Church-Hopping with a Purpose
Christianity Today, Reviewed by Linda McCullough Moore, 30 June 2008
I'm trying to think of something that's as strange as church. As frankly odd. As consistently peculiar. My own church, for instance. I love it. But I wonder how it might appear to a Martian. Or, to John the Baptist, say. Or, for that matter, to Suzanne Strempek Shea, author of Sundays in America: A Yearlong Road Trip in Search of Christian Faith. Shea, a writer who made it her business to visit fifty-two churches in a year, and to write a chapter about each one.
It's a lot of churches. It's a lot of chapters. Shea visits churches chosen for what they are not—Roman Catholic, the church of her youth—and for what they are—Christian, the latter being defined with unprecedented freedom. Here we have Mormons, Baptists, Jehovah Witnesses, Presbyterians, Christian Scientists, Spiritualists, Quakers, Shakers, Greek Orthodox, Moravians, plus evangelicals of diversified particularity. The litany's the same for every one.
After a brief history of the religious organization, Shea describes designated and/or freelance greeters, carpet tuft and color, seat cushions, dress code, percentage of men and children, (frequently small), hymn lyrics, accompaniment, collection plate design, conveyance for communion (in one instance, "a silver hubcap-type plate containing matzo-like bread and edged with polio vaccine cups of wine"), prayer style, and sermon highlights, with quotes and cadence noted. And we are there, joining Shea in every church-induced behavior from fright and fidgeting to unscripted hallelujahs. And we like her company, this softly spoken woman graced with wit and quiet charm. She's warm and generous, sharing her family and her life as freely as she shares the pew.
After a few dozen chapters, the experience grows a bit routine. I have decided, though, not to complain, since I think it is this ritualized recital that enables us to feel so present at each service. (Okay, okay, so I'm Anglican.) We're not told about these churches over Sunday dinner; rather we are roused, often far too early, dressed up and dragged off to church in every sort of weather, every blessed Sunday for a year. This book is not necessarily a fun read, but not all the good in life is unalloyed pleasure (see: church).
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