the personality of God.
I would love to dive into my judgment from the onset, but the sensitive nature of the subject warrants some background explanation. The transition occurred in late spring on a warm Sunday morning. My sister, Susan and I arrived at church about half an hour late and were ushered to vacant chairs by a smiling usher who greeted us warmly. Song service was in full swing and we eagerly joined in the harmony. I felt liberated in that glorious atmosphere. I had not been to church in almost three weeks, due to other social, work and class related commitments. My concerned pastor had called a few times to ensure that all was well. I admired his charisma, consideration and sincerity, but I was not there to pay homage to him. I was there because my soul needed a desperate release; a connection with the creator.
As the worship progressed, with hands flailing in the air and bodies swaying to the music belted out by the keyboardist, drummer and saxophonist, the humidity in the atmosphere grew. To my dismay, I realized that the air condition and the ceiling fans were off. I tried in vain to ignore the rising heat and the beads of perspiration gathering on my legs. I pondered my options; I could walk outside for a breath of fresh air, but that would not change the temperature upon my return. I could notify one of the ushers, but one quick look around quelled that notion. They appeared to be oblivious to their external surroundings, or possibly contented and preoccupied with praise.
I tried to convince myself that it was just temporary and employed all my mental techniques on maintaining a consistently cool body temperature, but to no avail. As a last resort, I inquired from Susan, “Are you warm, as well?” Her affirmative nod was the only encouragement I needed to surpass the unspoken norm. I stepped into the aisle, walked to the nearest ceiling fan and tiptoed to pull the string that would hopefully turn on the fan. I watched in consternation as the light went out instead, and dimness emanated through my section. Realizing that I could not reach the shorter string option that would turn on the fan, I turned around to the Ushers to ask for their assistance. I was chagrined to discover that I had become the focus of everyone’s attention; even the musicians were still.
I walked gingerly to my chair with the knowledge that I had ‘broken out of the mold again.’ In defiance of the cultural norm of the apostolic church, I refused to wear a head covering/hat, refused to comply with their values that the adorning should be on the inside and not the outside; I wore jewelry and make-up at my whim. I refused to maintain personal and close friendship with church members and I refused their dress code for a less conservative style. Was I going to hell for it? They certainly seemed to think so. I sat down in my chair, amidst angry whispers of “who she thinks she is?” and “No! She did not lose her mind.”
I forced myself to sit through the rest of the service and maintain a positive attitude. I thought to myself, maybe I was wrong for dishonoring the deeply ingrained mores and norms of this church. I had been attending the church for the past four years and I should not have been incredulous by their response to my perceived boldness. Should it matter that their malicious comments stemmed from a misconception that I purposefully turned off the lights? Why should I try to explain my actions, when they had already cast the first stone? My eyes spanned the congregation, as if seeing it for the first time. No church is perfect, but there were so much visible imperfections; men were purposefully seated in the first few rows at the front, while senior church folks huddled in the rows behind the men and visitors were seated at the back. Such religious segregation on a Sunday morning! There were so many broad brimmed hats that even my tall 5’10” stature could not afford me an unobstructed view of the pulpit. And hats were compulsory!
For those who think I sound blasphemous, just hear me out. It is folks like these who could bring the ‘cussing’ out of you. Just when I thought the ‘old me’ was crucified, I felt like screaming ‘F U,’ to those whisperers, and by that I mean forgive you. I could understand if they critiqued my late attendance, “how dare you show up in God’s house late after all he has done for you.” These are the same folks who fast and pray for revival and souls to be saved and when a visitor shows up dressed uncharacteristically in jeans, they are rejected outright. Folks sanctimoniously raise their eyebrows, glance at each other in exasperation and act like smiles were a costly expression, simply because they do not recognize the answer to their prayers.
Well! One thing is certain, God is no respecter of persons; anyone can get their prayers answered. I believe this experience was rather essential for a defined direction and a more profound understanding of the personality of God.
