On Zion's Hill

by Anna J. Small Roseboro

  Angie can’t concentrate. She has neither a sweet expression on her face nor a sweet spirit in her heart. But, why is she so upset? Sure, Ken has lived in this town all his life. He has friends here and is free to bring anyone to the campground he wants.

  Christians are admonished to spread the Word, to invite others to worship, Yadda, yadda, yadda. Angie can’t focus on the music. Instead she wonders why she should be concerned about who Ken brings. Just because Ken has a woman with him doesn’t mean he’s no longer interested in sitting with her. He did wait for her, didn’t he? Or did he? He said it took him longer to find a parking place than he expected. Maybe he’d planned to get here early and be seated before Angie even arrived.

  Angie looks up, hoping no one is paying attention to the frown on her face or sensing the spirit of jealousy. Her shoulders tense and clench. No, no one seems to be looking her way. Angie peeks around and sees people singing with their eyes closed.

  The lady in the row in front of her is patting tears from her cheeks with a lacy handkerchief. The man to the left has raised his hand, as have several sitting around him. Angie notices, as the song continues, that others sing and gaze in front of them as though they see the Spirit answering their prayer to join them for services tonight.

  Angie forces herself to sing along in hopes that the words or the music will calm her, or at least redirect her thoughts onto the reason she came this evening…or what should have been the reason she came come this evening. Not just to be with Ken, but to be in the congregation worshiping the God who sent His Spirit to dwell among the congregants.

  She’s got to let the Spirit refocus her attention and she’s got to trust that her earlier estimation of Ken is not all wrong. Just because he’s brought such an attractive lady doesn’t mean anything negative about Angie. Unless he’s brought her to show Angie the kind of woman he prefers. Someone well-dressed who looks so put together on a Thursday evening. Angie can’t help it that she can’t both pay for college and buy great clothes. Anyway, she’s just met Ken, and this relationship probably isn’t going anywhere anyway. She’s got college first. Well, first she’s got to get through this evening.

  Angie tries, but can hardly keep her mind on the worship. All she thinks about is that woman sitting on the other side of Ken; that is, until the lights in the sanctuary are dimmed and the piano begins just the melody line of “This Little Light of Mine”.

  Right, Angie remembers, the children are singing tonight. It’s Children’s Day. Now that she thinks about it, she smiles. Then she thinks of Ken and his lady friend and frowns.

  Ken feels Angie stiffen next to him and glances towards her. She’s planted her feet evenly in front of her and is clinching her purse in a strange way. He can’t imagine what’s wrong with her. She’s all uptight tonight, like something is bothering her. Must have had a tough day. Lots more people have arrived, and it has been awfully hot today. No problem. He’s noticed that Angie usually gets into the music; maybe music will help her relax.

  He’ll take Thia by the ice cream stand and introduce them when Angie gets off tonight. They’re about the same age. They’ll have lots to talk about. Of course, Angie’s finished a year of college, and Thia’s just graduated from high school. But that should be no problem. Angie dresses nicely, and clothes may be a conversation starter. They should get along just fine. A flicker draws his attention when the lights break the darkness.

  THE CHOIR IS ENTERING. Both Angie and Ken have been so sidetracked; neither even noticed there was no choir up there for the opening songs. Lines of children, dressed in black and white, holding small Eveready flashlights against their chests, enter simultaneously from the left and right side doors at the front of the tabernacle. The wee ones look serious and proud, clasping the lights in their tight little fists.

  The older children – the eleven and twelve year olds – enter first, to set the pace. The younger children follow according to height so when all are in place, they really look nice with the tall ones in the middle and the little ones on each end. And to help keep order, adult leaders slip into the choir stand and seat themselves at the end of each row.

  The Jenkins Sisters and the choir joyfully repeat the first verse until everyone is in place. When they get to the verse that goes, “Put it under a bushel, NO, I’m gonna let it shine,” the kids, like statues of Liberty, hold their flashlights high above their heads.

