Epiphany
Having a child led me to a religious awakening.
by Pamela Appea
October 15, 2009
It took a forced conversion to Islam on the day of my wedding to my Muslim husband to make me realize how much I missed Christianity, my childhood faith. Islam is a great religion, but it didn't feel right to be mandated to change my religion in order to get married. A West African immigrant, my mother was a Protestant for a number of years and then a Quaker. There were certainly some months where she did not go to church every Sunday, but my mother always spoke with me about the spiritual aspects of nature, social issues, equality and inequality, doing the right thing.
And as soon as I became a mother, I desperately wanted to make sure my son would grow up with Christmas carols and Easter egg hunts. I started going to church, well, religiously. People who knew me, including relatives, were shocked. But I wanted to create a religious foundation for my family. I wanted my son to be baptized and to have some sense of belonging to something larger than himself and our family. We joined a wonderful Presbyterian church in Manhattan.
And yet, it hasn't been as easy as I thought it would be to avoid feeling conflicted sometimes, particularly when it concerns secular considerations, including social, political and racial issues.
I'm a black mom who happens to be half-white, so when the Trinity Church scandal was erupting, I found myself thinking a lot about the political basis of African-American church history. Trinity Church, like so many evangelical megachurches throughout the country, had a superstar pastor, packed services, fantastic gospel singing and ministries that provided essential and admirable support services to the poor, sick, hungry, homeless and downtrodden.
I crave sedate, peaceful worship.
African-American churches have been political gathering spots stretching back to the days of the slave trade. Many pastors and ministers urge their congregations to strive to understand the causes and dynamics of power, money, politics, imperialism and racism. And all of that was great, it just wasn't for me. I didn't grow up attending that kind of church, and I didn't enjoy contentious religious-political debates every week (at church or at the obligatory post-church brunch), plus the worship style was totally different from what I like. I crave sedate, peaceful worship.
One recent Sunday, I struck up a conversation with an amiable African woman on the subway. She was from the same country as my mother and so, predictably, invited me to her church. "I belong to a church already," I explained. She looked even more concerned when I told her the name and location, a wealthy white area. "Do you really like it there?" she asked as if I were a wounded bird. "Do they accept you?"
©2009 Pamela Appea and Babble
About the Author
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Pamela Appea is a New York City-based freelance writer. She frequently writes about health issues and children. Her son is two. |
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