First week, I was again caught up in "what-if-I-insult-someone-by-making-a-mistake" mode that I forgot to fill it out. So, week two, I dropped it in.
I have visited other churches before, and the process to which I have become accustomed is for a member of the congregation to either call, send a letter, or stop by my house. It's perfectly fine, very standard, so not a big deal.
Earlier this afternoon, my cell phone rang. A little tied up with a customer issue, I let it go to voice mail. Imagine my surprise a little while later when I checked the message and heard the warm and friendly voice of Father Polk Van Zandt, the rector of St. Paul's. It was such a pleasant surprise. I know church leaders are busy, so I understand why congregation members serve as the ones who reach out. To have a church where the minister personally calls those who come to visit it such an amazing thing to me.
Father Polk, whom I did not get a chance to meet officially on Sunday due to a hungry child, is fantastic! He is so very nice, was willing to answer any and all of my questions, and made sure that we had felt welcome in the services. I assured him we did and mentioned how wonderful Ione had been to Z and me. As I was speaking to him, he asked about our family's church background. I gave him the denomination background and decided to go for what we have come to call in our family the "deal breaker."
Okay, I am going to be very transparent here. I am cynical. I have trust issues, and I know that. It stems from learning that people I once trusted are not as okay with my marriage as they initially say they are. Because of work, hubs doesn't normally get to attend church with me. It became easy for people to simply forget about the fact that my husband is African. However, all we have to do to remind them is show up together and the tension is palpable.
And so, when I was discussing my decision to seek another church, I told Father Polk it was due in part to wanting to ensure my son grew up feeling like he belonged. To note, the other church didn't single him out, but my experience has been that the attitude towards the parents will eventually land on the child (or children). I simply refuse to allow that to happen to him. I told Father Polk about our biracial, multicultural family. This is normally where a pause occurs and then I get a canned answer that it doesn't matter when it clearly does.
Not today. There was no pause. No hesitation. I got a "it doesn't matter, we are all children of God." And it was a heartfelt, honest response. That never happens. That is not the reaction to which I have become accustomed.
But it's nice. Welcome even. It is the reaction I always expect and am always disappointed when I don't receive it. Because, deep down, even though I anticipate the rejection, I always hope for the acceptance. I always pray that we will be welcomed warmly and that it truly won't matter that my family is different.
Today, we were. And it didn't.
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