How My Church Kept Segregation Alive
This is part 5 of my series called My Painful History with Christianity.
This is part 5 of my series called My Painful History with Christianity.
When I was 13, my Church friends and I would walk around town, knocking on doors, and trying to convince my neighbors to come to church. We called the practice witnessing. And we were great at it.
Looking back, I find it interesting despite a large minority population at every school in the city (more so at my own), we only witnessed to the predominantly white neighborhoods. Hmm.
We were driven to the end of the block, let out of the car, and were asked to go door to door to see if the resident went to church. If not, invite them to ours. If they stated they didn’t go to church, ask them why and see if you could tell your testimony about how great God had been in your life. Finally, ask them to come to church again.
As a disabled 13-year-old, my life made for a pretty convincing witness. Overcome your struggles by the grace of God! Look at what His love has helped me to accomplish! I once thought I was going to be one of those traveling motivational speakers at churches. I imagined people would gasp when I walked on stage at the sight of me and think, “Praise be to that young man! The Lord has certainly helped him through his hardships.”
We also had a bus ministry which would drive a few vans around, pick up kids, and take them to and from church on Sundays. This way, more children could go when their parents had to work.
When church camp came around each summer, several new kids would join us from the bus ministry. When I was in elementary school, I simply thought these were kids who never came to church, but whose parents wanted them to go to camp because they were Christians. Camp lasted one week in Falls Creek, Oklahoma and was a pretty good time. I was raised in the same church, so I knew everyone there. Even kids from my middle school who I normally didn’t see at church attended camp.
In the summer before eighth grade, at camp, I decided to join the basketball team since they always had a weeklong tournament. To my surprise, one of the players on my team I knew from school. His name was Uche, and I knew his little brother pretty well. Uche was going into high school and was a great basketball player. I remember he came to camp last year, and I thought he would start to attend regularly with us, but he never came on Sundays.
Curious as to why, I asked, “Hey. How come you attend camp each year, but you never come on Sundays?”
He put on a puzzled face and said, “I’ve been coming to this church for years nearly every Sunday.” My mind went blank, and my eyebrows raised.
“What?” I asked. “I’ve been here since I was 3 years old, and my dad works here. I’ve never seen you in Sunday school before.”
“That’s because I’m with the bus ministry. We all are,” he said as he pointed to every teammate next to him who were all black and Hispanic children. A bomb went off in my head.
In shock, I asked, “Where do you have Sunday school?”
“In one of the annexes behind the church.”
I thought my mind was going to break. How did I not know a kid I saw every day from school had been attending the same church as me for years? Why were our two Sunday school groups separated?
After camp was over, I was anxious to ask my mom these questions. I was sure she would have answers. Afterall, she and my dad had attended the church as adults my whole life, so I knew they would have answers.
“What!?” my mom exclaimed after being told. “What do you mean they are in an annex in the back? Since when?”
I exhaled. “Yeah. Uche said he had been attending church for years and the bus ministry kids have to have Sunday school in an annex in the back.”
My dad worked at the church as a handy man. He built shelves, cabinets, doors, and fixed electrical things. “Dad, did you know about this?”
“Yes,” he said calmly. They are out there because they are hard to control, loud, and don’t behave. So, they let them have class out there rather than have them with you guys.”
And that’s when I put it together. The bus ministry is designed to go out into the city and find children whose parents don’t have time to take them to church. Generally, these are poor families who parents work more than one job or work on the weekends.
Poor families = minority families = minority children = separated minorities from the mostly white children.
Years later I found out my mom had tried to speak to the youth pastor about it, but he stated it wasn’t his choice. The lead pastor of the church, Dr. Allen, decided it years ago and that’s how it had always been. The separation continued and by the year I turned 15, I stopped attending.
I want to be able to tell you the church I grew up in didn’t segregate children on purpose, but they did. For many adults who worked there and who I grew up around, I can safely tell you they weren’t all racists. Some of the adults were amazing people who took great care of us as kids, but it doesn’t deny the fact that nearly all the minority children, who needed help the most, were kept out back in a poorly airconditioned shack. It had always been that way, and, to my knowledge, it never changed. Every parent and adult I told had no idea the bus ministry kids separated. It was an open secret. Staring us in the face, but never speaking.
I would like to think the church eventually changed, but I can’t be sure. I drove through my hometown around 2012 and decided to pay a visit to the old church. The annexes were still there.
I couldn’t be sure the buss ministry kids still attended Sunday school in them, but the busses were still kept in the same spot. The back parking lot, right next to the last annex.