The African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church of Willard

I immediately felt out of place as I parked in the small grassy parking lot of the A.M.E. Zion Church of Willard. I knew one person who attended this church. A black lady I work with is a member there and I told her that I was coming. I parked my truck and walked into the small white cement church. Immediately the pungent smell of mold hit my nostrils. I heard a loud creak as I opened the paint-chipped door. I got there early so I could not feel as uncomfortable as I would if I got there late. I did not know how a black church would react to the young white man sitting in the back of their church. I watched the faces as they walked by my pew, staring towards me in inevitable disbelief of my presence. I felt no awkwardness by the people, because after the initial shock of my white face amongst a crowd of black men and women, they seemed to accept and almost made me feel completely comfortable.

Mrs. B (her name will be disclosed) introduced me to as many people as she could, to tear the tension that she obviously saw on my face. Her sisters were also members there and they hugged me and welcomed me to the church. As I was greeting another one of Mrs. B’s family members, the service abruptly started. I grew up in a Pentecostal Free Will Baptist church that has jaded my views of church. But the music was the first thing that made me really realize it was different. The tall, lanky piano player cracked his fingers in an almost cartoon style before sitting at the upright piano against the wall in the choir loft. He smiled as the pastor asked him to play a song for the opening of the service. After the prayer, the melody of a familiar song graced my ears. I was hearing “Jesus Loves Me” in a way that I had never even dreamed or imagined of hearing. The song not only went on longer than I had remembered it being, but it was sung in a completely different style. The black gospel influence had altered a childhood memory and a song was brought into my memory banks. The women raised their hands in reverence to praise the Lord. The men clapped their hands, while I listened and smiled. The grin on my face was from ear to ear. The choir robes all danced as the members that wore them danced from side to side in the choir loft that was holding, what appeared to be, double its capacity.

Since it is only October, I was not expecting to be too hot inside the church. I had worn my suit just to show respect for the fact that I am going to church. As I stood there, for an extremely long period of time, I noticed a gas heater about ten feet from me. As sweat dripped down my back I laughed to myself as I counted the bricks that were aglow on the heater. Everyone seemed to be sweating. But no one seemed to care. They let the sweat fall from their brows and drip drop down their shirts. Some men wiped their balding heads with handkerchiefs and women fanned themselves with a piece of cardboard inscribed with the name of the church above a picture of a black Jesus. The singing came to an end, and the first of three offerings was taken up. The offering is a time to pay the tithes that the Bible instructs us to pay. I put money in the offering plate as it went by my aisle, but I was not prepared for the final offering ritual. Every single person in the church stood up and row-by-row, aisle by aisle we walked to the front and dropped more money into a golden plate that lay on a table at the front of the church. I followed the short black woman who wore a purple velvet hat, with lace around the edges. She led me back to my seat and the beginning of the service soon began.

I have been to many churches, but I have never started church at 10:45 and had the actual “message” start at 12:07. The message consisted of man or women’s personal struggle to remain good in the eyes of the Lord. I smiled as I heard the men and women around me exclaim “Hallelujah”, “Amen”, “Uh huh”, and “Preach It!”
I am by no means a hypocrite, because I do consider myself a Christian but this church seemed more alien to me than many things that I have done in my life. I finally walked out of the A.M.E. Zion Church of Willard at 1:45. I was soaked from head to toe with sweat, and I was tired and hungry, because it was almost 2 o' clock and I hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning.
As I walked through the moderately high grass of the parking lot, I realized that Christians all worship the same God. We just all worship Him in different ways. I will say that a spectacle of this magnitude is a joy to undertake. So if you have doubts that God is real, take a trip to Willard and sit on the back row of the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church. I guarantee that you will walk away feeling something.