Sermon Series: Part III – Religious Identity and Community: The Most Segregated Hour of the Week
Reading & Sermon preached by Reverend Carolyn Patierno
May 11, 2008

This from the November 4, 1952, issue of the New York Times,

Eleven o'clock Sunday morning--when most Protestant churches are holding worship services--was designated yesterday as the "most segregated time" in America by Dr. Helen Kenyon.  ...  Addressing the annual Christian Frontiers forum of the Women's Society of Riverside Church, Dr. Kenyon said that interracial churches were like "oases in a great desert." She declared that American Protestantism tended to maintain the "status quo" and to shy away from "new neighbors and new ways of living.

As preachers sometimes do, Reverend King borrowed a phrase here and there.  This idea regarding the "most segregated hour of the week" was actually first suggested by Dr. Helen Kenyon who was the chair of the policy committee of the Department of United Church Women of the National Council of the Churches.  In an interview eleven years later in 1963, Rev. King was asked the following, "Don't you feel that integration can only be started and realized in the Christian church, not in schools or by other means?  This would be a means of seeing just who are true Christians."  In response, King said, "We must face the fact that in America, the church is still the most segregated major institution in America.  At 11:00 on Sunday morning when we stand and sing [that] Christ has no east or west, we stand at the most segregated hour in this nation.  This is tragic.  Nobody of honesty can over look this.  … I think that the opportunity of the future is to really go out and transform American society, and where else is there a better place than in the institution that should serve as the moral guardian of the community."  (Live interview at Western Michigan University, 1963)

This morning we land on the third part of a sermon series on the meaning and identity of religious community.   We began with the individual the conclusion of which was that if as result of your being a part of All Souls you strive to be a better person than before; if you find that you stick your neck out for others out of a sense of interconnectedness; if you show up here on Sunday mornings then you are indeed, a religious person. 
 
Last week, I suggested that what makes a religious community distinct from other types of communities is a commitment to do the work that tending to the needs of the whole requires; coming to recognize in each other something of ourselves;  and finally and centrally, that we worship together. 
 
If we are doing all of these things well, and accomplishing each and doing them well is no small feat, we have a pretty good shot of creating in Reverend King's words, "Beloved Community."    We may be feeling pretty accomplished on these fronts but we need not dig very deep to see that there will always be questions that need tending.  Here's one: many of you have noticed and commented on the fact that although our congregation reflects theological; generational; economic; and ethnic diversity our racial make-up does not reflect the same.  Nobody of honesty can overlook this reality.  And so we must ask ourselves why.  Why does this hour remain the most segregated hour of the week?
 
Let's begin with some historical insight into the 11:00 hour in question.  In my research I found some American church & civil rights history about which I'd been unaware.  At the start of the civil rights movement, a good number of Southern churches were unabashedly segregated, the practice institutionalized through written bylaws.   In response to this injustice came a protest strategy called "kneel-ins."  These took place at churches in Mississippi, Georgia, Alabama and Tennessee and followed a basic formula.  Usually led by a pastor, a racially integrated group of college students would choose several large and influential churches to visit together.  It may surprise you to learn that on most occasions, they were welcomed.  However, on those occasions when they were denied entry, they remained outside the church for the duration of the service, on their knees, praying.  Some churches began to employ guards who stood watch at the church doors.   Reverend Ashton Jones, a minister who returned to his native Georgia from California to lead the kneel-ins, was arrested for his role in a kneel-in at First Baptist Church in Atlanta.  During the protest, he shouted to passers-by, "Step right in, folks.  Worship a segregated God in a segregated church."   Jones was sentenced to one year in jail with six months of hard labor.  At Jones' sentencing hearing the judge said the following, "Other people have the right to worship a segregated God in a segregated church if they please.   Men have died on a thousand fields of battle for that precise right.  No one has a right to impose his views on the views of others in those matters.  That's what the jury has found you guilty of."  (Atlanta Constitution, 29 August 1963, A1.)
 
