My first memory of church is when my mother took me to be baptized by the priest, Father Hart, at Saint Paul’s Catholic Church. It was before I entered elementary school. I remember that summer day, the white man in the black outfit saying some words and sprinkling water on my forehead, which ran down the center of my face. My second memory of church is of an Apostolic church. At that time, I was around nine years of age. I would cross the big avenue and stand in the doorway of the church. It was a store-front church, very different from the large structure that was Saint Paul’s. The singing and beating of the tambourines sparked my curiosity and intrigued me. Pretty soon, I invited my friends to join me in the doorway. It didn’t take long before one of the church sisters said, “Come in children.” After that first invitation, we would go into the church and join the singing, the shouting, the holy dance, the playing of the tambourines and tarrying so that we could learn how to speak in tongues. We also studied the Bible. The Apostolic church was opened many evenings of the week, so when we went out to play during the summer, we’d go across the street to the church. None of our parents knew that we were going into that church. They used to send us to Sunday School and youth programs at the Baptist church. When my mother found out about my adventure, she didn’t seem to mind. It was only when I came home one evening and told her that the pastor, Elder Till, and the people of the church wanted to baptize me that her answer was an emphatic no! She said that she was planning to have me baptized in the Baptist church when I reached twelve years old. I asked if I could go back to the church in the meantime, and she said that I could. When I got back to the church, the church sisters dressed me in a white gown. A cloth was removed from what I thought was a large table with a very large tablecloth. The lid from the “table” was latched back and the large tub or vat was filled with water from a hose. I was helped up a small ladder and down into the water. Elder Till said prayers, and the members shouted, “Praise the Lord! Hallelujah!” When I arrived home with my hair soaking wet, my mother was furious with me. About three years later, around my twelfth birthday, my mother kept her word. She had me baptized by Rev. Leslie Wainwright at Shiloh Baptist Church. That time, the floor of the pulpit had a sliding floor that opened into a pool. Again, I wore the white gown, but this time I knew what to expect. Church sisters assisted me down a few steps, and I waded into the water. Rev. Wainwright said some prayers and gently dipped me under the water. So far, I had been exposed to three different Christian denominations and, need I say, baptized in all three. After those early experiences, I stood at the doorways of a number of other churches: Pentecostal, Seventh Day Adventists, Jehovah’s Witnesses, the Salvation Army, and Russian Orthodox. Excerpt from the chapter by Ruqaiyah Nabe
Posted on: Thu, 05 Dec 2013 01:52:42 +0000
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