A few weeks ago I decided to search houston for an orthodox anglican church. Becoming more partial to Anglo- Catholic theology, I thought that experiencing a 'unique to me' service would help expand my idea of what different denominations give to christianity.
The church was a nice new building leading me to conclude that it had recently been built. The variety of up scale cars said that this congregation was not 'ghetto.'
Walking in, I expected a group of proper anglo houstonians getting ready for another sunday service. But was I wrong. I strolled into a church service with hundreds of africans. With their tall fancy hats and colorful dresses, I knew that I had found a church beyond anything I had experienced. It's as if I had stepped out of Memorial straight into Nigeria. I waited to entered as the priest slowly made his way down the isle.
What was so intriguing to me about the service was the mix of anglican traditions with some african spice. Although the congregation was eyeing me throughout the whole service, I was eventually accepted and met with smiles. As I looked around I noticed small children sitting in the church pews with their hands folded in their laps with a sens of solemn reverence and joy. What a rare thing to find children who are willing to quitely sit through a sermon cheerfully.
The old priest who was speaking was no taller than five feet. He stood before the congregation in his long robe beside the podium so that he would not be hidden by it. Althought he spoke fluent english, his nigerian accent was so strong it took some getting use to.
The topic of his sermon was identity within community. He urged his brothers and sisters in America to submit to the laws of their new country, but to never forget their culture. Throughout his talk I in some ways became envious of these people. They had much respect for the United States but refused to conform to the american identity. They were Nigerian. They were a different people. This was their community. Called to reach out to those around them, they were to never forget that their first duty was to their people.
I felt a mild revelation that sunday. The American identity is not what it seems.
The other day I was watching President Obama on the View and I thought he made a very interesting comment. When questioned about his race, whether or not he identified himself as a white or black, he simply replied that he only saw himself as an american.
A very diplomatic answer.
But what truly is an american? What is our identity now? It seems that we have become so pluralistic that who we are has become a vaccum of peoples. Although the initial desire to become tolerant of others was a admirable undertaking, we do not know how to be defined at all.
Perhaps this is why their has been such an increase in more violent organizations that offer unity to groups. Fundamentalism in both Christianity and Islam has become feared amongst many people but why the draw?
I think its because we are so hungry to identify with something. We no longer have a way to define ourselves except by that which we create ourselves. This is true even in most protestant churches today.
Overseas I sometimes became jealous of the cultures I encountered. Although some of their practices seemed somewhat pagan to me, I yearned for the community they offered each other. But as an American, I know that even if I ever live there, I would never quite fit it.
And so here we are as Americans, the lost sourjourners gravitating towards anything that will give us meaning, creating some empty definition that we know is not true.
I wonder if it is too late to establish ourselves; is who we are totally lost in our inability to stand up for anything? Or, have we forever been lost to the wind, blowing any direction we are pushed?
