That's some nice bling you've got there

After the successful completion of a half-marathon on Saturday near my hometown of Les Dalles, Lauren and I headed to Portland on Sunday for a day of soul searching. We went to the Emmanuel Temple church in North Portland, a black church. African-American church. Church of color. Actually, a church of beige, but with congregants of color. Of African origin. Long ago. Ahem.

As you can see, the very choice of a black church prompted soul searching: about the construction of race, whether we were more comfortable using the term "African American" or "black" (the latter for both of us), whether we would be welcome there ...

Turns out, we chose well. The Emmanuel Temple church seemed perfect because it's Pentecostal, a branch of God-worshipers that both of us really like. We approached the church along with some of the congregants, both of us a bit nervous. I could tell because we both mumbled and smiled a lot. As we walked around inside, I started to feel woefully underdressed. This feeling persisted throughout the service, as I admired the three-inch red nails of the woman next to me, the stilleto heels of the head usher, the purple zoot suit of a 60-year-old man. The service itself started with a lot of singing. There were three female singers, one male, two keyboardists, a drummer. And then the whole congregation, about 80 to 100 people, were singing along, sometimes clapping, hands often raised. The music was energetic and beautiful, and I felt comfortable singing, though I have to admit that the head usher had seated us very near the front and I felt a little conspicuous in all my whiteness. Mostly I was embarassed because I looked like a librarian, very plain and dowdy, compared to the jewel-toned jackets of the other women and the pin-striped suits of the men. At one point, newcomers were asked to stand, and Lauren and I stood and all these people came up to shake our hands and give us hugs. I was just giggling. It softens my cold cold heart to be surrounded by brightly-clad black people, by gum.

The sermon was delivered by a young-looking man who said he had a granddaughter (not so young, then), and as he began to speak, several people pulled out notebooks to take notes. I did not agree with everything he said; for one thing, he seemed to distinguish "culture" from "God," as though our God is not a product of our culture. This I reject. God may be real, but our interpretation of God cannot be divorced from culture. But he said some interesting things about culture, too: he used the metaphors of atmosphere and climate to describe culture. I like this use of culture, as something you take for granted. Like when people say that if fish were scientists, the last thing they'd discover is water.

The sermon-deliverer (is there a term for that guy, if he's not the pastor?) used biblical quotes well. They were flashed up on a giant screen behind him, and though the cynic in me noted a number of typos, I also noted that he had a remarkable way of using the Bible to substantiate what he was saying without falling into cliches. Also, he relied almost exclusively on New Testament exerpts, and he was entirely without condemnation. The sermon was about walking with God and Jesus, and making yourself better. It was inspirational, and toward the end his voice rose and fell dramatically, and he punctuated his statements with an AMEN!!! and an HALLELUJAH!!! and punched his fist into the air. The people around me yelled with him, sometimes clapping, though unlike the other pentecostals we'd visited, there was almost no speaking in tongues.

After the sermon, several people went up who had been recently saved. They were assigned praying partners and were all very emotional. I think one of the contrasts with other churches (especially cowboy church) was that there wasn't an expectation that everyone there was saved. Only that, if you were saved, you would need support and that support was available.

Something notable: the pastor and the man who gave the sermon were both comfortable talking about money. The pastor talked about those who haveth and giveth and all that, and how we should all tithe and give what we can, and how God lifts up your heart, your mind, your money. I was wondering if this was a cultural difference. Are white people so busy pretending not to care about money that they (we) resent being asked to give? Maybe. Or we're only comfortable being asked to give to NPR, in a jokey, ha-ha, aren't we all silly fashion? While at the black church, the pastor weaves together song and verse and requests for funds?

I liked the service, though we were there for over 2.5 hours, and I was starting to get hungry. Emotionally, I felt pulled in at times, though I also felt like an alien. I know this entry is disjointed, but I think I'm still processing the alien-ness of it all. It's weird to have so many expectations about a place and yet to be constantly surprised at having expectations met.

As for the title of this post, the pastor, in his oversized sapphire-blue suit, wore a giant gold watch. Several women wore ornate hats, including one covered in gold sequins. I went home and put on some makeup after the service, and I felt a whole lot prettier. Sometimes it takes getting a little out of your comfort zone to realize the value of something as superficial as a healthy coat of mascara.