There were many other stories surrounding the kneel-in movement, all of them compelling.  They paint a stark and dramatic picture of that segregated hour.  As is typical in any social change, the image of justice that eventually emerged is one fueled by the courage of conviction expressed by people who dared to say no, in this case, no to racism.   
 
Now, we can hear this story in a number of ways.   Here in our northern perch, we can tell ourselves that this story is uniquely southern.  But we would be sadly mistaken.  Here these 40 years later, we could say that things are totally different now.  But we would be closing our eyes to a sad reality.  Here in this liberal religious tradition, we could say that this was a problem of conservative Christian traditions.  And we would be arrogantly mistaken while also closing our eyes to our own history. 
 
It's true that these stories, like all stories, reflect a particular social location.  It is also true that many churches now accept and understand that racial segregation is irreprehensible.   But still, it gives us pause to acknowledge that the make-up of the religious landscape at a certain hour on Sunday morning hasn't changed all that much.  And it brings us straight to the heart of our nation's painful ambivalence in the face of the persistence of racism and the persistence of race itself.  Confronting racism is profoundly difficult.  No wonder we'd rather leave it undisturbed!  Still, we do not wish to shy away from the vision of a multi-racial, multi-cultural congregation – that “oasis in the desert.”
 
Yet, if we want to become a multi-cultural and multi-racial congregation, we best have good reasons.  Those reasons have to be better than by being multi-racial and multi-cultural, we could feel really good about ourselves.  Our reasons must run deeper than the "It's a Small World After All" simplistic sensibility.  It's got to be more than if we had more people of color in the room, in the sanctuary, at the table, they would lead the white folks to a higher consciousness.  It's got to be more than believing that the mere presence of greater numbers of people of color will implicitly prove that as a congregation and as individuals, we've worked this stuff out.  That we could be relieved that the guilt with which white folks often struggle will perhaps nag at the back of our minds a little less.  These are not good reasons for desiring a multi-cultural, multi-racial congregation.  Although I don't imagine that many people would actually speak any one of these reasons out loud, if we are honest we harbor these in our hearts.
 
However, quite a few Souls have felt quite free to say, in these words, that All Souls is "mighty white."  And I've wondered about the under girding of that comment.  Is the speaker suggesting that All Souls is perhaps "mighty racist?"  Why haven't I asked?  Because like many of you, I have struggled mightly with this issue, and I have been afraid.
 
I would say that as a congregation we have slipped toward an unexamined life in the matter of race and racism.   And we must rectify that.  We must do what Rebecca Parker calls the "soul work" of the matter that requires a deeper level of listening and speaking.  It requires study and more than anything, a willingness to be vulnerable.  So, let's begin again.  It's time.  And then, after the hard work has been done, after the commitment has been made to keep at said hard work, because really, it's never done, you may want to assume that we will see droves of people of color at our door. 
 
What I am about to say may surprise you, Friends.  I question whether the vision of a multi racial and multi-cultural congregation may ever come to be, however beautiful is such a vision.  We could do all the ongoing work that becoming an anti-racist community demands and still our membership could remain largely white  -  and for valid reasons.  Somewhat sad, perhaps, but valid.  I'm going to back into my reasoning with a quote from Reverend Jeremiah Wright.  Rev. Wright has been quoted quite a bit of late.  This quote is one that has been closely examined in most cases, without generosity or appropriate context.  This is what Reverend Wright preached: 
 
We are a congregation which is Unashamedly Black and Unapologetically Christian.  Our roots in the Black religious experience and tradition are deep, lasting and permanent.  We are an African people, and remain "true to our native land," the mother continent, the cradle of civilization.  God has superintended our pilgrimage through the days of slavery, the days of segregation, and the long night of racism.  It is God who gives us the strength and courage to continuously address injustice as a people, and as a congregation.  We constantly affirm our trust in God through cultural expression of a Black worship service and ministries which address the Black Community.
 
