Guest Post: The Remedy To Cultural Discomfort by Amanda Vernon

The discomfort began in my family of origin. Growing up, culture was a regular conversation topic, as was racism and the Holy Spirit. Between my Black psychologist father (now an ordained deacon in the Catholic Church) and my passionate Swedish-Italian-American mom, there was a daily attempt to reconcile cultural differences. Sometimes it was jovial; sometimes, it was very tense.

Fast forward to my first year of college. I remember walking past the food line with a red plastic lunch tray in hand to survey the seating options. My thoughts went something like, “People still cluster into cliques? Isn’t that a high school thing? “And also, “How could I fit in with any of these groups?”

It was a Catholic university in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, one of the most segregated cities in the U.S. Here’s a basic description of a few potential tables:

1. Catholic table: attend daily Mass, discuss theology, exclusively white.
2. Glamorous brown-girl table: various shades of light-skinned Black girls and darker-skinned Hispanic girls; conversations about school, parties, men.
3. Africans: from Africa. 
4. Female athletes: diverse cultural groups, sports = life.
   

This is an oversimplification. Generalities could never do justice to each cluster of students. However, while I found some kinship with each group, no matter which table I sat at or which friend group I eventually settled into, it was bound to be culturally uncomfortable.

And then there’s the church.

As a child, I grew up singing gospel spirituals at my home parish in West Michigan. My dad was a professional soloist and a choir director. He taught the choirs to sing the Gospel spirituals of our ancestors. Our parish was more diverse than most in the Diocese of Grand Rapids—both economically and racially—but to be Black was still to be in the small minority. 

As an adult and a full-time recording artist, much of my creative efforts have been focused on the Catholic community. For several years, I visited a different Catholic Church every weekend to give concert/keynote presentations. But first, I would show up at the Sunday Masses. Why do you think people collectively turned to stare at me when I walked past their pews?

Was it because:

A.) Each parish was so tight-knit that they could spot any new person.

B.) They thought I was beautiful.

C.) Because I am a Brown person (one of the few, if not the only, such persons at English-language Masses).

Perhaps in some small parishes, option A. was legitimate. But most parishes I traveled to were quite large. It’d be impossible for everyone to know everyone else. 

It seems fun to flatter myself with option B.! Yet, I have a sneaking suspicion this would happen to any person of color who walked confidently into this environment, regardless of how beautiful they were in the eye of the beholder.

Option C is uncomfortable. At least, it was uncomfortable in my experience. Now, about the Comforter.

The Holy Spirit, every time I call out in prayer, redeems my discomfort. Even cultural discomfort! Whether as a child in an interracial household, a freshman on a segregated campus, or as a professional singer who walks into majority-white churches week after week, the Holy Spirit, the Comforter!, has taught me more through my discomfort than I’ve ever learned by feeling comfortable on a natural level. 

At home: I learned that acceptance and love could overcome any of our differences! That it’s worth working through uncomfortable conversations to get to the truth. There’s a freedom to accept one another as we are, even with perspectives shaped by disparate upbringing.

At college: I came face to face with the reality that segregation doesn’t die out on its own. Through that heart-wrenching experience, I felt compelled by the Spirit to help build bridges between various cultural groups. (Full disclosure: I didn’t stay at that school, but the lessons from that season of life helped form who I am today.) 

And then there’s the church. It’s hard to describe the relief that comes when I can both receive the Sacraments and feel culturally comfortable at once. It’s a rare occurrence. I’ve felt that relief at regional gatherings of Black Catholics when we sing our ancestors’ songs in slavery while we pray the ancient prayers of Christianity. Many of us cry profusely.

But there’s something even more excellent, in my experience! And that is to feel the comfort of the Holy Spirit when I’m deeply uncomfortable in church. To stay in the discomfort, to seek out new friendships, to share my music (yes, even with my Gospel music sensibilities), and then to see how the Lord binds us all together as One Body of Christ?! It is miraculous to be part of.

My whole life, I’ve experienced a supernatural comfort that is a gift of the Holy Spirit. It’s free, but it’s not cheap! It requires that I open my heart to the Lord in my discomfort. In turn, the Comforter sets my soul at rest no matter where I go.

Share your thoughts and comments below.