Sister Mabel waved to Brother and Sister Holland. Sister Holland must have borrowed that money she was looking for to get her teeth fixed, because today she smiled a real big smile and Sister Mabel didn’t see any snags. Even Sister Sophie looked like she was going to act like a decent human being today and listen to what somebody else had to say for a change. Let’s just hope she keeps her mouth shut so we won’t have to worry about the sunlight bouncing off those horrible gold teeth of hers, Sister Mabel silently prayed. It was so very distracting to those who were trying to enjoy the service. Oh, and there was Sister Williamson with her grandson. That hell-raising youngster needed everything the church could give him, and then some. Sister Mabel would be sure to have him seated on the mourning bench with all the other unsaved souls, and maybe, just maybe, if they all got together today, they might just be able to pray that boy’s way to some better living.
She took a seat on her family’s special pew. They were not just members of Bibleway but founding officers. The bench had been their very own since the church began. Her daddy had been the very first deacon and one of the few that could read every word in the Bible. It was a good thing, too, because it would be many a day that he would be called upon to point some heathen toward the path of righteousness.
The choir was looking good. They should do all right today. She’d spoken to the choir director and instructed him that there was to be none of that gut-bucket gospel today. She looked around and noticed that she didn’t see Martha. That was good — maybe they would all be spared that shouting and moaning she insisted on. Why, she was so noisy last week that Sister Mabel had been tempted to stuff a handkerchief in her mouth, but how would it look if the head deaconess did something like that? Today maybe they would be able to worship in a dignified manner. You could never tell, the white folks might drop in for a spell. How would it look if they were all riled up like some backwoods fieldhands in a local praise-house? Sister Mabel just couldn’t understand why Sister Martha didn’t choose to conduct herself with the good graces the Savior gives a woman. All that bouncing and cutting up did nothing more than get you sweating like you was some kind of animal. Just last week, Martha got to running up and down the aisles till she almost flipped her two-dollar wig! Now, suppose the white folks had been there to see something like that? They never would get that donation for the building fund. Mister Jim promised he would stop by today, and if things went the way they were supposed to, there would be no telling what he would do for the church. If you just knew how to talk to the white folks, well, proper-like, then they could be all right. These colored folks round here wouldn’t understand nothing like that, so best they didn’t even know that he was coming. Best they just found out when he got here.
The Reverend looked quite nice. She nodded at him. He must’ve gone clear to Greenville to get that suit. She wondered if the church was supposed to pay for it. Oh well, it was Founder’s Day, and if the sermon turned out to be as fine as the suit, then everybody would get their money’s worth. He hadn’t been her choice for a preacher, but she’d been outvoted. In retrospect, he could preach pretty fair, but Sister Mabel couldn’t seem to forget that he’d showed up at their get-to-know-you luncheon in a light-blue jacket and brown shoes. What kind of preacher dressed like that? But today his shoes went with his suit, and it looked like everything was going to be quite fine indeed.
After the service today there would be iced tea and sandwiches in the basement, ideal refreshment for such a hot day, and a mite more civilized than the pig’s-feet dinners she’d heard they’d served at Primitive Baptist last Sunday for their Founder’s Day. She hadn’t been there to see it for herself, but Sister Lou went and told her all about it — the slimy pig’s feet and greasy tablecloths. Well, Sister Lou didn’t actually say the tablecloths were greasy, but what else could they be with a menu like that? Some people just didn’t understand the dignity required to truly serve the Father.
The preacher looked like he was ready to get started. Eleven o’clock, not a minute too soon or a minute too late. Perfect! He was standing nice and straight, too. That was good ’cause only a heathen slouched when they were trying to proclaim the Word, that’s how you knew that they heathens! If you’re proud to serve the Lord, well, then, you’re supposed to look like it. Oh, a nice little prayer, too, a little long with a few too many hallelujahs thrown in, but all in all, quite appropriate. I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help. A good scripture to base a sermon on. A preacher could really go a long way with that one. The Reverend was really doing quite well for himself. A little joke thrown in for good measure — not that she liked to see a minister skinnin’ and grinnin,’ but a joke every once in a while wasn’t too bad.
