Attending an African-American Church for the First Time

I had the best time

I was homeless in Minneapolis for almost three years. It was the lowest point in my life and a soul-crushing experience. There were two things that kept me going.

I’m by nature a stubborn son of a bitch. I was going to get through it despite it all. And a woman in South Carolina I had never met decided to care about me.

We had started talking a few days before I had to leave where I was staying. That morning before, I left to see if I could find some help. After packing what I could into an overnight bag and a backpack, I checked my laptop one last time.

She was waiting for me. I told her what happened and said I had to go. We talked again the next morning while I was sitting in my truck in the shelter parking area.

We continued to talk and get to know each other. Two years later she flew up to see me.

At this point I was in love. There was no question that I was going to marry Olivia and live in South Carolina. We started making plans.

I had grown up in the Southern Baptist Church. My Maternal Grandfather was a plumber and an Ordained Minister. After my mom died I quit going to church.

It had been twenty-years since I had gone to a church service.

Months later I was in my room at another shelter. It was Transitional Housing. Residents had a private room with no running water or a way to cook our own meals in our rooms.

Olivia had provided me with a cellphone. It rang while I was on my bed reading or napping. “ Let me ask you a question.” She said after we greeted each other.

“ You know I’m a Christian and I go to church right? “ The question puzzled me. I wondered where she was going but she got right to the point.

“ I need a man that will go to church with me. I know you haven’t been to church in a long time. Are you willing to go to church with me?”

“ I’m willing to go to church with you.” I answered. Then to drive the point home. “ I want to go to church with you and I’m excited about it. I’m looking forward to it.”

She sighed in relief and we talked of other things.

Before I moved to South Carolina, Olivia had bought us a used Lincoln Town Car with around three-hundred thousand miles on it.

I picked her up that Sunday morning and we went to church. It was a blast. I had grown up in white Southern Baptist Churches. Saint Mark’s was like nothing I had ever experienced.

Everyone came up to me to introduce themselves and shake my hand. I immediately felt loved and accepted. Once the music started, everyone stood up to sing.

I was singing and tapping my feet and clapping my hands along with everyone else. I soaked up the Sermon like a thirsty man at an oasis.

It took awhile for me to loosen up. But I soon was standing and clapping and shouting “ AMEN” like the rest of the congregation.

I looked forward to going every Sunday and I can’t wait to be going again.

It broke my mom’s heart when I quit going to Church. I’m sure if she could look down from Heaven she would get a kick out of me having such a good time. And I know that she would love Olivia completely for being the one that finally got me to go back.

I’m not where I need to be Spiritually. But I know I’m better off than I was five years ago. I couldn’t have done it without God, Olivia and St. Mark’s Baptist Church.