"Yes, Reverend. We hear you," Rev. James said. Encouraged by the chorus of yeses that followed, Theophilus continued: "Have you ever thought, gentlemen, that being a husband means honoring that sweet brown woman you say you love so much? Why not serve that woman who serves you, quiets your stormy passions, and then will endure labor for sixteen hours or more, just so you can walk around this town proud, showing off that new baby boy or girl you helped make to all of your relatives and friends?"
An older woman sitting in the back of the church with five of her grandchildren stood up, raised her hands, and said, "Yes, Lawd. Son, you keep on telling these here mens the truth. I done birthed thirteen babies and I knows what you talkin' 'bout. Part of the life of this here church done come from my loins. Jesus, Sweet Jesus. I done give soldiers to this here war for Negro rights. Yes, Lawd!"
"Thank you, ma'am. I think you have summed up what I've been struggling hard to say all morning. Look here, these beautiful women sitting in this church have sacrificed so much so that we men can be conceived, born, grow, live, prosper, be loved, get love, and it's time that we gave something back. It's time that we built them up so that our children can flourish and become powerful soldiers in God's army for justice and righteousness."
Theophilus put his hand on the railing and pushed himself upright. He then walked out into the center aisle of the church. Opening his hands to the very attentive congregation, he delivered a quick conclusion, to leave his audience still in the grip of his ideas.
"You know, church, Jesus ate, slept, laughed, cried, played, and even got mad enough to fight. He meant for you to respect and honor those things that make up your life on this earth. And that includes the way you love one another. Jesus intended for us to put some juice in our daily lives. He intended for love to be respectful, pure, rich, passionate, intoxicating—to have some juice. So on this Missions Day Sunday, I ask you all to put some juice in your lives by loving one another in the way the Lord intended you to—as cherished and honored partners in this life on our God's earth."
Theophilus turned back toward the pulpit and sat down. Rev. James leaned over and tapped him on the shoulder, whispering, "Son, your heart sure was being tugged on by the Lord this morning, wasn't it? No matter how hard you fought, He made you say what Mount Nebo and you needed to hear."
Theophilus sighed with relief and reached over to shake Rev. James's outstretched hand. The last thing he wanted was for his sermon to offend his host pastor and mentor. Rev. James now took the podium and, raising his hands, motioned for the congregation to stand. Then he beckoned Theophilus to come and stand next to him.
"Church, for some reason the Lord wanted our young Reverend here to talk about husbands and wives and families and friends and how we should be lovin' up on one another. Now I know there were some rough parts to this sermon. But that was because God was workin' on him right in the midst of his preaching. There was something that the Lord wanted all of us, including Rev. Simmons, to hear this morning. You see, God is about love, unconditional, honoring love—love with some juice. And if y'all can't love one another right, especially someone you claim stirs your passions, then what makes you think you gone act right when it's time to enter eternity and to live in love forever with the Lord?
"So, I'm opening the doors of Mount Nebo and I'm making a special appeal to some of you husbands to come on up here and rededicate yourself to the Lord, to dedicate your heart to doing right by your wives and your families. For you see, church, God's love begins in your own heart. It touches the lives of those around you, through you, and it becomes the church when you come together with hearts filled up with His love."
He turned around and addressed the choir.
"Choir, sing, 'Lead Me, Guide Me Along the Way. Lord, if you lead me, I cannot stray. Lord, let me walk this day with Thee. Lead me, O Lord, lead me.' "
The choir members stood and started singing. By the time they got to the second verse, Leroy Dawson, the son of the head of the Trustee Board, had come down to the altar crying and clutching the hand of his fiancée, Pearl. He walked, sobbing, into Rev. James's open arms. Holding Leroy Dawson for a few seconds, Rev. James signaled to his father that both he and his wife should join them at the altar. Pleased that the sermon had touched the younger Dawson's heart, he could only hope that Leroy's witness reached his father and moved him to treat Mrs. Dawson better.