Go ahead and preach the word, Reverend, make us all proud. He was looking mighty good … oh no, wait a second, Sister Mabel thought nervously. He done detoured from the holy highway and was now heading down a dangerous road.
“… and you busybody old women who think you know everything …”
I just knew it, Sister Mabel fumed. He done quit the preaching and took to meddling. That man just wouldn’t stay put. Oh, well, at least he didn’t usually preach too long, so he should be through directly, and not a moment too soon as far as Sister Mabel was concerned.
Brother Jake
Brother Jake looked up at the heavens and wondered if the Lord was looking down at him. He could be sure the Devil was looking up at him — that rascal seemed to be everywhere he was all of the time. No, it was the Lord that worried him. God just had to be looking, thought Brother Jake nervously, so that He could see that Jake was really here. Brother Jake needed all the points he could collect, and it wasn’t too often that he came by for a visit, so if God wasn’t looking today, there would be no telling when He would see Brother Jake this way again. Heavens, these seats were hard, this suit was too tight, and these shoes hurt like hell! Oops, was it a sin to be thinkin’ hell, or was it all right as long as you didn’t say it out loud? Brother Jake couldn’t afford to be committing no wrongs, especially not in the church. He was here to be adding to the tally, not to be takin’ nothin’ away! Seemed like sittin’ through this old lousy service ought to give a body a few bonus points. These folks singing didn’t sound nothing like he’d remembered, and the preacher couldn’t preach a lick! The Reverend wasn’t hittin’ on nothin’, nothin’ at all. A whole lot of big words and even more supposin’. Supposin’ this and supposin’ that. Suppose he just sat his black butt down? Now suppose that?
Why couldn’t these fancy-dancy preachers just come on out and hit it straight, even if they got to use them a crooked stick? This man had to be new. He wasn’t around the last time, Brother Jake was sure about that. ’Course that had been ’bout ten years ago, and a whole lot of folks done come and gone since then. Well, it didn’t matter how bad it all was, this was where he needed to be. Time was passing on by, and he was getting old fast. It was more than a notion that it was time for him to be gettin’ close to the Lord. He would need to be somewhere near Him if he was gonna get to Heaven — sure couldn’t get there no other way, and that was exactly where he wanted to go. His mama was expectin’ him to show up there sooner or later, and didn’t no real man let down his mama. The Lord knew, too, that he’d already been to hell, and he sure wasn’t lookin’ to go there no more. Hell no! There was still a chance, though, that he’d be able to wrangle him a blessing here today, if only this preacher would say a little something he could grab on to. He wasn’t going to worry yet, though, the service wasn’t but half over!
Why couldn’t that preacher up there preach him one of them sermons like Reverend Cole used to? Now that was a preaching man! If Brother Jake could just get something out of this here message, maybe then he’d have a prayer for getting into Heaven. This was one time somebody ought to shoot the messenger! Now if Reverend Cole had been up there, he would have made sure that Brother Jake got to where he needed to go. That man sure knew ’bout this Heaven and Hell t
hing, broke it down one time so everybody could see their way clear through. That sure was some sermon Reverend Cole preached that Sunday ’bout ten years ago. It was a lot better than this here. Yessirree, that was some sermon, some sermon indeed.
… Brothers, sisters, saints and sinners, you listening this morning to the words of the Lord as they pass through me, the Reverend James Cole, Sister Sue’s baby boy. Today I’m gonna preach on the beautifulness of Heaven and the ugliness of Hell, and I suggest you listen up so you’ll know what kind of a fix you might be in. Now I ain’t figuring on being so late today that you rot where you sit, but I ain’t fixing to shortchange the Lord, neither.
Now, ’bout this Heaven and Hell, there’s a few things you needs to be understanding. Ya’ll know if you look around you that all flesh ain’t the same. You got the flesh of the whites and the flesh of the coloreds, and they different as different can be. Well, Heaven and Hell is set up the same way.