When Senator Obama addressed the concerns that had been expressed about his pastor and congregation, he said many compelling things about race in America.   (It was a seminal speech that I encourage all of you to download and read.)  Most importantly for our purposes this morning, he talked about the culture of the black church.  As Reverend Wright's sermons called for a context, Senator Obama endeavored to supply just that.  No surprise here, his pastor's sermon and style is squarely located within African American culture.  Senator Obama described his church and others like it as places where people who are marginalized because of their race and / or culture can feel safe.  Black liberation theology is a prophetic and righteous tradition that translates into searing sermons that sometimes reflect and invoke the rage that white people fear from our African American brothers and sisters.  Those sermons aren't conceived for or preached to me, though I am deeply moved and challenged by them.  They are conceived for and preached to the people who make up the Trinity Church congregation, most of whom are African American.  I understand and respect the need for that space and safety that the black church is in a position to offer.  We are not in such a position which is why I wonder if the vision of a multi-cultural/ multi-racial congregation is possible or is farther off in our future than imaginable. 
 
I recently heard Anna Deveare Smith speak about race, as she often does.  She talked about race as gesture and I thought of our neighbors at First Hispanic Baptist Church and at Walls Temple AME Zion Church among other neighboring congregations that serve largely congregations of color.  I thought of the particular physical sensibility – gesture, as Smith would say – found there. In the music and hymns most especially, there is excitement, freedom and an inhibition - so in contrast to the mainline Protestant tradition from which we hail.  I love it so much.  And because I do and because I have sensed and hoped that you could reach into that rich tradition, we have embraced and learned some of that musical canon for our own worship services.  It has lifted us up and brought us to new spiritual places together.  But we ain't the black church – not theologically, and not culturally.  I held up two congregations with whom we are in relationship.  I consider Pastor Wilson & Pastor Martino and the good people they serve as friends which is why I invited each of them to bless our home at our building dedication.  And they did so because they recognize in me the sincere desire to be in sacred relationship with them and by association and action they believe the same of you.  They will never become Unitarian Universalists and neither will their congregants.  Yet, our connections with these congregations and pastors are part of what makes All Souls an ally in their eyes, which is not a straight shot for us of wildly different theology. 

In seminary, I chose to study preaching at the Baptist seminary within the consortium of seminaries of which the Pacific School of Religion was a part.  I figured that I best go to where the preachers were.  One day, my professor, the formidable Reverend Smith, who is a great admirer of Unitarian Universalism, turned to me and very pointedly asked, "What does Unitarian Universalism have to offer the black mother whose son has been gunned down in the street?  What would you, a UU minister, have to preach to that woman?" 
 
I will take up the answer to that question next week as I go deeper on this front.   But I carry that question in my heart, always.   He was asking what Reverend Rosemary Bray McNatt questioned in her own meditation on what she called the "problem of theology in the work of anti-racism."   That reading will follow this sermon and serve as fodder for next week's sermon.
 
For this week, the question of the segregated hour remains.  I have been in conversation with Reverend Josh Pawelek about this question and others regarding race and I have been guided by his wisdom.  Those of you who know Josh or are familiar with his activism, know that he has been one of our movement's most ardent white voices on the matter of anti-racism and anti-oppression work.  I leaned on him as I prepared this sermon and he reminded me of one of his central points of understanding and commitment to this work.  For Josh, anti-racism work means making ourselves accountable to people of color who are already part of our congregations and to people of color in our larger communities who are organized and working for racial justice.  When sorting through Reverend Wright's comments with me Josh responded, "Rev. Wright is saying 'Our church is accountable to black people.’ My question to you is 'What does that accountability look like when imported into a UU context?'  We can't be unashamedly black and unapologetically Christian, but there is something we can be."  And what we can be, in Josh's estimation, is accountable, reliable, trust-worthy, and caring.  
 
And then perhaps more people of color will come to know, trust, and rely on All Souls enough to claim this congregation and faith tradition as their own – and maybe they won’t.  Though as importantly, perhaps we will be in closer relationship with our neighbors regardless of the racial and cultural identities of our members.
 
