Sunday Musings and Mango Mimosas

Growing up, my family went to church on Sundays.  I have memories of learning Biblical stories and drinking apple juice in Sunday School at The Riverside Church.  As my brother and I got older, like many children, we began to dread going.  Then one day as we sat in the balcony during service we looked over and saw that my father was sleeping!  We never went back to church again as a family.

However, for the past few Sundays, Chloe, my mother, and I have gone back.  Last Sunday as we exited the taxi on 116th and Adam Clayton Powell Bouelvard, Chloe noticed two separate lines: one for tourists and one for parishioners.  As we got into line, she said, "This is just like the 1890's: one line for the black people and one line for the white people.  I wish that Martin Luther King was still alive."

Harlem 2015

Chloe went on to tell me that I could go with her to the line for black people since I was "tan," but then wondered aloud,"what about Grandma?"  This week when we were getting ready for church, Chloe said "make sure that you take me to the right place," as if I would drop her off in the black line and then take my "tan" self elsewhere.  How sad that church should cause such anticipation and anxiety in a child.

The pre-church selfie was Grandma's idea.

Martin Luther King said that "the most segregated hour of Christian America is eleven o'clock on Sunday morning" and this still rings true in 2015.  Within one church there are lines, entrances, and pews divided by race. I'm not really one for feeling sorry for white people, but something about this initially bothered me.
  
Well, I'm still bothered, but not for the same reason.  Minutes into one service I looked behind me and saw a row of four white men, who looked to be college students sitting with smirks on their faces.  Who were these guys, I wondered.   Did they hear about the music at this particular church on the latest episode of  GIRLS and decide to check it out?  If I was being generous, I would say that they were trying to suppress nervous laughter that was the result of feeling uncomfortable with the expression of naked emotion.  Either that or they just found us funny . . .

It is ironic that the church is in the home of a former theater

As long as people view church as an entertainment, and black people as participants in a show put on for their enjoyment what alternative is there to segregation?  As long as people come to church dressed in the same attire as they would wear to the beach, snap photos of people praying, and look at New Years Eve services as an opportunity to bump and grind there is a problem.

Since black churches remain reliant on tourist dollars in order to maintain buildings, implement social programs, and pay their preachers I don't see anything changing.   Although blacks used to be forced into the balconies of theaters and that dynamic is now reversed- the old power dynamic remains. Somehow even when black people are establishing the rules of engagement we still end up under the white gaze.

Today, in Harlem churches whites go to the balcony.

But thank goodness for brunch!  Brunch in Harlem is always a good opportunity to "change the joke and slip the yoke, " as it provides ample opportunity for whitepeople watching.  My new favorite spot just might be  The Edge Harlem (who could have ever imaged a cafe with a predominately white clientele on Edgecombe)?  You have got to love a place with a Mango Mimosa that is in no way watered down.  One is all you need!

The Edge Harlem is owned an operated by sisters of Jamaican and Welsh parentage, and the confluence of Jamaica, England, and New York is reflected in the menu.  I had an amazing spicy shrimp salad with mango salsa, Chloe had a bagel with cream cheese, lox, and capers, and my mother had a hamburger with a fried egg and bacon.  It looked too rich for me, but I tried it and it was amazing!  We will be back.