By Jacky Graham
Winter 2015 Kaplan Award Winner
Green, tan, and white, everything that’s supposed to be right. Tacoma Presbyterian Church is a place located in Tacoma, Washington that congregates souls that want to know God.
This church is special. It’s a bilingual Korean-English speaking church that involves services in both languages. If you’ve seen the movie “21 Jump Street”, this is your Korean Jesus.
The serene colors of the building reflect nature in the special green and tan painted walls. Almost, the church represents a tree with its woody colors. Maybe this is why there is a special essence because in a way, this building is giving off a fresh air of life—a life with God. To say the least, the theme of those colors reflected peace and livelihood.
Within the infrastructure that honors the word of God, there is a cross inside the main chapel. While it has the simple tan glow with the crimson red reflecting the blood that Christ shed, the cross never shuts off. Even when the electricity is blown or generators fail, the piercing, ever so colorful cross stands alone in the darkness of its surrounding. It brings you to believe that it stays lit by the POWER of God.
I haven’t been to church, especially this church in what feels like a long time. Quickly, I learned about the Lord’s humor. As soon as I walk into the main entrance of the college student chapel, I am swiftly hit with a cane across my head as I make a “right” turn. The fragile grandma instantaneously crosses my path and her strength startles me. Maybe it’s because I’ve felt guilty of not attending church for so long, but that was my interpretation of God telling me, “Hey, welcome back- it’s been a while.”
Definitely, it is bizarre to come back.
I recall the times when church was a routine. If I didn’t go, I felt someone in a third world country would suffer. I felt karma would haunt me like a bad dream and intrude my reality. Ultimately, the guilt wasn’t enough to draw me back to the serene church.
About 90% of the people are of full Korean descent. As someone who is half Korean and half African American, I stood alone—I was different. It was like the people were the yellow sea, and I was a black rock that disrupted the flow of its current. That feeling troubled me because I have been taught that God sees us all as equals and of the same worth.
It’s always interesting when you don’t really connect with church members as a kid. Especially when someone asks, “What are you?” “What is your mix?”, “Are you black?”, or my favorite- “I don’t really like black people- no offense, but you’re different”. In my head I would I would ponder in silence trying to believe a simple point—aren’t I just a member of this church?
Life became different when one of my family members became head pastor of the high school division of the church—which was my brother. He became that familiar face in the crowd of people where I felt alone—a comfort zone. A child can compare this to their favorite blanket that they can’t sleep without at night. Today, he made a guest appearance as a speaker—he’s a good one too.
I start to stroll slowly into college level chapel. Instead of the hymns and organ playing stereotypical church music, there was an acoustic guitar with a youthful, yet soulful voice for the generation of people attending.
As a member sitting down hearing the words and instruments flow through your ear, some people singing are tone deaf or not sing as eloquently- such as a pre-teen encountering puberty. This experience is like a junior high choir though for the audience. Voices cracking, voices not always matured, but still strong and loud to sing for the Lord.
I sit down in back as I always have, but this time I did so because my best friend was sitting there. The chairs are green like emerald and were aligned perfectly to face the cross in the middle to give praise while we sing.
I reminisce feeling so different and out of place when I was younger. I would sit in the back to be unnoticed. I understood somewhat how Rosa Parks felt.
Praise goes on, but the songs are so unfamiliar. It’s an unusual feeling because I used to know all the songs so well, like a common nursery song. The lights dim and fluorescent colors shine around the singers and instrumental staff.
As praise comes to a close, it’s time for the lesson for the day.
I listen to my brother’s sermon and something ironic tugged at me. “This is a place of community and we should be greeting each other like they belong here and are meant to be here,” he said. Maybe it was because it was Seahawks Sunday or that there is no school the next day, but I felt a jolt and was excited. It made me see things in a different perspective.
Now that I am older, church didn’t feel uncomfortable because I felt different. Maybe it has become a place where I can go when I feel something is missing. I might feel strange about my mixed background, but I’ll remember the lady after I was hit by the Jesus cane speaking to me in Korean saying, “Welcome to church, you are beautiful.” I guess being older you notice how you didn’t have to feel different after all.