Leroy Dawson let go of Rev. James, shook Theophilus's hand, and grabbed Pearl by the waist. Then turning to face the congregation, he said, "When Rev. Simmons first started this sermon, I thought he was unprepared. But as I watched him struggle to say what the Lord laid on his heart, I realized God was using him to reach someone in this church. And as Rev. Simmons kept talking, I realized that someone was me. You see, church, my Pearl has been on me to treat her right. She has pleaded with me, over and over again, to think about how wonderful our home would be if I did the right thing and married her. I have to ask God now to for–give me for not respecting and honoring you as He intended, Pearl. You are a good woman—you're smart, can cook like my mama, and you're kind and brave. Now I ask you, church, is there anything that is too good for a woman like my Pearl?"
"No, son. Ain't nothin' too good for a church girl like that," said the lady with the five grandchildren.
Leroy turned to Pearl. "Honey, I'm so sorry I didn't want to listen to you. I love you. And when people come in our home, they're gonna know it is a Holy Ghost home filled with some juice."
Before Reverend James could open his mouth to say, "Let the church say Amen," cries of "Praise the Lord," "Thank you, Jesus," and "Amen" rose from the congregation. Pearl pulled a handkerchief from her purse and wiped her eyes, thankful that God had heard her prayers and opened Leroy's heart. She kissed Leroy on the cheek and gave him a sweet smile. Leroy's mother wiped her eyes, glad that God had answered her own prayers for her son and his future wife, while his father stood by with a sullen expression on his face.
Rev. James laid his hands on the couple and led the congregation in a prayer for them. He then motioned for the choir to sing "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms" and made a gesture for the two young people and the parents to take their seats. He then looked at Theophilus and indicated that they should start the recessional and march to the back of the church.
After giving the benediction, Rev. James directed Theophilus to stand at the back of the sanctuary, where the church members would form a receiving line to greet him. He then excused himself, claiming that he had to help the trustees count the collection money, but in truth, he wanted to check on the dinner Lee Allie's missionary group was setting up downstairs. Already he smelled baked chicken, which he knew would be crispy-tender, brown, and succulent—just sitting in the pan perfectly seasoned with onions, celery, green pepper, salt, pepper, sage, and paprika. And he wanted to see if Rose Neese had contributed a pot of her famous, spicy-hot chitterlings. Other than playing a round of poker with his closest friends, Booker Webb and Pompey Hawkins, chit'lin's were one of Rev. James's few vices. Susie James often joked to her friends at Mount Nebo that if a chit'lin' ever came to life in the form of a woman, she'd be in some deep trouble. Good a man as her Murcheson was, he had never turned down a chit'lin' and he never would.
Theophilus swallowed hard as he stood there waiting for the receiving line to assemble. The first one to reach him was an elderly man, who gave him a sly wink and said, "Reverend, thank you so much for that sermon. I been tryin' to get some of my hardheaded grandsons to love up on they sweet little wives better than they been doin' for years now. Told my oldest grandson just the other day, that he wouldn't be so tense and cranky if he was sweeter to that girl he married. Told 'im she'd be all over him if he just treated her like she was special and important to 'im, stead of actin' like that po' chile nothin' but a footstool."
Theophilus smiled at the man, who held up the line until he finished what he had to say. "And you know something, son. I'm eighty-seven and I ain't never tense and cranky, 'cause I
've always known how to act with my missus. Yes, Lawd. Had a whole lotta juice when I was young and still got a taste of it left in me right now."
Theophilus laughed and marveled at how good this man looked—not a day over seventy. He hoped he had some of that kind of juice left in him when he was eighty-seven.
"I hear you, sir," he said. "I sure enough hear you. I hope the Lord keeps on blessing you like He's been doing all of these years."
The man winked again and thanked Theophilus for his sermon one more time before heading downstairs to eat.