  “It looks real nice seeing all those lights shining down on all those innocent little faces,” Ken whispers to Angie, but she turns her head away.

  “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine,” the children sing. Angie’s frown is enough to shade that light.

  The director and pianist kick up the pace, and with a throbbing bass rhythm, the organist joins them. The pulsing beat inspires the audience to bob their heads and sway as the children sing with gusto. All but Angie, whose troubled mind drifts back a few years.

  Angie remembers when she was their age and how odd it felt to be looking out at so many grownups looking up at the choir. Her current gloom dissipates a bit when she recalls her grandparents’ beaming faces the year she had sung in a duet on Children’s Night.

  The children tonight finish their song to rousing applause. They turn off their flashlights, and overhead lights are turned on. As they’re passed down the choir rows, only one or two flashlights drop on the way to the grownup waiting to put them away. The organist plays softly, and the audience waits patiently.

  Angie senses Ken turn to say something to the woman sitting on his left. Well, that’s that, Angie concludes. He’s here with that woman and is only sitting next to Angie because they were late, and she just happened to be standing there with the rest in the back of the tabernacle. It was nice while it lasted. Oh well. Angie sits up rigidly, looks straight ahead, and forces her attention to the children up front.

  That’s Sarah Anne! The little girl she’d seen singing on the swings Tuesday afternoon when Ken had brought her those luscious grapes. She and Ken had had a good time. Recalling that afternoon, Angie relaxes a bit.

  Sarah Anne stands in from of her choir stand seat, smiles nervously, sends a shoulder high finger wave to someone in the audience, then bumps her way out of the second row of singers and over to the podium which looms up to her forehead. When she reaches up for the microphone, Sylvia, with a hand on Sarah Anne’s shoulder, gently nudges the little girl from behind the podium and up close to the altar rail edging the platform so Sarah Anne can be seen a little better.

  Sylvia nods to her sister to begin the introduction, but the soloist is still fidgeting. Marie waits. The little girl hikes the waist of her dark skirt with two fingers of the hand holding the microphone. She pulls down the sleeve on her white blouse. Then, cherub-like, she looks up at the director as if to say, “I’m ready now. You can begin.”

  Sylvia nods again to Marie, who plays the chorus of “Jesus Loves Me”. Holding her arms out from her sides, Sylvia raises them shoulder high, forming a ‘T,’ and with her hands palms down, stands still and steady until she has the attention of all of the children. Then slowly turning her palms up, she raises her arms majestically forming a “V”, signaling the choir to stand. Amazingly, they do so in relative order.

  Sylvia must be smiling because they all break into full-toothed grins. She raises one hand, and then at the strong down-beat, the children burst into strong affirmation, “Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me, for the Bible tells me so.”

  Sarah Anne holds the mike down at her side until it’s time for her to sing her verse. Angie holds her breath and sends up a prayer for the little soloist, feeling a little nervous for her, then relaxes, recalling how unabashedly Sarah had sung on the swings.

  Up goes the mike, just like a professional, right in front of her mouth, and out comes that free and beautiful sound Angie had heard on the playground.

  Jesus loves me this I know,

  for the Bible tells me so.

  Little
ones to Him belong.

  They are weak, but He is strong!

  Then she sings a new verse about Jesus loving her when she’s good and also when she’s bad. A perennial kids’ choir favorite with an extra twist. Still, a song and message that touches the hearts of all ages. What innocence; what trust; what a challenge for Angie to remember the truth of the song. She mutters, “Jesus loves me, even if Ken doesn’t.” Ken hears the mutter, but can’t decipher the words.

  It’s offering time, but the ushers aren’t collecting it tonight. The children exit the choir stand in as nearly an orderly recessional as an adult choir. No marching out and gathering in the lower auditorium in the basement of the dormitory where they’d have popcorn and a movie during the rest of the service, where their parents would meet them later afterwards.

