Pastor Bobby Musengwa knows what churches can accomplish when united. He remembers apartheid South Africa, where Lutherans, Catholics, Presbyterians and Anglicans unified to defy segregationist law.
When apartheid ended in Musengwa’s home country, churches were a catalyst for equality.
But Musengwa, co-pastor at Maximo Presbyterian in St. Petersburg, Fla., also remembers that churches were part of the origins of the brutal segregation, denying worship and communion to blacks during the 1800s, laying the groundwork for the supremacist government of the 1900s.
“The church is guilty of both building a monster and killing it,” Musengwa says.
Last month, Musengwa was elected president of the St. Petersburg Ministerial Association, the city’s oldest such group, a cross-section of religious leaders who meet monthly. Turnout is small. For now, the association’s events and outreach are limited. But Musengwa believes that together, St. Petersburg’s churches can be more than the sum of their parts. First he needs commitment from his fellow pastors.
And that, he says, can be hard to come by.
It’s not that churches don’t value unity. Many do. Few agree what it should look like.
“Churches are more faithful in their mission when they are together,” Musengwa says, singling out the issues of homelessness and affordable housing in St. Petersburg.
Pastor Tracy Hunter, of Lakewood United Methodist, says churches often find unity in crisis. But without clarity of purpose, “We struggle to organize and relate to each other,” she says.
Without a mission, Musengwa says, churches cease to be a community resource. “It becomes a social club.”
Pinellas Point, where Musengwa preaches, is one of St. Petersburg’s largest and diverse neighborhoods. It has both low-income apartments and million-dollar homes. There are more than 15 congregations representing 12 Christian denominations. The number of white and black residents is nearly equal, according to U.S. Census data. This, in a city that had race riots as recently as 1996.
With all of St. Petersburg’s racial history, Pinellas Point made integration work, says Jon Wilson, a St. Petersburg Times reporter who has written about the city’s history.
Interdenominational collaboration in the neighborhood, however, is a mixed bag with little consistency. Some years, there are joint services at major holidays. Other events are rare. Some churches work together on certain programs. Others are nearly isolated. Even Musengwa doesn’t know the names of all his fellow pastors.
Even though most Christians share a basic belief system, many denominations dispute the salvation claims of others. Pastor Mark Kreemer, of St. Andrew Lutheran, says a child in his church was recently told at another local church that she is going to hell.
The incident serves as a reminder of how far Christians have to go, Kreemer says.
Meanwhile, the ministerial association, which includes three Jewish rabbis and a Muslim imam, struggles to remain relevant.
Founded in 1950s, the association was once at the forefront of St. Petersburg’s civil rights struggle, says Doug Harrell, chaplain at Bayfront Medical Center, where the group meets.
Now, dialogue is more important than action, Harrell says. Out of 60 members, there are about 15 regulars. A recent association program to provide tutors to public school students drew eight clergy.
“We all have our own fiefdoms, you know,” says Musengwa, 41, who arrived in Florida in 2005 by way of Niagara Falls, N.Y., and Big Bend, Wis. “We’re all too busy focusing in our own enclaves.”
The challenges in front of Musengwa are cultural, theological and logistical.
David Roozen, director of the Hartford Institute for Religion Research, says although the message is often similar, differences in music or language can be jarring.
Sam Migliorisi, a 30-year congregant of Blessed Trinity Catholic, says Christ is Christ regardless of denomination, but some evangelical services aren’t as solemn as the Masses he’s used to.
“If I had to jump up and shout and yell, I’d feel out of place,” he says.
Migliorisi would certainly feel awkward at Bethesda Haitian Baptist, where on any given Sunday in the chapel of Lakewood United Methodist, congregants raise hands and pump fists, kneeling and affirming the preacher’s explosive French praises.
And members of Bethesda Haitian would feel misplaced at Migliorisi’s sanctuary, where quiet congregants watch the monsignor speak the prayers and raise a goblet of wine. At Lakewood United Church of Christ, where Pastor Kim Wells’ style says art teacher more than minister, the pianist plays tunes like “It’s a Wonderful World.”
Despite efforts at integration, Sunday morning remains the most segregated hour of American life. Even in Pinellas Point, only a handful of churches are racially diverse. Most are not.
“We need roots to our identity,” Roozen says, “and that’s grounded often in religion.”
Then there is the theology.
Wesley Paul, son of a pastor at the Haitian Baptist church, says though all Christians serve one God, he once attended Catholic Mass and couldn’t get over the feeling that praying to Mary and the saints was wrong.
“I didn’t stay in there for long,” Paul says.
Reflecting on our own beliefs can be problematic, Roozen says. So, many modern ecumenical groups push social missions instead.
“There’s not a lot of energy to iron out or make sense of theological differences or worship differences that divide us,” he says.
Interdenominational unity is only getting harder, not easier, Roozen says. Globalization increases exposure, but actually further entrenches people in their own beliefs. When faced with ambiguity, he says, people seek out the familiar.
With all his lessons from South Africa, Musengwa realizes he often undermines his own mission.
Like many pastors, he runs out of time at the end of the week, between services, meetings, family, and a litany of other responsibilities to his own congregation.
His concrete plans for the association are still embryonic. And when asked for an example of church unity yielding positive results in the time since he has come to the United States, Musengwa struggles.
He can’t think of any.
“Pathetic,” he says.