Theophilus kept watching for Essie, who turned up next to last in line. She was wearing a turquoise linen sheath dress that hugged all the right places of her petite, voluptuous figure, with a matching bolero jacket, ivory pumps, and ivory gloves with tiny pink flowers embroidered on the back, and round, turquoise rhinestone earrings with a matching pin. She didn't have on a hat, but her thick, coarse hair was perfectly coiffed in a chin-length flip. When she walked up to Theophilus, he noticed that she was smelling awfully good in what he thought was Chanel No. 19.
When Essie held out a small gloved hand, Theophilus could barely conceal the sultry and non-preacher-like look that spread across his face. He took her hand in his and said, "Sister Lane, Sister Lane. You are adding a little extra sunshine to an already blessed day."
Essie had to admit that he was looking almost regal himself in his robe and black brocade stole with red velvet crosses emblazoned on both sides. Now she was the one who was looking him up and down and had to stop herself—she had never seen a man look that good in his clerical robe.
"Yes, it is a very lovely day, Theophilus," she said.
The woman standing behind her, Mother Laticia Harold, gasped out loud. She had always thought Essie Lane was a fast little number. But to call a pastor by his first name, and at church, was downright shameful.
Essie did her best to ignore Mother Harold's gasp. She smiled at Theophilus again. "You know I was probably the only one in church who wasn't shocked by what you said this morning."
His smile began to fade a tiny bit.
"Don't get me wrong, Theophilus. I liked your sermon. But you do know it was real different, don't you?"
His face began to light up again as he nodded his head yes.
Mother Harold sucked in her breath. She couldn't believe that girl. His sermon was scandalous and she couldn't wait until tomorrow when she was going to march right into Rev. James's office and give him a good piece of her mind about it, too. Some of these folks at Mount Nebo had babies like rabbits and didn't need to hear any foolishness about making more babies they could not afford to have. Mother Harold cleared her throat again and said "Humph" loud enough to be heard across the tiny sanctuary.
Essie, who couldn't ignore her any longer, turned around and said, "Good afternoon, Mother Harold."
She turned back to Theophilus. "Rev. Simmons, this is Mother Laticia Harold, a very important member of our church. Her husband was the late Bishop Rosemond Harold, and her granddaughter, Saphronia McComb, is finishing her master's degree at Jackson State."
Theophilus remembered Bishop Harold, whom he had met years ago when he passed through Richmond and visited his parents' church. Theophilus was a teenager then, but he would never forget how rude Bishop Harold, a light-skinned man with straight brown hair, had been to his dark-skinned father. It had come as a shock to him back then that even a bishop could be color-struck. He had almost forgotten that Bishop Harold was from the Delta.
Theophilus gave Mother Harold a polite smile and said, "It is a pleasure to meet you this morning. I know of your late husband. If my memory serves me right, he was responsible for helping several small missions groups incorporate into sizable churches in rural areas throughout Mississippi."
Mother Harold was impressed. "Rev. Simmons, I am so pleased that you know something about the Bishop," she said. "He was such a great man and you young ministers do nothing to honor his memory."
Theophilus kept the polite smile on his face. He couldn't agree that Bishop Harold had been a great man, so he turned her attention to another subject.
"Mother Harold, Sister Lane mentioned that you have a granddaughter studying at Jackson State University. What is her major?"
Mother Harold looked very proud at the mention of her granddaughter. She said in a crisp, tight-sounding voice, "She is a speech major. Since Saphronia was a young child, she has been interested in studying speech. She wants to teach our children how to speak properly. On several occasions, she has offered to teach a public speaking class here at the church. Isn't that right, Essie?"
Essie just nodded. Saphronia got on her nerves when she put on her phony airs, as if she wasn't living in a little country town just like everybody else who attended Mount Nebo.
Mother Harold wasn't satisfied with the lukewarm nod and said, "Essie, I was speaking to you. You do remember Saphronia's efforts to assist you and several other young women in this church with your speaking problems, don't you?"
Essie narrowed her eyes. "I certainly do remember Saphronia's trying to start that class. And I don't know why she thought we wanted any help from her, since we all talk just fine."
Mother Harold pressed her lips together into a tight, thin line of disapproval. She made a mental note to bring Essie's sharp remark to the attention of Rev. James—not that he would do anything about it. He was so fond of the riffraff in this church.
