[printprofilepic]Each Sunday during the service, you’re invited to “greet your neighbor.” Most of us seem to take to it with enthusiasm, working our way down the row, in front and behind us, even across the aisle, eager to shake hands and catch up with friends and neighbors. Some find this part of the service a little too chaotic and jarring, and hold back a bit. No matter how you feel about the “Hand of Fellowship,” it’s a fairly common practice in many of our congregations, and across denominational lines, as well. It’s a reminder of the bonds of community that make up a congregation, and of the face-to-face, hand-in-hand contact it takes to make and maintain a community that chooses to be together.
It’s also a great way to meet new people. Think about that for a moment. When the time comes to greet your neighbor, whom do you seek out? Are you drawn to those you already know and are close to? Or do you seek out unfamiliar faces for welcome and introduction? Keep in mind; extending the hand of fellowship in our community includes welcoming the stranger just as much as it does reconnecting with the familiar face. The way in which we welcome the stranger affects the life of the whole congregation, not just the response of newcomers. The way in which we welcome the stranger can impact another’s life in deep ways we may not even realize.
Several years ago, I had the opportunity to attend Sunday services at St. Sabina’s church, a Catholic, African-American parish on the south side of Chicago. I was there with seminary classmates as part of a survey study of liturgy styles. St. Sabina’s services were famous in the city for their traditional black church practices—music, preaching style, length (four hours!!). It was my first time visiting an urban, African-American church, and I’ll admit I was feeling nervous and self-conscious as I walked in. How would others respond to my presence? Would I be ignored? Glared at? Pushed aside? I walked into that church on Sunday morning with my defensive walls up and fully prepared to not enjoy the day. My colleagues and I selected a comfortable middle section in the sanctuary—not too close to the front, not all the way in back—and I busied myself reading through all the literature in the pew, trying to get a feel for what was about to happen. Soon, others began to file into the church and take their seat. A woman sat down in the pew in front of us, and turned around to look at these unfamiliar faces behind her.
“Hello,” she said brightly, smiling. Then she stood up. I found my body standing up to meet her. “Welcome,” she said, “I’m so glad to see you all here.”
Then, she opened her arms out in the universally acknowledge sign for “give me a hug.” So I did. What else could I do? She greeted each of my friends in kind, and then we all sat down and began to chat with this woman who we didn’t know a minute before. There was ease and sincerity to the conversation. No hard sell, no proselytizing. She introduced us to others as they sat around us, and all the while I found myself relaxing into the situation. I still didn’t know what to expect, but I was definitely feeling less defensive. Then the service began. By the time it was over (all four hours of it) I discovered that I was better able to walk away thinking about what I had appreciated about the day, despite differences in theology and preferred practices, rather than composing a list of everything I didn’t like.
It was all because I was made to feel welcomed into the space. The way we welcome the stranger (and even those we think we know) makes a difference. How will you greet your neighbors this Sunday?
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The question of how we welcome others brings me to the next question in our upcoming visioning process:
Who are we at our best, when the congregation is most alive, engaged, and committed? (And who do we want to be?)
“Warmly welcoming and inclusive,” is certainly one possible answer. One of my favorites, even. This is a question that requires us to engage our maximum capacity for imagination. It calls on us to put aside our natural tendencies to drown possibilities in a sea of “it-won’t-works” and “we’ve-never-done-thats.” There’s no need to worry about roadmaps or blueprints for how we’ll get where we want to go, yet. This is the realm of the abstract possible, the time to dream big. What is “our best?” And who could we become if we had the courage to reach for that superlative?
Mary Gleason, our UUA consultant, will be with us at the end of January for a “Searching for the Future” weekend workshop. This is just one of several questions she’ll be asking us to consider as we construct a workable vision and mission. While January seems a long way off, it never hurts to start giving some thought to these questions in advance. Talk about them in coffee hour or in your Covenant Circle. Go deep. Be ready with an answer.
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Please consider attending the Mountain Desert District Assembly from October 16th to the 18th, held this year at the Marriott in Fort Collins, Colorado. The keynote speaker is folk-singer and activist Holly Near (who’ll give a special concert the night before Assembly begins, on the 15th). Registration forms can be obtained at the district website: <www.mdduua.org>. If you’re interested in serving as one of our four delegates, please contact myself, or Mike and KokHeong McNaughton.
See you in church!
Rev. John Cullinan
