How religion surpasses all culture

While waiting for a bus, one sunny morning in Queens, NY, I noticed a church across the street. Now, this was a Korean Church that sat in the Korean section of Queens. Standing on that one corner, I counted about 10 churches.

I never knew that Koreans were so devout. Service was about to start and I was observing the heightened energy at The New People’s Church of New York. A van had deposited parishioners who hurried through the church doors.

The van driver quickly parked, ran to his Mercedes for his Bible, and was making his way to the church when I felt bold and I yelled at him; “Are you the Pastor?” Where I come from, it is the pastor who drives the Benz or anything more luxurious.

“No, I am a Deacon,” he yelled back. He then crossed the street to my side and in broken English invited me to the service. I told the short gentlemen, in his 60s, that I do not speak Korean.

He explained that there were English services and that I had to come to the English service at noon because their pastor leads that service, “... and he’s a black.” I was stunned but not offended. English was the umbrella under which he was learning American culture and language, and sometimes the wind blows an umbrella all over the place.

I looked for more precision on this black pastor who leads this Korean church. Was he African? Was he African American? “Yes, he is American like you,” while rubbing my hand for emphasis. If I did not have plans that afternoon, I would have gone to see ‘the black pastor’, but it would have to be for another time.

One month later, I managed to enter those doors. I already knew there would be curiosity about my presence. I was instantly greeted with a warm welcome, quickly followed by ‘How did you come here?’ At one point I wish I could stand at the front of the church and tell the story once and for all, but I kept repeating how a mature Korean Deacon invited me.

The vibe of the service reminded me of the 11:00 Folk Mass I would attend as a child at Christ the King Church. This was the cool mass where we sang less conservative church songs accompanied by a folk guitar and a tambourine. We felt like rebels living on the edge during that service of long ago.

If the friendly Deacon was an immigrant, this English service was full of their first generation children.All the Koreans spoke impeccable English with authentic American accents and named their kids Joshua, Brook and Ben, not quite Korean names from the Mother Land.

The worship phase of the service lasted an hour where we sang. The Rev Micheal Gittens took his place and preached. It was not a service watered down for the Koreans.

It was the Word spoken from his heart. This 40-ish matter-of-fact preacher shared with me that while in divinity school, he was mentored by a Chinese gentleman who told him he had a struggling church that needed him.

He hesitated. It was around President Obama’s first election and he was active in the campaign.

He was trying to bring people together to vote. He interpreted the challenge that he no longer needed to talk the talk. It was time for him to walk the walk. And he walked it straight to the pulpit in an interesting mix of culture, heritage and faith in true New World Order fashion.

Denise is an Afro-soul singer and music performance coach.

Expat-talk@outlook.com