No Place for Me

I could be wrong. My criticism might be too harsh. But it is no harsher than my pain.

And so I have taken some solace in the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who, more than 40 years ago in his "Letter From a Birmingham Jail," wrote that the church was in danger of being "dismissed as an irrelevant social club." "In deep disappointment I have wept over the laxity of the church," he lamented. "But be assured that my tears have been tears of love. There can be no deep disappointment where there is not deep love. Yes, I love the church."

So do I.

And come Sunday mornings, especially on Sunday mornings, I miss the rev of the organ. I miss the spiritual song drifting through the sanctuary. I miss the sight of the gray-haired church mothers in their Sunday regalia and their warm embrace after service. I miss the sound of a spirit-filled choir whose song can be a salve to a hurting soul. I miss the beauty of worship, of lifting my hands in the awesome wonder of fellowship with my sisters and brothers in Christ gathered in the house of God with my family.

"Imani, have you said bye to Daddy?" my wife called to our daughter.

"I already did," she answered.

Actually, we hadn't said goodbye. A few minutes earlier, I had called her upstairs and given her a dollar for Sunday offering and hugged her tight, unable to address her question about why Daddy doesn't go to church anymore.

Perhaps I will explain one day. Or perhaps I won't have to.

Author's e-mail:

author@Johnwfountain.com

John Fountain, a journalism professor at the University of Illinois at Urbana-

Champaign, was a reporter at The Washington Post from 1995 to 2000. He is the author of "True Vine: A Young Black Man's Journey of Faith, Hope and Clarity" (Public Affairs).