I, a Jesus Freak – Part 3

“The Church Where Strangers Become Friends”

That was the motto at Adams Square Congregational Church. And it was true!

Located in a nice mostly white neighborhood in Worcester, MA, Adams Square had a special gift for reaching out to people and welcoming them into the church family. Every Sunday, buses drove into a low income housing development a few miles away, returning to the church with a widely diverse load of humans – black, white, old, young, you name it. At Christmas time, college students from faraway places – many from Africa and without family at the holidays – were hired to help at the church’s Christmas Tree stand and given a place to stay. Fascinating people like Mildred Lisette Norman stopped by from time to time to share their stories. Mildred was a silver-haired woman from New Jersey who had a spiritual experience of such profound significance that she spent the last 30 years of her life walking back and forth across the country as, “The Peace Pilgrim.” Covering more than 25,000 miles on foot, Peace Pilgrim took shelter wherever people welcomed her into their homes and churches. She brought the simple message that humankind must learn to live in peace. Mildred was always welcomed at Adams Square – the church where strangers become friends.

My family came to the church as strangers. That was sometime after we didn’t become Baptists. My mother, raised a Baptist, had insisted we make our young family’s first church foray to First Baptist Church in Worcester. So off we went to First Baptist one sunny Sunday. With our brother baby Steve in arm, mother instructed our dad to enroll sister Karen and I in Sunday School, and then come join her for worship in the sanctuary. Karen’s enrollment went off without a hitch. Not so mine. I don’t know what happened (probably they didn’t have enough crayons or something) but my father got mad. Taking me by the scruff of the neck he hauled me out to the car, tossed me in the back seat, and took off  out of the parking lot in a cloud of dust. We ended up at Worcester Airport watching the planes take off and land for an hour – or more.

When my father looked at his watch it was well past the time church let out. Taking me by the scruff of the neck he hauled me back to the car, tossed me in the back seat, and took off in a cloud of dust. The church parking lot by that time was empty – well, except for my mother holding baby Steve in her arm and Karen by the hand. And she looked mad!

They argued on the way home. I don’t remember what was said, but what I do remember is we didn’t go back to that church. I like to say that was the day I didn’t become a Baptist, but I did learn to love flying! But that’s another story.

So the Singley’s ended up at Adams Square, the church where strangers become friends. We found ourselves welcomed into a colorful mix of people and into the loving presence of their pastor, the Rev. George E. Seale. George and his wife Nancy were the catalysts for the church’s radical inclusiveness which was quite unusual for the times. We found ourselves involved in the early moments of the ecumenical movement as our church engaged with Catholics, other Protestant churches, and even the local Jewish Temple. Civil Rights was a focus of the church with its integrated congregation and, despite the protests of neighbors and others, Rev. Seale rented out an apartment next to the church to a black family. When my father heard that neighbors were talking about “lynching” both the family and Rev. Seale he took us all by the scruff of the neck (only kidding), put us in the car and drove down to the apartment to welcome the Hazards. It was his way of saying to the neighbors, “If you mess with the Hazards, you mess with the Singley’s.” Our family was blessed to become friends with Joe and Velah and their daughter Bessie.

Joe Hazard teaching my Sunday School class. Can you guess which kid is me?

Adams Square taught me that practicing inclusiveness is not without peril. This was especially true with respect to the Vietnam war. Rev. Seale was a staunch opponent and dared say so from the pulpit. Not everyone in the congregation agreed, and that created some degree of conflict. It grew worse when George and a local priest attended a demonstration at Worcester City Hall. The two clerics actually took a stand in between the anti and pro-war mobs, trying to calm things down. But their calls for non-violence were ignored. At one point, eggs were thrown from the crowd, splattering all over George and the priest. This upset some members of the church who felt Rev. Seale had embarrassed them. Conflict over these political stands grew over time and eventually led to Rev. Seale resigning.

Adams Square Congregational Church was known for great music, big youth programs, championship basketball and cheerleading teams, wonderful bible studies, great worship services and all the things that people think define “success” in the church. Those are wonderful things (and I have fantastic memories of those experiences), but they are not really the things that save the world.

The dads in the Father/Son Basketball Game. My dad is front row left, with the Adams Sq. jersey.

 

 

At George Seale’s funeral many years later a fellow many of us recognized came through the receiving line. He was the local drunk who used to wander up and down Lincoln St. not far from the church. Someone asked the guy why he was there at George’s funeral. He wasn’t a member of the church. He was just a drunk. So why? Why are you here?

“Because in the winter time when it was really cold, Rev. Seale used to pull his car up to the curb and tell me to get in and warm up. We’d just sit there and talk about stuff for a while. Then I’d get out and he’d drive away. He was about my only friend.”

“The church where strangers become friends.”

And that’s what I found in the Jesus Movement too.

Drug addicts. Prostitutes. Drunks. Runaways. Believers. Doubters. Conservatives. Liberals. Losers. Winners. People of all sorts.

Welcomed in Jesus’ name.

I had seen my own church -Adams Square Congregational – ultimately fail at that. Church people have their limits and churches have a hard time accepting unacceptable people and controversial causes. Maybe it’s impossible for a church to truly be a Church.

But a movement – a Jesus Movement – just might have a chance.

So my home church – and especially my home pastor, George Seale – made me NEED to be a Jesus Freak.

Thanks be to God!

Next time: Disillusionment.