Has Tourism Gone Too Far?

“This church is members only,” said the elderly black man who was strategically standing in the middle as the door as to not let any one in around him. He was speaking to a mixed group of white faces and when I approached the door looking utterly confused as he ushered my brown face in no question. “Maybe being a ‘member’ means you’re black?” I thought, a bit confused because I had never seen anyone turn someone away from a church before. “Can he do that?”

Yes. He can. Or at least he can try.

Unknown to the guard of the gates, down the block and around the corner of the church stood a group of at least 50 more people, all white, all intent on attending service at Abyssinian Baptist Church at 11 o’clock service on Sunday morning. Soon, it became very clear, this wasn’t about the race of the intended guests -- no, not at all. These people were not fellow Baptists seeking to attend a good Baptist church service. These people were not even dressed for church. This was a tourist group. A bus load of people touring the city, sight seeing in Harlem. And as if they were standing in the tickets line for a last minute Broadway show, this group of tourists lined up around the corner and in small groups walked up to the church doors seeking entrance to Sunday morning’s main attraction, a group of black Baptist worshippers praying and rejoicing in the lord.

It wasn’t just distracting to see to look up and see tourists walking in and out of the church throughout the service, it was outright disrespectful. More so, because these people modeled their finest t-shits, tank tops, cargo shorts, flip-flops and backpacks. They came in with big smiles on their faces looking at us as if we were props on a set, not people in prayer communing in a house of God.

It’s no wonder that a church founded and erected in 1808 by three black preachers who were rebelling against segregated seating in Baptist congregations draws admirers from around the country. The beauty of the sanctuary beams as the choir of elderly black men and women sing the eldest of negro spirituals. The community of the church is true as the good Rev. Calvin Butts can joke throughout the sermon at the expense of an embarrassed parishioner. This rich history and spirit that has filled the halls of this building is palpable and powerful. With such a rich legacy, of course, people from around the world seek to see the inside of Abyssinian Baptist Church, the same way they desire to see St. Patrick’s Cathedral or even the Vatican.

I’ve never been to catholic mass, though I have visited numerous cathedrals. Each time I have visited I have been on a weekday when tourists are allowed to walk through and observe. I have always been careful not to touch anything, and to make sure to keep my voice down and be respectful of the place of worship. As a black woman I have never even imagined that I could enter into a place of worship with a bus load of my friends like we were going to a concert. I just can’t possibly grasp what could make anyone think that type of behavior is acceptable.

I, too, was a first time visitor to Abyssinian on Sunday. When I awoke to get ready, I took great care in picking my outfit. I wanted to be conservative, not to bright, not to revealing. I tried on several outfits before deciding on a navy blazer and white pants, and I worried about the pants.

But unlike me, these people were disruptive, they entered and exited throughout the entire church service, they were improperly dressed and appeared much more like eager spectators than people in search of prayer. It was all just too much, too inappropriate, way too out of control.

So what to do? I, like the man guarding the door, would never begrudge anyone the opportunity to come worship in a house of God. But I don’t think Jesus is a stop on the Big Apple Tour Bus, and certainly don’t think I praying is a spectator sport. And while I don’t suppose a church can shut its doors to the public, I do suppose if the public is planning on stopping through, they could dress for the occasion.

Living in New York City, brings about unpleasant tourist experiences on a daily basis. You can’t even walk in Times Square in the summer unless you want to get mixed in with a bunch of 15 year old kids in orange t-shirts from Ohio. But there in an area so brightly lit it feels like daytime at 3 a.m., it’s understandable and therefore tolerable. Tourists in my church home—that I just can’t tolerate.