The Lord was pretty smart when it come to these things. That’s why He ain’t made the Heavens and the Hells exactly alike. He made a different Heaven and a different Hell for the different kinds of folks that live on this Earth. That way won’t no one place get too crowded and there won’t be no mixing of the races. So all of you coloreds who was figuring on breaking holy bread with the whites — there ain’t gonna be none of that, so don’t even be figuring on it. You ought to know that the white folks wouldn’t be studying on nothing like that, and ’sides, the way they cook, you ain’t gonna want none of their grub no way, and their music — Lord, have mercy, we ain’t even gonna speak on that!
Now, our New Jerusalem ain’t gonna be no coon town. No barbecues, fish frys, or Saturday-night frolics, but they’ll be plenty of good food and time to take a rest. But some of ya’ll ain’t gonna get in ’less you stop your evil ways. When death comes knocking your gonna miss that train to glory. You can roll your eyes, stomp your feet, and poke out your lips all you want to, but it ain’t gonna do you a bit of good. It won’t get you nowhere except that place called “Hell” that stays about fifty below.
Yeah, that’s the place you going if you don’t do right — a place that freezes over all year long. A place where the Devil gonna say good morning by knocking you upside your head with snowballs. Now you think on that, you no-good, sin-filled benchwarmers. It’s gonna be so cold that it’s gonna freeze your lips shut! You ain’t gonna be able to talk, not one word — that’s torture for some of ya’all. You just remember this:
It rains and it hails.
Snow coming down like the Devil poured it from a pail.
But it’s way too late to weep or cry ’cause
the preacher told me this was where I’d be when I die… .
Brother Jake remembered that sermon word for word. The best part came long after everybody was gone. He went up to Reverend Cole and asked him, “What kind of Heaven and Hell was you preaching ’bout, Reverend? I ain’t never heard nothing like that before.”
“Oh, Brother Jake, you know that I knows that the Bible says Hell is fire and brimstone, but then you know, too, that you can’t be scaring no colored folks with hot weather. If you wants to get to ’em, then you got to be scaring them with freezing cold.” And with that, Reverend Cole chuckled his way past Brother Jake and walked right out the door.
• • •
Brother Jake looked up at this here Reverend Jackson who was still struggling to make a point. It looked like there wasn’t going to be a chance for him to earn his place in Heaven here today. He smiled as he thought about Reverend Cole again. No, they sure don’t make ’em like that no more. No, they sure as hell don’t!
Mister Jim
When Mister Jim walked in, he looked like a little piece of old cotton carelessly tossed onto a sea of darkened waters. He was late, too, real late, but better late than never. He walked right up to the front, though, right on through the middle of the service. Boy, there was something about white folks, you sure had to give ’em that. They may not have a single dime, or one ounce of usefulness, but you put ’em in a room full of Negroes, a room that rightfully belongs to the Negro, and that white man will march through like he’s the first king. Well, Mister Jim must have attended that particular school of thought ’cause he guided hisself right on through the service and sat down front next to Miss Mabel on her special pew.
Normally Miss Mabel would act like a cat with her fur in a fix if anybody dared rest they britches on down next to hers, but this was Mister Jim, the white man come a-calling, so that meant it was OK. She smiled a real pretty smile, too. Folks made sure to study that smile real careful-like ’cause they couldn’t be sure when they would see such a look ’cross Miss Mabel’s face again.
• • •
Now, Mister Jim had planned it so he would be late. He figured he’d go ahead and miss the preachin’ (what did a nigger know ’bout a Bible, anyway?), but he’d make sure he was in plenty of time for the singin’. Now, the niggers could sure enough sing, he would give them that. It was like the Lord had done something special to their voices, somethin’ He ain’t thought to do to the white folks’. It moved in places nobody could touch, and everybody else just paled in comparison. But the niggers, yessiree, now they could sing. And today being Founder’s Day, they ought to sound real good. They sure had enough of ’em standing up there, too, enough of ’em to wake the dead and dying, too. He wondered if what he’d heard was true, that it was all the sorrow stored up in their souls that made a nigger sing like that. Well, if that was it, they ought to sing up a storm today. The way things were going for ’em in this here town ought to have ’em soundin’ like they got them a jagged knife stuck in their guts. But wasn’t none of that his problem. He couldn’t be studying up on niggers’ troubles; he had way too many of his own. All he had to be studyin’ on was the singin’ and givin’ these folks a few dollars for their building fund. Hell, that was no problem; the singin’ was worth that much! Man, could niggers sing!
