A Microcosm of Heaven

Many years ago, when I lived in New York City, I worked at a small Christian school at my church along with Angela. Probably ten or fifteen years older than me, Angela was wise, kind, and gentle.  She had an infectious laugh, and I can still picture her broad smile splitting her lovely, dark skin. That woman was so dear to me.

            Some time later, after the school was closed, when I was talking with a church friend I mentioned in passing that Angela was African-American. My friend was shocked. She insisted that many people in the church leadership were racists, and because of that, my friend couldn’t believe that the church had employed someone like Angela.

            I’d never mentioned Angela’s race to my friend? Really? I thought I probably had, but how wonderful that I hadn’t! It was so completely irrelevant to me. Angela was Angela. Her skin color wasn’t important to me. Who she was was everything to me—a godly kind woman, whose memory, after more than twenty-five years, drifts fondly across my mind like a lovely fragrance to this very day.

            I grew up in a small town, population five thousand. I went to school with fair-haired, blue-eyed Caucasians like myself. I wanted brown eyes instead of blue; they would almost have been a novelty. There were no African-Americans in our town, few Hispanics. Well into adulthood I had little contact with other races or cultures.

            Then I got married and moved to New York City. Culture shock!

            I walked down streets and listened to different languages, quizzing my New Yorker husband about the languages I was hearing. My mechanics were Greek, neighbors Italian and Irish.  I picked up Yiddish and met Jewish religious leaders when my husband covered events. And then, there was Angela.

            They were all people. I knew I didn’t agree with them all on life and faith, but they were people who cared about their families, their jobs, and their city. They just looked different and maybe spoke differently than many of the people I’d been around most of my life. I think it was one of the ways God opened my eyes up to his world. Not only that, he was preparing me for my church family, a microcosm of his worldwide family.

            If you walked into my beautiful church, you would see that it’s not the architecture or the furnishing that are extraordinary; it’s my lovely family of brothers and sisters. We represent a multiplicity of Hispanic countries.  Others have European or Mediterranean backgrounds. Some would probably just say I’m American, pass me the fries! When we have a dinner of ethnic foods, it’s an epicurean event!

            But it’s not the countries or the food.

 It’s Byron, Marlene, Javier, Annette, Dominique, Natalie, Barbara, Zis, Beth, Jon, Nicole, Bianca, David, Marc, Amy, Rose, Gayle, Jim, Temeka, Derrian, Teresa, and all the others who make up our wonderful family.

Their skin colors and their heritages are not the point of connection. Who they are in Christ is the bond that makes us the beautiful family we are in Christ. They touch my life every Sunday; they remind me of God’s work in the world bringing the nations to himself. I am blessed to have the opportunity to worship in a microcosm of Heaven each week.