Article January 17, 2011 Issue

My church journey—beyond the bricks and mortar

By Gloria Onyuru

One of my earliest childhood recollections is going with my mother to the white-steepled church on the corner, in the small Midwestern college town where I was raised, so she could rehearse the Sunday solo with the organist. During these mid-week visits, I would often lie down on the hardwood floor at the back of the church’s empty auditorium and slither along under the pews until I emerged at the front, happy to have made the journey accompanied by a sacred solo and completely oblivious of the dust “bunnies” on the floor. On Sunday I would attend our Christian Science church’s Sunday School (held at the same time as church) and wait patiently afterward while my grandfather helped count the collection taken up during the service. Church was definitely a family affair.

When I was in junior high school, my mother and I relocated to a nearby city, where there were several branch Churches of Christ, Scientist. I would usually attend Sunday School at the branch nearest us, but for the Wednesday testimony meetings we sometimes visited one of the others. I eventually became a member of the nearby branch, as well as a member of The Mother Church, The First Church of Christ, Scientist, in Boston.

For university, I moved to an even larger city to live with my dad. There I went to Sunday School at the Christian Science church he was attending until I “graduated” at 20. Then I pressed the pause button on church-going. I was more interested in finding a husband and moving away from home. I foolishly decided that church was no longer for me.

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