The Advocate

'Hidden baggage' means that races still worship apart
By JULIE KAY - Advocate staff writer

The 1906 Baton Rouge City Directory tells a story, a story of segregated worship.

The pages list Baptist, Christian, Episcopal, Hebrew, Methodist, Presbyterian, Roman Catholic and Salvation Army churches.

Then, there is "Colored Churches:" African Methodist Episcopal, Methodist Episcopal, Methodist and Baptist.

In the nearly 100 years since, some say the separation between black and white worshippers is still there, just not on paper.

Separate worship is something the Rev. Jeff Day, executive director of the Greater Baton Rouge Federation of Churches and Synagogues, has given a lot of thought to during his 18 years with the federation; however, "There aren't too many people knocking on my doors to talk about this," Day said.

Day said worshipping together would give black and white worshippers a "whole participation in the gospel" as shared stories about our religions are revealed.

While Day's premise meets with no voiced opposition, there are people who balance cultural and religious roots with Day's vision for shared worship.

The Rev. Charles Smith, pastor of Shiloh Missionary Baptist Church, has been a pastor for 47 years. Smith's predominantly African-American congregation has two white members.

Race, while certainly a part of why there is such a divide, isn't the entire picture, Smith said.

"My feeling is it is essentially cultural," he said. "Worship is as much a reflection of the culture as it is theological beliefs. Even people of the same denomination whose doctrinal beliefs are the same, express them in different ways.

"As we come to realize it's more cultural than racial, that's going to make a difference."

The separation between African-American and white churches is particularly visible in the music and preaching styles, Smith said.

It's a sentiment echoed by Smith's downtown neighbor, First United Methodist Church pastor, the Rev. Chris Andrews who leads the predominantly white church.

The style of worship utilized by most Caucasian middle-American mainline churches, he said, is "well, kind of sedate."

"There's a controlled pace to it and I suspect it might be dreadfully boring to a lot of African-American congregations," Andrews said. White worshippers might find a longer, more emotive worship at many African-American churches than they are used to, Andrews said.

Over the years, Smith said one of his concerns is that most of the integration in churches has been one way.

"White churches will make black people quite welcome, but rarely do white people affiliate with African-American churches. I think this requires more exploration than most people want to give it," Smith said.

The situation is more sociological than theological, said Rodger Payne, associate professor of Religious Studies at LSU.

The ideal would say that while we go to school together and work together, there is a social idea of integration, he said.

"We want to ask why that can't take place in the churches. Religion is all about brotherhood, sisterhood and equality, but there is hidden baggage there," Payne said.

From an historical perspective, the origins of most Christian congregations were biracial, Payne said.

"There were no separate churches for black and white Americans in Colonial America," he said.

The separateness in the South began as a product of the post-Civil War era when former slaves left predominantly white churches to form their own.

The black church became the one place in American society where indigenous black leadership could emerge, Payne said.

Through the Civil Rights era, people such as Martin Luther King Jr., Ralph Abernathy and Jessie Jackson, all black ministers, have provided long-standing leadership in the black communities. It is empowerment that remains a fixture in today's culture, Payne said.

When it comes to worshipping together, the larger question is, "Do black churches and denominations stand to lose more than they would gain?" Payne said.

Past tensions are well documented. Media accounts from the 1950s and '60s tell stories of racial injustices inside church sanctuaries, such as white community leaders talking about "segregation being ordained by God" and the refusal of some white churches to admit black worshippers.

As time passed, news accounts reported condemnation of racism and church leaders denying financial help to churches without nondiscriminatory policies.

City Constable Reginald Brown remembers the day he and a friend went to worship at Sacred Heart Catholic Church in the 1960s, when African Americans were expected to sit "in the little area up by the front in the west corner to the right."

"There were four pews and each pew could sit eight people. One Sunday, that area was filled," Brown said.

Brown and his friend sat among the white parishioners. The priest sent for him later.

"The priest asked me 'Why did you sit there?' and I said, 'Well, Father, the other was full.' I'll never forget he said, 'Good.' That's what I wanted. You had the courage to do it. From that day forward, I sat anywhere I wanted," Brown said.

