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An impoverished grandmother rearing four grandchildren, and trying against all odds to provide a decent home so that these children "won't be poor like I was," is banking everything on them having a chance in life. My guess is that there are Rodricks everywhere in our society. They need the church's prayers and support.

It is eye-opening to be with people who are not using their clothes dryer because it is too expensive to run.

It is eye-opening to be with families who have loved ones in prison due to crimes related to their poverty; to witness grandmothers' and mothers' hand-wringing concern over whether their young boys will stay alive; to realize that many of the families in my church have been touched by murder; to discover that poverty has its own rules and its own world.

People in the community sometimes visited Messiah. The city symphony's conductor and his American-Dutch family attended regularly for over a year, but he never told the congregation about his work. Because I was in line to become president of the board for one of the city's ballet companies, I was able to obtain free tickets to The Nutcracker Suite that Christmas, and I distributed them to the church. One of the elders, jazz piano-playing Ed Higgins, recognized the symphony conductor and said to me at the ballet's intermission, "Did you see? That's George down there in front conducting the orchestra!" Ed smiled, lowered his voice to a confidential tone and whispered to me, "I said to myself, Now, there's one of ours!"

In the most profound sense, being able to tell each other There's one of ours, whatever their color or socioeconomic class, is a tremendous testimony to the power of Jesus Christ to bring us together in his body, the church.

The reality of this spiritual family hit me in another way in a crowded general store near the church. There was so much merchandise that things were piled from floor to ceiling. As I approached the counter and waited to be helped, I looked down at my feet, and there was a large framed picture of a powerful, fierce-looking black man. His long hair was braided in multistrands, and he was sitting, surrounded by children. Black children were all around him—on his lap and at his feet and side.

The toes of my shoes were almost touching the picture, so I stepped back. I was startled when I saw it, and my first thought was Who is that supposed to be?

Something deep inside me caused me to look again—to look again and to see. There I saw my Lord differently. For the first time in my life, I saw my Lord in black skin, and in my heart I praised him.

When I first came to Messiah, I drove to another part of town and found people who were strange and different from me. But after meeting and knowing Messiah, I find something has happened—and I am at home in a new way in God's world.

Pamela Baker Powell served Messiah Presbyterian Church from 1994 to 1996. She is a PCUSA pastor and assistant professor of pastoral ministry at Trinity Episcopal School for Ministry. This essay appeared in another form as "Meeting Messiah" in The Gospel in Black and White (InterVarsity). ©1997 by Pamela Baker Powell.

This excerpt originally appeared as part of InterVarsity Press's The Gospel in Black and White. Read the original , or order the book .

Also by Pamela Baker Powell, From Dust to Deliverance: A Lenten Reflection .

Christianity Today's series on evangelicals and racial reconciliation began Friday and will continue all week. Our earlier stories include:

Divided by Faith? | A recent study argues that American evangelicals cannot foster genuine racial reconciliation. Is our theology to blame? (Sept. 22, 2000)

Color-Blinded | Why 11 o'clock Sunday morning is still a mostly segregated hour. An excerpt from Divided by Faith. (Sept. 22, 2000)

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October 2 2000, Vol. 44, No. 11