Same job description--Different clothes. Preaching in a Black Church

Ninth Monday after Pentecost

We resume my faith journey narrative in the summer of 1983 in Greensboro. We rented a condo that we eventually bought and would live in for the next 21 years. Marianne got a teaching job in High Point. John had to leave friends and being just 15 miles from his Dad. He also had to leave his two dogs. It was a substantial adjustment, but he never complained. 

My job description was exactly what it was at Tennessee Wesleyan, Chaplain and Assistant Professor of Religion. The salary was a fair chunk higher. Both colleges were United Methodist. Both were small. The student bodies were similar. There were, however, some distinct differences. At TWC I was the entire Philosophy and Religion Department and therefore the Chair. At GC there were four professors in the Dept., two full and two assistant. The full profs did not get along. The older one Jim, was a grandfather figure to the students, popular as a teacher, but not academically rigorous. He was a de facto chaplain. The previous chaplain was part time to the college and not well known beyond the students in the "Student Christian Fellowship." Jim loved having that role with the students but not having the responsibilities that went with it. The younger of the full-profs, Barnes, had just been made Dean, though he still taught a course a semester. He was a reasonably well published scholar and a rigorous academician. 

Another new Assistant Prof came the same year as I came. He, Doug, was a University of Chicago Ph.D. Doug was brilliant, the last student of Paul Ricoeur, one of the great thinkers of the 20th century. Doug had also studied in Germany, where he met his wife Marget, who was German. Doug was fluent in German. They brought up their two girls bilingual. The older one became the Chair of the German Department at Smith College.

The President of the College, Jim Barrett had definite plans for me. He wanted me to take command of the Chaplaincy and displace Jim, the prof's, role as de-facto Chaplain. To that end, he had me wear a clerical collar all the time I was at the college. That was different. Back in those days in NC, people tended to think that any man in a collar was a Catholic Priest. If I went from the college to the grocery store on the way home, strangers would address me with, "Hello, Father." For some reason I thought that was kind of cool. It did work. The new students looked to me as their Chaplain.

I was faculty advisor to two student groups, the Student Christian Fellowship and the Gospel Choir. The Gospel Choir had about 20 black students and one white. It provided me with two of the high points of my life as a Christian. The second year I was there, they had a weekend tour of Washington and Baltimore, with three performances. They had to have a chaperone. I was it. 

The second performance was a Sunday morning church service at an African-American Holiness church. I was the only white person there. The service was quite a bit livelier than I was used to. The choir procession danced in. The singing was powerful. The preacher preached with a very interactive congregation, as is customary in African-American churches. When he was finished, he noted that another pastor, Reverend (I don't remember his name) was there, and asked him to come make "remarks." That second pastor preached a full sermon. Service was now an hour and a half long, though the congregation didn't seem the slightest bit interested in it ending. 

The pastor of the church came back to the pulpit. I was, of course, wearing my clerical collar. He said, "I see we have another preacher in the congregation (he was looking at me). He said, "Would you like to come up for some "remarks." I was totally taken by surprise. Fortunately, I had done plenty of extemporaneous preaching. I came up and started preaching, mostly focusing on a couple of Bible stories. The congregation came in with "Amens," "preach on," "yes" at the end of every sentence. Almost immediately I began to feel the presence of the Holy Spirit, which to me is the essence of African-American worship. I got into the rhythm of it. My voice moved to crescendos of power as did their interaction and to dimuendos of focus, as did theirs. The more I preached; the more I had to say. When I finished and retook my seat in the pew, I noticed that I had preached for 25 minutes. The service was now over two hours. I could tell that this was normal for this church. After the service, we had a wonderful congregational dinner in the Fellowship Hall. Many of the parishioners talked to me and thanked me. They were utterly wonderful to me.

Late that afternoon, we bused on to Baltimore for a dinner and service in a National Baptist Church (the predominantly Black Baptist denomination). I was called on for remarks there as well. I was not taken by surprise this time. It was not quite as dramatic as before, but still another tremendous experience for me. The Gospel Choir sounded great in both services and in the Friday evening performance. I was proud to be associated with them. It was then a long bus ride back to Greensboro, arriving around 3:30 am.

Those were the only two times I have preached in Black Churches. It was such a powerful experience for me. Rather than preaching to a congregation, I felt like I was preaching with the congregation. The Holy Spirit was all over all of us.

Faithfully,

Christian