  Instead, tonight the children simply march around to put their offerings in the plates on the front table, and then return to their seats in the choir stand. The leaders probably planned that walk to help the children relieve some of their pent-up energy before the speaker brings the message for the evening.

  For offertory, the organ is playing the song the children had been learning in Children’s Church. “If you want to be great in God’s kingdom, learn to be a servant of all.” Each in the audience is challenged about their servanthood.

  WELL, KEN HAS BEEN A SERVANT ALL WEEK. Working in the garden on Monday. Picking up those grapes Tuesday and sharing them with Angie during her break. Driving Mother and her friends to and from the Women’s Day service and bringing Thia with him tonight. Didn’t make him great then nor feel great now. He was impatient yesterday and is puzzled today. What’s with Angie?

  Rather than have the children sing a second song following the offering, Sylvia Jenkins approaches the microphone stand, then waits. The usher moves the second mike close to Marie still at the piano.

  Ah, they are the special music for this evening. Chris, at the organ, begins playing a brand new Andre Crouch song. Marie, once the usher has adjusted her microphone, joins on the piano when he gets to the chorus.

  Sylvia raises the mike, and the sisters sing,

  Take me back; take me back dear Lord

  To the place where I first believed you.

  Sylvia solos on the verse,

  I feel that I’m so far from you Lord

  But still I hear you calling me.

  Those simple things that I once knew

  Their memories keep drawing me.

  She invites the congregation to sing along,

  Take me back; take me back dear Lord

  To the place where I first believed you.

  Ken bows his head in anticipation that his prayer and that of the song will be answered this evening. “Lord,” Ken mouths, “please open my heart to the sermon this evening. And, I’m depending on Your Word to help me understand what’s going on around here tonight.”

  Angie misses most of this duet. Her mind is still on the offertory song. Fat chance the kids will believe serving is a privilege, Angie argues in her head. Then the words of the Crouch song seep through. But, instead of letting them minister to her, she drifts again, fussing and fuming about how silly she feels for feeling…jealous.

  Jealous! She can’t be jealous of that Lady in Navy when Ken and Angie aren’t even an item. They’ve just met and neither is serious about having the relationship continue.

  He must not be, since he brought someone else with him this evening. Angie certainly is not serious! She may as well go ahead and leave now. Stella probably needs help getting set up for the after service rush. She has rationalized and now grumps, “They’re going to be impatient and impolite even right after getting out of church. I’m out of here!”

  With that, Angie grabs her purse and Bible and exits. She puts one finger over her lips and bends at the waist as though her stooping will help those seated behind her see the front any better. She hears his gasp and feels Ken’s questioning eyes on her. She ignores both.

  Oh! Where’s Angie going? It’s the middle of the service! Why is she looking so funny? She feeling okay? She’s been a little tense all service. He decides to ask her about it when he treats Thia to ice cream. But he doesn’t.

  REVEREND BARROW, THE SPEAKER THIS EVENING, draws in the listeners with age appropriate stories and examples as she challenges the kids to trust in the Lord. She’s small in stature, but big in heart. She’s tailored the message for the youngsters with applications that resonate with the adults.

  Like Ken, some of the young adults remember when they sang in the Children’s Choir, not all that many years ago, but would be embarrassed to admit about how infrequently they remember to trust God in all things as they’d learned to do as children. Maybe that’s why so many keep coming back to camp meeting year after year. Not to hear something new, but to be reminded of something old.

  The children easily follow the outline the speaker is using because she’s chosen a mnemonic, the acronym TRUST.

  Think about what we know about God.

  Remember that He loves us and wants to bless us.

  Understand that we can be that blessing to others.

  Serve God and serve others – family, friends, and even foes.

  Thank God for the privilege of being a servant.

  But, Ken’s mind soon drifts away from the sermon and on to Angie who left in a huff. Maybe Angie’s upset because yesterday after he’d driven his mother and friends home, he hadn’t come back for evening services. He’d told her his sister might be using the car Wednesday evening. It turns out that she and her girlfriend had driven over to a sale in Youngstown and didn’t get back until it was too late to come up to Zion’s Hill.

