Pastor Thurman Williams likes to joke about meeting people and explaining he's from New Song, a church of about fifty members in West Baltimore. New Psalmist! they exclaim, and pile high praise on the gifted brother.
There are many reasons to mistake him for a preacher from one of the oldest and most prestigious black churches in the city. Though only in his early thirties, he has the charismatic presence of a seasoned minister. And though he grew up in middle-class, suburban D.C., he exchanges greetings easily as we walk the streets of Sandtown. He calls, "Hey ladies," or "Hey bro', how're you?" as he passes people cooling off on their stoops.
He's made this neighborhood--one of the poorest in the city--his home for almost two years. He lives in the row house where the church was founded in 1988. (New Song has since moved to a larger building three blocks away.) It's there that I meet his wife Evie, toting infant son Joshua. Williams's family itself is a multicultural church success story. He met Evie, a member of New Song, before becoming pastor there in 2000. Although she is white, her presence in the mostly black neighborhood is accepted, and Joshua is passed from lap to lap at church. In a neighborhood where Williams says most churches are "comprised of folks who drive in and drive back out--people that grew up here and left," his commitment is a cornerstone of New Song's plan. "We wanted to be a church for people right here," he explains.
Across the street is the neighborhood pool, thronged with kids battling the summer heat. Pointing up the street, five houses down, Williams shows where, just yesterday, men shot at a church member's home. The kids at the pool dove to the ground in fear. But the streets are busy again today, the pool is full. Business is as usual at the nearby Habitat office, Health Center, and Learning Center, all established by New Song with numerous grants.
These neighborhood resources are all part of New Song's three R's: Relocation, Reconciliation, Redistribution. The first principle can be especially challenging. When New Song's white founders, Allan Tibbels, wife Susan, and friend Mark Gornik, moved to Sandtown fifteen years ago, people were not welcoming, believing them to be narcs, or maybe just crazy. Now, after earning the trust of the community and bringing millions of dollars in resources and services, their own kids have the neighborhood lingo down.
Sylvia Simmons is a black church member who moved her two daughters from East Baltimore to Sandtown; she became a Habitat homeowner there in 1992. Now in her mid-thirties, she's seen a man shot and killed, escaped gunfire next to her house, and had a co-worker injured by crossfire while making a phone call--all since the move. Yet she remains committed to the neighborhood, arguing, "When will the rebuilding start, how can it start, if we all run away?"
Simmons's loyalty stems from her close ties to New Song. Her current job as a medical assistant, as well as her home, were gleaned from close ties to the church. "I saw the good that was being done and I was a recipient of that," she says. Yet when her small Pentecostal fellowship decided in 1992 to combine services with New Song, a Presbyterian Church of America, it was difficult at first. "We were used to the shouting and the jumping and being very active in the service and this was totally different, very reserved," she says.
The process of both congregations adapting to each other was gradual and difficult. "I cried through it and I prayed about it and was puzzled about it and I looked at my pastor initially like, 'Why did you do this? And why are we here?'" she says. One of Simmons's greatest and most difficult realizations, she says, was that "God has other sheep." Her denomination was not the only one that was Christian. She refers to Acts 2, describing the day of Pentecost, on which tongues of fire appeared and a crowd of men speaking different languages miraculously understood each other. This scene is the model of many churches attempting to claim a multicultural status, and is often cited as Biblical proof of God's approval.
"The racial thing is what will continue to eat at you 'til you leave here, if you're allowed to," Simmons acknowledges. New Song's leadership still struggles with mistrust. Placing more power in the hands of community members and addressing longstanding inequalities are constant issues. "We want to feel as blacks in this community that we have the freedom still to know what's best for us and have that respected," she explains.
At Habitat, Prasada-Rao sometimes groans under the burden of black/white misunderstanding. Indian American and dark-skinned, Prasada-Rao often finds herself in the position of mediator, a bridge between black and white in Baltimore.
There's not a day that goes by at work that's free from racial issues. Disagreements may not get trumpeted in church on Sundays. But during the week, at the various centers started by New Song, hurt feelings and resentment announce themselves. At times Patty wishes reconciliation didn't take so long. "I wish I could say to the white folks I know, 'Because you come from this perspective you have no idea what it's like,'" she says. "I wish I could say to the black folks I know, 'Not everyone has it out for you … not every comment that is made is a racial slur.'"
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