Amid the chaos, chairos

On the corner of 81st and Broadway stands the First Baptist Church. A sign welcomes us to stop in so Meredith and I climb the stairs and open the great oak door. We are greeted in the vestibule by Ruby, an elderly volunteer who opens the church to visitors on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

“People get to see the building from the outside but most people never come in,” she tells us. But since 9/11 the church has been opening its doors to neighbors and strangers for prayer and meditation. Ruby’s is the smiling face those strangers see. “Outside it’s loud but in here they can get away from it. This place is peaceful.”

When I tell her we’re seminarians, she gets very excited, “I grew up Methodist! Now I’ve been at this church 30 years.” Meredith asks about the beautiful stained glass ceiling. I ask about the congregation.

Ruby seems to have the longview- from the church’s founding in the 1740s through today. She describes the multiracial, multigenerational congregation passionately, like family. She describes the ebb and flow of attendance in the context of the church’s 250 year history. It’s a memory larger than her own. Meredith and I are inspired by her passion and perspective. Hopeful.

She tells us of her life as an organizer for the Garment Workers Union, and about her world travels in that position. Everyone has a story, but here it seems that stories weave themselves naturally and beautifully into every conversation. Or perhaps what I’m sensing is a freedom to listen that comes from my privileged perspective as a stranger here. Strangely, though, standing in the sanctuary with Ruby I felt right at home.