  Well, he used that time to study. True, much of his time had been studying his interest in Angie. He was trying to figure out the timing of what the Lord had said to him about Angie being the woman for him.

  Did God mean to marry or just to spend time with this week? Surely nothing more than that right now. They both plan to graduate from college before marriage. Once she gets off work this evening, he can find out what’s got her jaws all torqued. But he doesn’t.

  “HEY, ANGIE,” STELLA CALLS OUT from under the counter, scrambling to pick up the plastic spoons she spilled. “What’re you doing here so early? I haven’t heard the altar call or anything,” she huffs, scooting back into the center of the little booth.

  Kneeling there, catching her breath, Stella rocks back onto her heels and looks up at Angie. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You certainly don’t look like being in church has done anything for your attitude.”

  Stella stands up to get a better look at her helper standing there so stiffly. Her eyes stop at the “V” Angie’s arms make and the tight fists clasping her purse handle. Her Bible sticks out of the side pocket, having been crammed there during the Angie-stomp from the tabernacle.

  “You sure? You were in a dither all afternoon, hardly paying attention to the customers and leaving here as fast as you could to change for service.”

  “I just came early to help you get set up. It’s still pretty warm and you know how those Saints are after church. They’ll have fed on Spiritual food; then they’re gonna want some physical food for dessert. Ice cream to be exact,” Angie sneers in a not-so-Christian way.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here. You see I spilt this pack of spoons and now I’m gonna have to throw ‘em out,” she frets, flinging the handful into the trash can. “Yeah. Good thing you’re here. I’m going over to the store room and get a couple more packages.”

  “Okay. What you want me to do?”

  “You can start filling the jars with water so we can rinse those scoops between dips. Better push that bucket under the shelf there so we don’t knock it over in the rush later.” She heads out the door, calling back, “See ya. And try to get a smile up there on your face. Smiles help sell ice cream.”

  “Sure.” Angie grouches. She chucks her Bible-stuffed purse in
the cabinet, shuts the door and grabs one of those full length bib aprons Stella makes her wear. Good thing, because Angie can tell she’ll probably be sloppy tonight.

  By the time she has the jars of water filled and placed, she hears strains of the invitational hymn. This doesn’t give Angie much time to do an attitude adjustment. She’d forgotten that on Thursdays they now keep the children for the whole service, but keep the service short.

  “Whew,” Stella gasps as she slams back into the stand. “They finished over there already?”

  “I guess so. I doubt that the altar call will be very long tonight, Stella. The folks’ll be over here soon.”

  AND SHE IS RIGHT! Before she’d done her mental inventory of the flavors, verified the location of each five gallon tub in the freezer, checked the wall-hung dispensers for the two kinds of cones, and eyed the stack of cups and container of spoons, the first customer is knocking on the wooden shutter. “Y’all open yet?”

  Angie pastes on her smile, flings back the shutters, and shoves the hooks into the little U-rings fastened to the walls. “May I help you?” And so it begins…again.

  TONIGHT IT LOOKS LIKE EVERY KID IN THE CHOIR is being treated to ice cream.

  “Johnny, I told you just one scoop. Now, do you want chocolate or vanilla? No. No maple walnut. You know you’re allergic to nuts.”

  “Aw, Mom!”

  “No. I don’t care if every child in the choir gets maple walnut; you’re not getting any,” she exclaims shaking her finger down at him. “I’m not staying up with you all night watching to see if you’re going to swell up and burst wide open. I said, ‘No’ and I mean ‘No!’”

  The boy’s eyes bulge at the thought of his body bursting. But he stands stubbornly, insisting, “But, Mom. You said I could choose if I didn’t act up in the choir. I been good. You promised,” Johnny whines and looks at the kids standing behind him hoping his mother will give in and avoid a scene.

  “Johnny. You may choose chocolate or vanilla or nothing. Do you understand me?” He nods and whimpers.