White Man in a Black Church

It's hard to shake off "visitor status" when you're the only white man visiting a several thousand member black congregation in Inglewood, California. That's what I found out in 1999, when a friend of mine named Lori invited me there for a visit. We arrived separately and she was running late. I sat in the back of the congration just a few steps above the main walkway that ran to the exit. Lori missed me while entering and sat far away, towards the front-center.

The worship service was great. I loved singing repetitions of chorus as it helped me get into a nice focus on the Lord.

A few hours later, the whole thing was over. My plan was to exit stage-right and wait for Lori outside. As I came down the steps towards the main walkway, a woman noticed I was a visitor (duh...). She shook my hand. I tried to step down again, but the next woman also shook my hand. I tried again, but unfortunately a chain reaction had begun which I'd never be able to stop.

My memory is cloudy, but I shook dozens or maybe even hundred of hands that day. It took me a number of minutes to make the door which wasn't far away. It was the closest I've ever felt to being a politician at a rally.