An Unforeseen Welcome: My First Church Experience in Belfast
Sundays in Northern Ireland are for long runs, oatmeal, and church (not necessarily in order of importance). My friend John has a connection to King’s Way, a Pentecostal church here in Belfast, and the previous Sunday he’d gone and met several of the families who attended. One couple in particular, Ken and Liz Brown, frequently house international students, so in an effort to welcome us to the community, they kindly invited a group of us Belmont students over to their house for lunch after the service. Although we’d never met, two other members of the congregation were generous enough to provide us with rides. I’d never been to a Pentecostal church before, but I stepped into the car (this was the first time I’d ridden on the left side of the road), anxiously awaiting the hours that lay before me with an open mind.
The building was not what I expected–it had the appearance of an old mechanic shop, with concrete slab walls and a blue rolling shutter door. Across the street were several pharmacies, a vape shop, and a Chinese takeout restaurant; it was an incredibly unremarkable area. I was greeted with hellos and hand sanitizer upon entering the sanctuary, which provided the familiarity and antiquity of my Vacation Bible School classrooms from elementary school, complete with maroon felt carpet and technology frozen in the 1990’s.
The service was relaxed and engaging, with a short time dedicated to allow members to share a verse or moment from the week where they saw God acting. The congregation was extremely familial, shouting out inside-jokes during the sermon that sent an eruption of laughter through the tightly-packed room. Perhaps I’ve been spoiled by the fluorescent-lit stages and world-class musicians from Nashville’s churches, but the worship here was a bit underwhelming. Led by a single vocalist and pianist, the lyrics felt crammed together in odd rhythms and hard-to-sing melodies, but I appreciated the meaning even as I fumbled my way through octaves and harmonies.
The church body, full of primarily senior citizens, was absolutely delighted to see so many young Americans. “They’re invading, just like the British!” one woman chuckled as she passed. After the service, those seated around us introduced themselves and kindly welcomed us to the city. I don’t think I’d been to a church where the people were so quickly and outwardly kind to newcomers; even if the style of worship was unfamiliar to me, I felt deeply welcomed and valued right away.
Several introductions later our group reconvened, and Ken and Liz drove us down the block to their house in Dunmurry. It was a magnificent two story brick building with a protruding window that saw into the living room. Upon entering I was met with floral wallpaper, hard-wood floors, antique china atop pastel-painted shelves, and the most beautiful fireplace with an impressionist painting of Paris hanging over it. The tantalizing aroma of cobbler wafting from the oven and the cracked-door view of a room filled with stacks upon stacks of books made me think I’d stepped into a fairytale. While Liz finished lunch preparations, Ken invited us into the living room where the eight of us each took a seat on maroon leather sofas.
Ken looked to be in his early 70s, but his eyes gleamed with a youthful exuberance like the world still had much to offer him. He sat reclined in his chair, hands folded on his chest, effortlessly detailing his days as Vice President of Queen’s University like he was reciting a novel. His entire persona felt like it had sprung out of an old English children’s novel: he wore a navy blue knitted cardigan with a single button fastened at the bottom and spoke slowly in sentences made up of equal parts wisdom and sarcasm. When he recounted the Troubles, I could feel how real and visceral it was to him, and I realized that this was more than a period in time twenty years ago–it was a hard hitting reality that has deeply stained the public consciousness of that generation. “There wasn’t much to do then besides have children,” he shrugged, to which we all laughed.
Liz called from the kitchen that lunch was ready, and we all took seats at the nine-person wooden dining table while platters of white rice and chili were laid out before us. Despite lovingly mocking me for being a vegetarian, the couple prepared me a scrumptious curried cauliflower dish as an alternative to the beef chili. Over clinking forks and wine glasses we asked Ken and Liz about their move from England to Belfast, about Irish customs and their love of reading and writing. Likewise, they showed interest in our experiences abroad. Ken commended us on our decision to travel, admitting his experiences studying in Canada and traveling across the world shaped him in ways no other experience could. “That’s when I realized God wasn’t English.”
Liz spoke with a relaxed sort of confidence, like she knew everything but was withholding some greater knowledge. She had the strength of a woman who had lived through the Troubles but the warmth of one who has loved widely and deeply. I asked Liz what her favorite thing to do in Belfast was, expecting some answer I could garner for my own planning purposes, but she responded “inviting people into my home. I love meeting new people.” It reminded me of something John Green once said–that sometimes the most personally productive parts of our days are not what is most economically productive. In this world I think it is enough to simply be loved and offer love in return.
After we had finished lunch, Liz brought out a plate of warm, homemade fruit cobbler, followed by tea and sugar-dusted shortbread cookies. We happily munched on the sweets and then departed to the library where the piano was located. Justin, Ethan, and Cooper performed some lovely arrangements, while Asher admired the lighting in several photographs on the wall. Isabella, John, and I simply stood back and listened to the songs, soaking in the beauty of this moment.
Our signal to leave came in the dampening of the sun behind clouds and an emerging blanket of pink over the sky. All seven of us exchanged heartfelt words of gratitude to the couple on our way out, hoping this would not be the last time we’d see the pair of them. On the ride home I couldn’t stop thinking about how big the world is and how small I am, yet how each individual’s story is magnitudinous. It’s such a joy to be able to travel, to see how our existence in the world is nothing but a brush stroke in a much larger painting. Later that night a group of Belmont students gathered in our kitchen for a worship night, and toward the end we went around in a circle and shared our favorite experience in Belfast so far. My friend Grace told us about Dennis, a 31 year-old professor she met in the Botanic Gardens who offered to walk with her. He told her to relish this study abroad experience, because there will never be another time that we are living in another country for this long at such a formative moment in our lives. Dennis’ advice and Ken and Liz’s hospitality invited me to reconsider how I view my time here. I know I was sent abroad to further my education and career, but maybe the best thing I can do is offer up my attention, to seek new experiences and never undervalue the significance of those who have been placed around me. Just as Liz valued loving others, so too may I find that the greatest form of productivity is offering up more of myself to someone who needs it.
