On the outside of most church buildings in my Faith you can see the phrase "Visitors welcome". On 17 December 2023, I attended church in Gerasdorf bei Wien (Formerly the Vienna V Ward) in which I served as a missionary for 12 weeks back in the beginning of 1999. Granted, I don't remember many of the people from that time, and I was only there briefly, but it was telling that, for the most part, people only came to talk to me because I sing. The service opened with "Es ist ein Rose entsprungen" to which I not only know the tune and words but for which I also sang the Tenor part, and they have zero tenors in that congregation. It was immediately evident to people who had not noticed me, most of which because I arrived ten minutes early and was already seated in the rear of the chapel, that there was someone behind them who is not normally there. I am still not sure if I felt welcomed by the congregation.
Who greets you tells you a lot. Neither of the missionaries assigned to the ward ever talked to me, despite the fact that they were standing in the entry when I walked into the church. I don't know if they decided since I knew my way around and the language better than they that I must be a member already, albeit from a different congregation, but even after learning I was a visitor from the United States, they still didn't speak to me. Maybe it was because they were female. THe first person to greet me was Brother Hegedusch, whom I don't remember, but whose name I remembered. A counselor to the bishop, who was absent, came to greet me; turns out I did know him, but he was 16 when I was there (I was 19 at the time) so we didn't recognize each other (Brother Mayrl). A few other people greeted me and shook my hand, but they did not give their names.
Who talks to you afterwards tells you a lot. No women said anything to me until afterwards. THe choir director tried to rope me into coming to choir practice, but since I was going to be in Berlin on Christmas Eve that made no sense to me. She wanted to hear the Tenor part to the songs they were singing. Most of the women were obsequious with their praise of my voice as well as my pronunciation and vocabulary, which I know to be pretty much a load of bullshit actually. I even told them I have unlearned much, but I think they are just so shocked that after 25 years I know what I know when I clearly don't speak German to native speakers on a regular basis. My accent is atrocious, but I participated, and I was a single male. THe woman beside me was first; her husband had been in the ward, but she was a convert, and she was very interested, having been baptized only shortly after my departure. I mentioned some members I knew by name, several of whom were dead and others of whom were absent, and then one man proclaimed to one name, "That was my father." He invited me to dinner with his family and has since kept in contact with me even though he remembers Elder Dodge (the Zone Leader) and not me (at all).
Who remembers you tells you a lot. During the meeting, a man across the aisle kept looking at me. I remember Brother Schmuck well, but he didn't stay for Sunday School, so I didn't get to talk to him. He is the only person there that I recognized immediately. Some were grown up from the children I had known, and some were individuals I knew by name, but nobody who stayed seemed to remember me. Granted, twelve weeks isn't very long, but apparently I made no inroads with them at all, at least not with those who were there. Maybe if the Husz family had been there or the bishop himself I might have had a better experience, or if I had been there in 2017 instead when others were still alive. Too late now in any case.
I attended church in this congregation because it took as much time from Wien HBF to Gerasdorf on the S1 train as it would to get to any other building using the buses, and because there was a chance I might know someone. It was disappointing to not "come home" as it were to a ward in which I had lived once upon a time. The other places in which I served, excepting Neumarkt am Wallersee, are too inconvenient to be easily reached on vacation for church, and so I didn't go there; most of them were pretty small congregations anyway. Innsbruck had barely 30 members at the time. I felt welcome, I just didn't feel "welcome back" let alone "welcome home". I might as well have attended any congregation in Vienna and had similar experience, since the members in attendance either didn't remember me or didn't want to. I still wonder why Brother Schmuck looked at me because he said nothing. The Dospils, who invited me for dinner, invited me back, which was nice, but I really knew his late father better than he, which is a shame. I guess I put the work first rather than the relationships. I don't know that it was a mistake, but it definitely made me just another visitor, albeit one who rode the train to the end of the line to attend where visitors probably rarely ever attend.
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