By William Wan
Washington Post Staff Writer
Friday, December 25, 2009; A01
As the choir launched into the Christmas song, Betty Leach sat in her pew and stared at the words on the page, trying to make sense of them. "Puttenesudu nedu," the Indian parishioners all around her sang.
At 79, she has passed more than four decades' worth of Christmases at this Silver Spring church. She brought her children here and her children's children. But now as the congregation broke into song, Leach couldn't begin to pronounce the words or translate their meaning: Jesus is born today. Instead, the bespectacled grandmother resigned herself to humming along.
After years of holiday tradition -- the "O Holy Nights," the turkey and gravy galore -- Christmas has undergone a dramatic makeover for Leach and two dozen other longtime parishioners. Now they celebrate with plates of goat curry with rice, folk songs from halfway around the world, and a people and culture they are only starting to understand.
This is what happens when you take two congregations -- a predominantly white church in desperate need of new members and a booming Indian church desperate for space -- and blend them together. The result at the now merged Memorial First India United Methodist Church is a study in frustration, joy, struggle and, above all, grace. And Christmas has become a chance for everyone involved to live out the season's themes of unity and peace amid what has turned out to be an unusual and sometimes complicated relationship.
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Although many churches share their space with other congregations, full church mergers remain rare. Some experts estimate that 1 percent of Protestant churches merge each year. Two congregations so ethnically distinct agreeing to merge was a first for the denomination in this region.
Since the two churches -- First India and Memorial United -- joined together three years ago, the combined Sunday services, conducted mostly in English, have become a balancing act between the two worlds. And the man doing most of the juggling is the Rev. Samuel Honnappa, the church's diplomatic, soft-spoken pastor.
"Every Sunday is a big challenge," said Honnappa, 60, who is careful to choose someone from the Indian congregation and the original church to do the scripture readings each week. He also makes sure representatives from both groups serve on all the planning committees.
Even the church's decor reflects the delicate position in which it now operates. On one side of the simply adorned altar is the American flag; on the other, the Indian flag.
Two choirs perform during services: a small English choir and a larger choir that sings strictly in Telugu, the language in Andhra Pradesh, from where most of the Indians come.
"We started printing the Telugu hymns out phonetically, so people can at least sing along on Sundays," Honnappa said. "A lot of them really do try to make the same sounds, but I know it's hard for them."
For Leach, adjusting to the food has been even more challenging. At the new church's first holiday dinner, Leach recalls getting a spoonful of an exotically fragrant green bean dish.
"Try this one," they told her, "it's not too spicy."
She took one bite and went running for a cup of water. "They told me later I was eating the little black pebbles they use to spice the food. 'Betty, you're not supposed to eat that!' they said. All I knew was it was hot!"
There have been adjustments on the Indian side as well.
"We have something called Indian time," Honnappa said. "If an Indian says 5 p.m., what they really mean is 6 p.m. I've had to remind some in the Indian congregation that to an American, 5 p.m. means 5 p.m."
An arranged marriageFor the aging Memorial congregation, the merger was a last-ditch effort to keep the building on Colesville Road where it had worshiped for more than half a century.
When the church was built in 1958, its modern architecture caused a stir with its sharp angles, bright colors and long windows of clear-paned glass. The spacious sanctuary was built with the future in mind, able to fit more than 400 people. But instead of growing, the congregation of more than 200 kept shrinking until only about 25 remained, depending on the week and the weather.
Some members moved or passed away. Others quietly left to join other churches -- a group that eventually included Leach's daughter and granddaughter.
The church tried canvassing for new members, baking raisin nut loaves for visitors, even direct-mail marketing. None of it made a dent.
"On some Sundays, you could fit the entire congregation into the first two rows," said John Roth, 68, a church trustee.
In 2006, the area's denominational leaders told Memorial United that it needed to find new blood or risk losing its church altogether.
That's when Roth and others were told about the Indian group renting a small chapel in Takoma Park. The congregation of more than 120 -- mostly young, professional families -- was practically bursting at the seams. Sunday school classes were being conducted in the hallway.
That first Sunday after the merger, the sanctuary was filled for the first time in years. The old Memorial congregation found itself sitting amid a sea of Indians in colorful saris and suits.
The Indians tried not to seem too excited, afraid of offending the longtime members. But their kids couldn't contain themselves, running through the halls, exploring every new nook and cranny.
Leach smiled at their enthusiasm. "It was odd, yes, but there was something electric in the air," she recalled. "It felt like the church was alive again."
Even with all the changes, Leach said, it still feels like her spiritual home. "This church has been my life. I'll stay here until the day I die."
It is a sentiment shared by Edith Mountjoy, 88, who was baptized in the church, married there, had her children baptized there and her father buried there. With her husband now deceased and her daughter in another state, the church is in many ways her family. "All my friends are there, and the Indian folk, we're all starting to get acquainted, too," she said.
This month, after one of her sons died of cancer, she arrived on Sunday morning and was greeted by the pastor's wife with a long, lingering hug. "Oh, my heart just feels for you," Rachel Samuel told her. Many of the Indian parishioners, people whose names Mountjoy couldn't always remember, told her that they were praying for her and embraced her. It has made this year's tough Christmas, she said, a little easier to bear. "I really needed all those hugs."
Grace and unityCelebrating Christmas has been a unifying force for Memorial First India.
This year, members of both choirs joined for the first time to present a special holiday recital. Even the food at this week's Christmas dinner has been worked out to the satisfaction of all, with one table for fried chicken and lasagna and several others for slow-cooked lamb dishes, flatbreads and curries.
"It actually has gotten to the point where we have to keep our children from eating up all their American food," said Sukumar Christopher, 69, a founding member of the Indian congregation. "They get tired of the curry at home. All they want is to eat from the American table."
And almost everyone plans to attend the Christmas play, which the snow postponed until this weekend.
Together, they will look on as the children of the church reenact the Nativity scene, with Mary and Joseph wandering from inn to inn looking for someone to welcome them. It is a story that especially resonates among the Indian parishioners, who also searched hard for a place of their own. Now, they say, they've finally found it, alongside their new friends at Memorial United.
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