Don’t Ask!
In our culture, we are trained that it is impolite to ask adults how much money they make or how old they are. I generally don’t mind answering the latter—I am proud of the gray hairs sprouting from my scalp. I earned them! But I refrain from asking other people their age.
It is also improper to probe how one voted in an election. The secret ballot is a hallmark of democracy. But there’s one question that ought to be regarded as outside the scope of propriety, yet often is considered harmless: “What church do you go to?”
People pose this question as if asking, “What is your favorite restaurant?” or “What baseball team do you root for?” If, in Cardinal country, I say I’m a Giants fan, I might get a playful sneer in return, but in good fun. If I say I’m not into baseball, the conversation just shifts—no harm done. But answering “the church question” is not so simple.
I was once at a small music jam in a public setting when an acquaintance asked me, “What church do you go to?” I said, “I don’t.” It seemed I momentarily knocked the wind out of her. After a brief silence, she said, “Well, at least you’re honest,” as if she would have expected me to invent a polite falsehood for the occasion. We covered the consequent discomfort by talking about our mutual enjoyment of gospel music.
My stating that I don’t go to church was enough to mark a change in the relationship. Without specifying whether or not I adhere to any religion, believe in God, or indulge in the reading of religious texts, I gave an answer this woman was apparently not prepared to hear.
When I was very young and still working out what I feel about all things ethereal (I am old now, and still pondering it as my dad taught me—with a high degree of skepticism, but open to possibility), I was asked that same question by an elderly woman sitting next to me on a public bus in New Orleans. When I replied that I don’t go to church, she put her own twist on my response; “Oh, you just believe in God, then.”
When I said, “I’m not sure I do,” she nearly went into convulsions, sputtering “How can you live?! How can you live?!” and stumbled to another seat as if I was the devil incarnate. But I promise I’m not. I do good deeds. I love my neighbor. I don’t covet what’s not mine. And I don’t lie.
I have a dear friend who faced this uncomfortable question, and answered by talking about her familial religion from youth. The questioner persisted, wanting to know about her present religion. My friend’s reply? “I’m nothing.”
Oh, my! She is far from “nothing!” She is gentle, generous, and kind. But she chose to disappear, as it were, rather than raise a ruckus. The question of church and religion can cause emotional harm, even unintentionally.
I still waffle on what I believe about many of the unprovable things in our existence. But I am comfortable in my uncertainty. If asking me—or anyone else—about church is important to you, please be prepared to accept whatever answer you get, even if it doesn’t fit inside the proverbial box. Or else don’t ask. It would be a shame if it interfered with a friendly relationship.