Theophilus coughed to stifle a laugh. In the short time he had known Essie, he had never heard her talk in such an exact-sounding voice. The social politics of church life never failed to amaze (or amuse) him. But before more sparks started flying between the two women, another one joined them, whom he figured was Mother Harold's speech-teaching granddaughter. He was right.
"Saphronia, dear, this is Rev. Theophilus Simmons. Rev. Simmons, this is my granddaughter, Saphronia Anne McComb."
Saphronia stepped in front of Essie, nudging her aside, and grabbed Theophilus's hand. She was very light-skinned with long, straight brown hair, a thin nose, and thin lips.
"Rev. Simmons," Saphronia said in a voice that sounded like a younger version of her grandmother's. "You cannot imagine how delighted I am to have you as a guest at my church. You have such outstanding credentials and do Mount Nebo a great honor by coming here to preach the word to us today."
"Thank you, Sister McComb. It is good to know that my sermon was appreciated."
Saphronia moved closer to Theophilus. She squeezed his wrist and tossed her head, imitating the white coeds she would see sitting at the lunch and soda counters near Ole Miss in Oxford. They had looked so elegant, laughing and shaking their silky tresses over root beer floats—occupying seats she wouldn't have dared to sit in. She looked over her shoulder at Essie, grateful that her hair wasn't that thick and coarse. Essie could shake her head off before that hair would move.
She started to show off her hair again. But the look in Essie's eyes stopped her in her tracks. She turned her attention back to Theophilus, only to find that the big smile on his face—which was quite unlike the polite expression he had trained on her—was directed at Essie.
At twenty-six, Saphronia was ready to get married, and she was determined to marry a minister with a future as pastor of a large and prominent congregation. Rev. Simmons had everything she was looking for in a husband, with one exception—he was dark-skinned. Even his BA from Blackwell College and his master's degree from the Interdenominational Theological Seminary, down in Atlanta, couldn't overcome that. As handsome as he was, Saphronia did not even want to contemplate what her children would look like if he were their father. He would probably just wipe out her good-skin, good-hair genes, and they would come out as black as he was. Still, there weren't too many pastors around with the education and growing reputation of Rev. Simmons.
Saphronia ran her hands down the sides of her beige silk dress. She had selected this dress because she wanted to look like the future first lady of a church when she met Rev.
Theophilus Henry Simmons. Yet, expensive and proper as it was, it made her complexion look washed out and failed to do anything worthwhile for her figure—it was a sharp contrast to Essie's less expensive outfit, which only increased Saphronia's long-standing envy of her.
Theophilus was fully aware by now that Saphronia was trying to impress him with her status as the girl with the most "pedigree" in this little country church. And while he didn't think she was ugly, he was definitely not attracted by her light skin, thin nose, and skimpy lips. But the one thing about her that did make him look was her behind. At first, he thought he was seeing things when he noticed those wide, sexy hips sitting on the back of this tight-lipped woman. Saphronia Anne McComb had the kind of behind that would make a Negro man shout, "Thank you, Lawd!"
Essie frowned at Theophilus. She didn't like that smile on his face and decided that she wasn't standing there another minute, watching a man who had expressed interest in her ogle another woman's butt.
As she started to walk away, Theophilus reached out to grab her elbow. "Sister Lane, please don't run off like that. I was hoping that you would be able to tell me a little more about your church."
She just looked at him, thinking he could learn more than he ever cared to know about Mount Nebo from Rev. James. And she was about to say so when Saphronia chimed in: "Rev. Simmons, I have written a book on our church's history and can tell you anything you want to know over dinner."
Essie had to close her mouth tight before it dropped wide open. She had seen this "book" of Saphronia's. It was nothing more than a little bitty pamphlet about Mother Harold's financial donations to Mount Nebo over the past ten years.
Theophilus didn't miss the expression on Essie's face. He looked at Saphronia and thought to himself, "Sweetheart, Lord knows you are a piece of work."
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