Why Church?

Growing up in a Jewish Orthodox community limited my exposure and blinded me from other religions and cultures that surrounded me throughout this world. My parents, mentors, teachers, and friends would only teach Jewish law and history so it was all I ever knew. In spite of the environment that I was being raised in, I made an unexpected decision to volunteer my Sundays to help out at the local Church a few months after I turned twelve years old. Many were puzzled as to why I had chosen this particular route, and to be honest, I hadn’t known for certain why I had done so myself. However, one thing was for certain: the likelihood of somebody asking me why the Church? 

I can vividly recall my first fundraiser with them: the people organizing the event, who were about thirty years of age, were very warm and welcoming from the second they saw me. It did not seem as if they thought to question my presence for even a second. On the contrary, the children who were enrolled at the local Catholic grade school were not as inclusive. I stood with the adults wearing my kippah, a traditional Jewish head covering, sticking out like a sore thumb. I began to have thoughts of insecurity and even considered removing my kippah to hide in plain sight. They would stare at me from afar and avoid me as if I were a bacteria bearing a contagious disease, as though my existence alone could infect their world and rebut their beliefs. I understood that the scene may have seemed a little peculiar, especially as a kid, because we do not have the same level of exposure most adults do. All I wanted to do was feel a sense of belonging, but I could not because quite frankly I wasn’t. That feeling of being an outsider cast me into an emotional quarantine, an isolation I longed to break free from; a yearning for acceptance and friendship amidst the group. The only confrontation I had with one of the kids that day was when he asked me “Why did you come into our Church?” and all of the others giggled from the distance as the boy ran back to the group and high-fived many of his friends. In retrospect, this scene was just as new to me as it was to them because realistically I didn’t have an answer off the top of my head as to why I was there. 

Upon finishing my first event, my Mom, just after picking me up, asked me why I chose an organization like this as opposed to a Jewish organization. Understanding that a mother is someone who only wants what is best for you was kind of difficult after she asked me this. I found myself becoming defensive when somebody would question my decision, and my only response to that was that I did not have an answer either. My first thought was that she was this cold, wicked, and cruel woman, who didn’t accept me for what I wanted to do. Although after pondering over the near aggravating question for a couple of minutes, for the first time, I gave myself somewhat of an answer. I told her that this Church never received great funding or support, which was evident from an external view of simply driving past it on the way to school, but the Jewish organizations always had volunteers. So, even though it made me feel like a foreigner, I still wanted to continue going. While this answer was enough to satisfy both her and me for the time being, deep down I knew that it wouldn’t suffice for me in the long term. 

Although the answer I gave myself held me off for about three months, all that mattered was that it wasn’t what I believed was the real meaning behind my decision. I remember a phone call I had gotten from a religious mentor of mine shortly following a Church fundraiser I had partaken in. After a brief greeting over the phone I heard the question, “Help me understand why you would choose to spend your time at a Church?” When I answered him he told me that the only reason that the Jewish organizations had so much support was because of the role volunteering plays in our religion and that the community would die out without me. It felt as if he was asking me why I abandoned my religion. Was it wrong to help another religion or group over your own? To me, these words were similar to a brother turning his back on his own family. One of my closest mentors in my entire life had just flipped sides on me. I no longer had the confidence to say that I wanted to help because, in my head, I was made out to be the wicked person who walked out on his community. I was lost and near to quitting. 

When I faced the facts, I realized that I was different, an outlier. Aside from the religious distinction, what was it about the Church that had me drawn to devoting my time there? The answer had been fuzzy to me for quite some time, although many unforeseen doors opened for me as I spent more time at the Church. After nearly five months of volunteering, I had created a newfound appreciation for my family and friends. Each week I attended, the more answers became visible to me and the stronger my relationships with the children were as well as with my non-Jewish, marriage-related family that I had never had a genuine interpersonal connection with. It started with the basic idea of me wanting to fill their lack of support, which remains true, but upon further reflection, it evolved into the openness and acceptance of my family that made me want to branch myself into the world. I cannot remember a time when my parents said no to housing a friend who needed a place to stay or a stranger who was scavenging for food. It did not matter what gender, race, or ethnicity they were; as long as they needed it, my parents would provide it. When I began to realize that this was not how the world worked I was shocked, to say the least. Due to my family’s moral priorities, I was never able to comprehend saying no to a needy person’s request; I still cannot do so. But over time I realized that it was this instinct that was instilled in me without realization and it is why I believe I took that first step to diversify myself within the vast world of religions and cultures by volunteering at my local Church.