People go where they are comfortable and made to feel welcome, Brown said.

Brown has worshipped at St. Joseph Cathedral for 20 years and finds the diversity increasing.

The Rev. Shelton Fabre, priest at Sacred Heart and director of the Office of Black Catholics, said many Catholic churches are doing well with diversity, some more so than others.

Without excusing the reasons separate worship began, people wanted to establish faith communities, Fabre said.

"Once those communities were established and families had buried their dead, married and had their children, those are the places they stayed. It continued because that is where the roots of their faith are," he said.

We identify with not only faith but places and buildings, Fabre said.

Day and Payne said churches with contemporary worship styles have been most successful at integrating their memberships.

Their success lies perhaps in their ability to offer a new energy that focuses on the present, Day said.

Those high-energy churches are "interested in now and that's where a lot of people are," Day said.

Healing Place Church is one such example. Bethany World Prayer Center is another.

At Healing Place, where membership stands about 7,000, the Rev. Dino Rizzo said while they do not keep statistics on race, he considers their ministry fairly diverse.

Located on Highland Road, near Country Club of Louisiana, Rizzo said his church realizes the demographics of the area might lead people to make assumptions.

What is not seen is what's beyond the church walls. When you're dealing with hurt you go into the community, Rizzo said.

"You have to be sensitive to cultural values, not oversensitive, but sensitive," Rizzo said.

Rizzo said his goal is that the church reflect the community.

At Bethany World Prayer Center, the Rev. Kenneth Ellis said of the church's three campuses, all are diverse, some nearing a 50:50 ratio.

The African-American pastor attributes his church's successful blending to integrity and the fact that many younger churchgoers are looking for an upbeat worship experience.

"You have to have something to attract people so they'll come -- black, white, red or yellow," he said.

Bridging the gap will take concerted efforts by pastors on both sides, but it's also something that can't be hurried, Ellis said.

"You can't force integration. It has to be the hand of God," Ellis said.

Most denominations have struggled with how to bring more diversity to the pews. The Methodists are no different.

One way the church can be more representative of the community may be through cross-cultural exchanges, said Bishop William Hutchinson, leader of the Louisiana Methodist Conference.

In such exchanges, churches of different cultures exchange clergy for six weeks.

A long-term example of such an exchange is the predominantly white St. John's United Methodist Church on the outskirts of LSU. It has been led by an African-American pastor, the Rev. Donald Avery, for nearly six years.

Avery brought 21 years of experience in black churches and seven years as a district superintendent to the church. Avery said he addressed any potential awkwardness about his cross-racial appointment in his first sermon.

"I told them this appointment was no experiment and I'm no guinea pig," he said.

"I did not have any fear. I guess because while I understood cultural differences, I understood all human beings bleed alike," he said.

"I could only be who I am and encourage people to be themselves, and I started from that basic beginning."

"The overall perception that white people have a difficult time with black leadership -- I don't think that's true," he said.

"People are looking for giftedness."

Avery also cautioned that all the talk about inclusiveness should not mean loss of identity.

"I lived through the change from segregation to integration and in a lot of other areas, it meant the annihilation of the black institution. The black church was the only institution the masses had," he said.

Communities are built by the development of relationships, sprinkled with tolerance and openness, Avery said.

African-American church deacon, Willie Johnson, 80, a member of Elm Grove Baptist Church, remembers growing up in the height of segregation.

"I was always trying to figure out why we were so far apart," he said.

"When I was a boy, I thought sooner or later change will come if we keep Christ in it," he said.

"The heavenly father," he said, "we were all made by him. There are not white Christians or black Christians, but Christians."

As Johnson sat in a lawn chair overlooking members of his church participating in relay races on the St. Paul Lutheran Church lawn, he saw some light at the end of the tunnel, he said.

The two churches are part of a partnership paired by the Greater Baton Rouge Federation of Churches and Synagogues, designed to bring congregations of differing faiths and races together.

Seeing the black and white Lutherans and Baptists laugh and play together made the deacon smile. It wouldn't have been possible 40 or 50 years ago, he said.

"This is the way it is supposed to be," he said, gesturing with his hand toward the race in front of him.