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I’m not as weird as most people think I am.
Okay, yes I am. But not for the reasons they’d expect.
Well, that’s not true either.
Here’s the deal: (Newsflash!) I’m LDS. And for many people in this world that’s enough to call me, erm, peculiar. Add today’s socio-political climate to the mix and they might even call me worse than that. I’ve sort of come to expect it in many situations. Which leads me to this experience:
Last Sunday I sang at a Baptist church.
It wasn’t the local Baptist church. I’m not sure there is one where I live in Utah, and if there is, I’ve never seen it. It’s probably waving at me from the shadows of the meetinghouses we’ve got on every corner and isn’t recognizable without a Denomination-Detector. We’re a bit crowded with LDS Church buildings here.
The singing I’m talking about took place in a Baptist church way out in North Carolina where I spent the weekend visiting my brother. He and my bro-in-law are brilliant musicians, and I am lucky enough, with some regularity, to get to sing and perform in beautiful programs with them. This trip, however, was a bit more low-key. And on the first day I found myself tagging along to a choir practice at the Baptist church where my brother sings and my BIL plays organ. Since I was an outsider I figured I’d just be hanging out around the edges, being quiet until it was over. So I mentally settled in for that.
Now I have to tell you that I grew up outside of Utah—at least for most of it. And I am very used to being “the only Mormon in the school,” and “the only Mormon in the grocery store,” and “the only Mormon at the local pub where my boss took me to celebrate my birthday because she forgot that I don’t drink.” I’m also used to the idea, as I mentioned, that a number of people outside my current fair state don’t take too kindly to us Mormons, simply because we are. So I naturally assumed—especially as we were in the South where my religious-type is highly outnumbered—that my presence at this practice might cause a bit of a stir. Or at the very least, a bit of a whisk.
I walked in, smiled at the lovely choir members, got introduced as my brother’s sister, and waited for the glares and murmurs to begin as I found a seat. I have been pummeled by enough of those in my lifetime that it’s right up there with expecting the light to turn on when I flip the switch. So I squared my mental shoulders and waited.
Yep, I waited.
Just braced myself.
Waited.
And right on cue one of the venerable women of the soprano section turned to me and said, “The sopranos sit over here. You’re going to sing with us, aren’t you?”
*blink*
Oh, I get it. This is a ploy to get me to trust you. You lull me into thinking you want me to sing with you, and then once I’m all comfy in my choir robes, wuBAYum! You spring the ol’ “So, you’re a Mormon, eh? HOW MANY WIVES DID YOUR FATHER HAVE? I HEAR YOU CAN’T DRINK COKE OR EAT CHOCOLATE AND THAT YOU HAVE HORNS ON YOUR HEAD! ALSO, YOU’RE JUST PLAIN WEIRD!” trap on me.
Well, I wasn’t going to fall for that. And I opened my mouth to say so when another choir member leaned over and said, “You’re from Utah? I’ve been out there. That is a beautiful state. Well it’s so nice to meet you. I hope you’ll sing with us on Sunday. You will won’t you?”
*blink blink*
Hmm.
What was going on here? This wasn’t what I expected. I’d been around the Battle-of-the-Beliefs block a few times in my life, and I knew how those things went down. I had even put on an extra layer of deodorant in anticipation of the cold sweat I was going to break out in as a result of all the judgment that would be shooting my way.
But it never came. I was Extra-Dry and Shower-Fresh that evening for no particular reason. Because the entire choir welcomed me in like I was one of their own, asked questions about my family, gave me tips on the music, and then helped me find the right robe and choir folder for Sunday’s performance. In fact, everyone was so gracious that I started thinking I might need to let go of all of my defensive prejudices if I wanted to relax my throat enough to hit the high C.
Huh. Weird.
You know, I wonder if it’s possible to get so used to being the butt of jokes, sidelong glances, and outright judgment that you can become the prejudice you are trying to live through. I think it happens all the time and we don’t realize it, even in simple life situations—like working with someone who singles you out to bother, or having a sibling whose favorite pastime is nailing your clothes to the floor, or a host of other behaviors we have to put up with as we lope along in life. I think generally we try to be forgiving and non-judgmental in return. But is it possible that after a while, expecting the type of behavior we get produces a form of the same judgment and prejudice in us? That bracing ourselves for the storm may be what causes there to be one—at least in our minds? Based on my experience in the gorgeous South, I would say that I have certainly done that. And more than once.
I stood there looking at the beautiful smiling people around me and realized that they bore no resemblance whatsoever to the people I had made up in my head. An imagining based on real experience—but real past experience; experience that had nothing at all to do with this kind group of singers. And in that moment I decided that there was simply no need anymore for all of my preconceived notions, and I just needed to chuck them. And perhaps in the future, others would pay it forward and toss out theirs about me.
Well, Sunday rolled around and there I was: one itty bitty Mormon in an enthusiastic and powerful North Carolina Baptist choir, belting out high C’s to the rafters in the wake of an excellent sermon. A sermon, ironically, whose theme surrounded adjusting to change and new ideas.
Well, none of that was lost on me, or my deodorant. And I can’t wait until I have another chance to fly out there and sing with my new friends in the choir. They’ve extended a standing invitation to join them whenever I’m in town, and I’m so taking them up on it. Their music library is fabulous, and I quite like the robes. Also, I felt more accepted there than a lot of places I’ve been in my life, and I think it wouldn’t hurt me to be around that kind of Christlike behavior. With people like that in the world, there’s hope for everyone. Even us weirdos.