We're all brothers and sisters in Christ, right?

That's what I said to myself about two weeks ago as I sat in my car in the parking lot of Koiana Christian Center on Greenville Blvd. It was a Wednesday night and I had decided that I really needed some mid-week Christian fellowship so I had driven to People's Baptist Church, a church that a friend had recommended. I pulled into a very empty parking lot and saw a sign on the door saying that Wednesday night meetings were scheduled for Thursday nights during the month of July. "Just great." I thought. I could have gone back home and watched TV after that, but I really felt like I needed to be in a place with other Christians that night. It had been a hard week for me, because if I wasn't at home in the apartment by myself, I was trying to support my roommate Katie who was mending a broken heart. It wasn't that I felt burdened by Katie and her problems, because I was glad that I could at least be there to listen, but her world is so different from mine and words that I would usually use to comfort a sister in Christ did not seem to help a person that was so angry at God. So anyways I knew I needed to hear the word of God with other Christians so I left People's Baptist and drove to the church next door, Koiana Christian Center. The church looked very contemporary with its flashing sign, huge parking lot, and one story campus. As I pulled into the parking lot I saw people walking towards the church campus. All of the people I saw, at first, were black. I then thought that this church might be a lot like the church I grew up in, back in Apex, a racially diverse church that had been a perfect church for my multi-racial family. Well, as I drove around the parking lot, looking for a spot, I noticed that I saw no people of any other race. All of a sudden, the comfort I felt faded.

I never realized the comfort I felt from being around white people, people of the same race as me, until they were all gone. I began thinking back to the two Gold-n-love meetings I had attended at UNC last fall. Gold-n-love is a campus service organization that, I found out upon attending, is all black and whose mission statement is to empower minorities by providing minority mentors for minority students. I had been the only white person at those meetings and had tried to make the best of it, but wasn't too distraught when I realized I wouldn't be able to attend anymore because of a scheduling conflict. Then I thought of my experiences at attending predominantly-black churches. Those had been uncomfortable, but I had always been with a friend or family member so that had helped. Now, I sat in my car alone, not knowing what to do. My mind raced with questions: We're all brothers and sisters in Christ, right? Why should it matter if I'm white? But, what if they are a church that is ethnic-specific? What if I get stared at? I prayed that God would give me the strength to step out of the car. I somehow did, and received a little comfort from the fact that I thought I saw two white people walking from their car towards the building. As I neared the building I tried to keep my head up and look like I belonged there, but on the inside my heart was pounding.

I entered the church and was releived to see that the auditorium was very big so I could just sit at the back and hopefully be un-noticed. Then, an usher came up to me and asked me if I just needed one seat. I said yes and she pointed me to another usher waiting for me at the fourth row from the front of the church. Everyone I saw was black. At this time the church choir was on stage singing a song, that everybody in the church seemed to know by heart and I took my seat feeling like I was being stared at by everyone. I know that sounds selfish and paranoid, but it's how I felt. The choir finished their song and took their seats for the Bible Study to begin. The church was similar to the few Pentacostal church services I had been to, where there was a lot of "conversation" between the pastor and the congregation. People would say amen, lift their hands and say words like "preach it" while the drums and piano would begin playing at a dramatic part of the study. The woman sitting next to me would sometimes look at me and say "amen" and sorta nudge my shoulder, almost as to tell me that I should probably say amen, too. By the end of the message I was saying "amen" but I wasn't comfortable enough to stand up or raise my hands. During the message the camera-person would switch views from the pastor and put the camera on the congregation so they might be seen on the two projections screens at the front of the auditorium. At one time the camera was on me. I was freaking out on the inside but on the outside I just tried to stay focused ont he pastor. I could have sworn I saw a person at the front of the church take a double-take rapidly looking from the pastor to the screen a couple of times. Another guy in front of me, looked at the screen and laughed. And right after the camera moved from me, the pastor asked, "Why ya'll so quiet? You must not want to be in church right now." All of this could have been a coincidence, but I was so uncomfortable I felt like all of it was a result of me being white. As the message continued I grew more comfortable as the pastor spoked about being in tune with the Holy Spirit and how He has shown Himself throughout the Old and New Testament. I did appreciate the fact that at one point during the message, when talking about oral tradition,s she said, "Now I know not all of us in here are African-American, but I would like to say to those that are, that we are losing our traditions." It reminded me of how important it is to recognize others. Like when people in Intervaristy say "we're white" that completely overlooks the few people in Intervarsity that aren't white.

By the end of the service I had seen two other white women, but my feeling so discomfort stil lingered. After the service I walked directly to my car, glad to have received the Word but also glad to be heading home. I thought to myself, how that may be like it always is for minorities and how they might just have to get used to it after awhile. But I was talking to my step-dad, who is black, the other day about my experience and he told me that he still never gets used to being the only black person in a place. I couldn't believe that! I thought for sure, you would just get used to it after awhile, but he said, for him, it's still really hard. It's hard for him to not perceive looks as stares and to not perceive whispers as being about you. I don't know how to change that, but I really wished that didn't happen.

And things like that, that my step-dad has told me over the years, have really made me passionate about God's value of multi-ethnicity. It's not that I want the church, as in the body of Christ, to overlook race, but I want the church to be able to welcome people and to make them feel at home. I want everybody in the church to feel like I did at my family reunion the other weekend: I knew I was white and that almost all of my family was black but I also knew that I loved them and they loved me and that made me feel more comfortable around my extended family than I have ever felt before.