Didn’t nobody here know it, but this wasn’t Mister Jim’s first time in service with a colored church. Even Miss Mabel didn’t know that. To be truthful, he’d never actually been inside one of their churches. He would never go that far before. He’d simply stood underneath the window of this little colored church when he was a boy. With a daddy who was no-account and a mama who was a whore, his folks worshiped sin like some folks loved the Lord. Both of ’em got full into their cups every Saturday, stayed passed out clear through the night, and then pissed their way on through the Lord’s day each and every week. Come Monday, he would never make it to school ’cause it would be up to him to clean up their mess. He hated it, but it was up to him to dust them off, feed ’em, and then help pick up their lives ’cause they sure as hell weren’t able. He couldn’t afford to let ’em kill themselves, least not till he was sure he didn’t need ’em anymore.
’Course then all the other white folks would look at him like something the town dragged up from the ditch, and they sure weren’t about to invite him into their proper little churches, and he wasn’t about to beg nobody for his little piece of Jesus. So he snuck on over to the next town and made friends with all the little nigger children. Their mamas fed him and the boys understood him, ’cause some of them had daddies every bit as no-account as his. They finally made him see that only Jesus was supposed to bear another person’s sins. So he let the little niggers give him a life, at least for a while, or at least until he could become a man.
And another church, one a lot like this one here, had been his salvation on some dark and lonely days. Sittin’ here was almost like going home again, but that was a secret reserved only for Mister Jim and them that lived up in the heavenly skies. He was quality now and couldn’t be bothering with no niggers. He had learned that they had their place and he had his, and as long as folks stayed put, they could make it in this here town. It was when folks got turned around and tried to change the workings of the world that problems got started. ’Course Mister Jim didn’t feel no
shame about being among the niggers today. This was different; this was OK because afterward he would go back to where he belonged and they would stay here where they belonged. He would write them a small check, he was willing to help, but not too much. His folks would understand his charity — quality whites always gave the niggers a little something for their trouble from time to time. It was not only respected, but expected. If you got a hungry dog, you ain’t got to feed him to hush him, just throw him a bone.
Mister Jim sat back in his seat and got himself ready to hear some good singin’. He listened for a moment, but then he started to frownin’ like somebody was standin’ right on his big toe. What in the world had happened to the niggers and the good singin’? These here sounded like some white folks howlin’ at the moon. Well, it was time to go. If they were going to sing like this, then there simply wasn’t no reason for him to stay. He smiled at Miss Mabel, pressed a check into her hands, and then once again walked straight on through the service, and on out the front door!
The Reverend
The reverend finished up his sermon with a resounding “Praise the Lord.” As he seated himself, the choir director started playing “Going upYonder.” They was starting it off nice and kind of calm and slowly building up steam. In a few minutes, some sister would stand, clap her hands, and tap her feet. That feeling would soon start to spread, and then another soul would join in. Somebody else would shed a few tears, and one or two of them would moan softly in their seats. The spirit would go through that room, starting with just a spark here and there before engulfing them all in a full-blown fire.
The Reverend looked over at Miss Mabel and noticed that cold, hard look in her eyes. She was mad as the dickens, that was for sure. She obviously hadn’t liked the sermon because she’d grimaced the whole way through. And she didn’t like this singing, neither, because she was frowning like Satan himself had come to visit. No, Miss Mabel wasn’t too happy, but the Reverend really didn’t care. This was his church, and if he wanted to fuss out a few folks in his message, including her, well, that was between him and the Lord. There wasn’t a thing she could do about it, neither. The Lord delivered the wisdom, not Miss Mabel, and thank God for that! And if he wanted to hear what she called “gut-bucket gospel,” then he would. She would just have to deal with it. Mercy, she was really frowning now. Well, at least she’d seemed real pleased with his suit. Yeah, she did seem to like that.
Just Plain Folks Page 17