We have a foundation upon which we may achieve this level and quality of accountability.  Currently and for years, All Souls has raised funds to contribute to the Martin Luther King and NAACP scholarships the local chapter offers.   There are usually at least two tables of Souls who attend that NAACP-sponsored event.  The congregation supports and is a member of the Kente Cultural Center and when that wonderful organization celebrated its 25th anniversary last September, a group of us attended on behalf of All Souls.  On April 4th, we hosted what was the start of a conversation on creating Beloved Community.  I will be participating in that ongoing conversation along with others in the New London community representing a wide range of racial, ethnic, religious, & economic backgrounds.  We are a Habitat for Humanity covenant congregation.  And most visibly, we host the Hospitality Center, part of the Homeless Hospitality Center's services. 
 
A solid foundation.  But now we've got to start building the house.  For really, how many of us are intimately involved in this effort of accountability?   How many attend the NAACP scholarship dinner?   How many know Kente and the services provided there?  How many attended the April 4th event (right here at All Souls?)  How many picked up a hammer and got themselves to one of Habitat for Humanity's home builds despite the fact that All Souls helped to sponsor one of the homes in the Davis Farm development?  How many are involved with the Hospitality Center?  I'll tell you: not many at all.  Not many at all. 
 
What we must do now, and it is overdue, is to get our house in order.  We must do the "soul work" of listening to and talking with each other; studying together, all things that will make us first and foremost, more accountable to the people of color who are part of our All Souls family.   We must be accountable to Jessica, Jake, Allie, Patricia, Nicholas, Kate, Ella, Yeamaya, Isis, Olorun, Camden, Dason, Jenny, Karen, Maggie, Royce, Jim, Rachel, Julie, and Lily Jun, who now call All Souls home. To these beloved Souls, many of whom are our children, we must be accountable for inadvertent insensitivites in our personal interactions as well as the systemic and cultural ways in which we fall short.  As well, we must be accountable to our neighbors who dwell – and worship - beyond our walls so that we may come to be known as good neighbors, safe harbor, and perhaps to some, as home.
 
This topic is so much more complicated than it was in 1963 when people could point to a racist bylaw that prohibited people of color from entering predominantly white churches.  This part is harder and calls for honest, loving soul work.  It will be hard.  Stirring the pot is hard because the kitchen can get hot.  But the pay off is the welcome table and that's a good place to be.  It's time, Friends.  
 
As Reverend King said, what better places than in faith communities to take on this great moral and American challenge.  For, the long night of racism must be exposed and we must move toward a new dawn. 
 
Amen.

From: The Problem of Theology in the Work of Anti-racism:  A Meditation by, Rosemary Bray McNatt  From:  Soul Work:  Anti-racist Theologies in Dialogue

… I have asked myself … how much we mean what we say about inclusion, about becoming an anti-racist religious community, when we are not willing to acknowledge, incorporate, or engage the historic theological realities alive among many people of color.

Do we really understand that in pursuit of this goal of an anti-racist association, we are risking more than we realize?  Do we realize that we are risking being informed by varieties of religious experience not entertained in our churches for decades, if ever?  Are we prepared to know what it is that informs the survival strategies used by people often on the margins?  Are we prepared to accept that even among people of color at comfortable economic levels – as opposed to those poor, uneducated people who don’t know any better than to praise God – there may be not only a theological but a cultural understanding of the divine that travels with them into our sanctuaries? 
…
I want it all: for us to be anti-racist, religious, and a movement.  I respect that the theological stance of others will differ from my own.  But I am as hungry to be freed from the narrowness of our religious assumptions as I am to be released from the wary dance we engage in around race, class, and gender.  I am as eager to see my congregants – and my ministerial colleagues – emerge from their massive blindness to the last thirty years of theology as I am to see what we might do in a religious community in which praxis is a given.  … Above all, I am praying for the transformation of the religious movement I love so much – and hoping for just one day when I won’t have to explain why I might choose to pray. 

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