Bishop Jennings, who had remained seated throughout the song, took the pulpit podium as the last trickle of handclaps and Amens were quieting down. "Choir," he said into the microphone, "I do believe you're trying to sing us right on up to glory. What about you, church?"
A chorus of Amens answered his question.
He then adjusted the sleeves of his robe, revealing more of their purple, velvet horizontal stripes, and continued, "I do believe, Aaa . . . men, that we're going to have some church up in here today and it isn't even Sunday. Did you hear me, church? I do believe, Aaa . . . men, that we are about to do some serious worshiping right here on this Friday afternoon. Aaa . . . men."
One of the ministers sitting in the pulpit stood up, waved his arm, and said in quick, choppy phrases, "Yes, Lawd! We having church today. You know something, Bishop? Right now I feel church risin' up in me and fightin' to come out. Yes! Yes! Yes!"
"Thank you, Rev. Eldridge. Like I said, we're having church and this is going to be a blessed day indeed. Aaa . . . men. You know, we come here every year to take care of church business at our magnificent Gospel United Church's Tennessee/Mississippi District's Annual Conference. Thanks be to God Almighty, we have accomplished a lot over the past twelve months. And this new conference year, which begins this June in 1961, has even more blessings in store for this mighty district of the Gospel United Church. For starters, I am pleased to announce that St. Mathews, our host church for this year's conference, held a mortgage burning ceremony earlier this week. Aaa . . . men."
The Bishop looked behind him at the conference's host pastor. "Stand up, Rev. Gant, and let the congregation take a good look at you. Church, say Amen."
St. Mathews's pastor, Rev. Clement Gant, stood up and waved at the congregation.
The Bishop continued, "I also want to thank Rev. Theophilus Simmons for opening up his church, Greater Hope, for our smaller meetings this week. And, how many of you people here today are not from Memphis?"
Many people in the congregation raised their hands.
"Those of you who didn't stay with friends or family, did you find your accommodations pleasant and affordable?"
A lot of people smiled, nodded their heads yes, and said Amen.
"Well, you have Rev. Simmons to thank because he coordinated one of the best room-and-board programs that we've had in years. Aaa . . . men. Church, you know Memphis doesn't have enough Negro hotels to house all of you dressed-up, perfumed people sitting out there in the congregation this afternoon."
Rev. Gant called out, "That's right, Bishop. You know that's right."
"And, you know something, church?" Bishop Jennings went on. "The last time I took a poll, none of these white folks here in Memphis were about to welcome us into their establishments." He stopped to shake his head in disgust. "So, church, I can truly say that I'd rather pay my Negro brothers and sisters good money anyday, than even think about giving one of those mean-spirited hillbillies who don't have the decency to call me a man one red cent. Aaa . . . men. Do you hear me, church?"
Rev. Eldridge stood up again and said, "You tell these folks like it is, Bishop. Yes, Lawd! Yes, Lawd!"
"So, church, you owe a lot to Rev. Simmons." He looked over to where Theophilus was sitting and made a motion for him to get up out of his seat. "Stand up, Rev. Simmons, and let the congregation see you. They need to know who you are. And, church, let's give this fine young man a great big hand because he did a fabulous job for this year's conference. Aaa . . . men."
Theophilus stood up straight and smiled to acknowledge the Bishop's compliment and the clapping congregation. Glodean tilted back her head and stared at him from under her large hat, as a heavy ache of longing, hurt, and anger spread across her chest. Essie, on the other hand, applauded proudly, waving and cheering as she watched Theophilus standing there. She was surprised to find herself imagining what it would feel like to stand next to him, joyful, as he received recognition for his work in the church.
Bishop Jennings had recognized Glodean when she made her grand entrance and now watched as she sat silent and despondent while Theophilus was being praised. He knew that she was the reason Theophilus had nearly turned down his assignment to Greater Hope, and he considered her almost a modern-day version of a temple prostitute. Not that Theophilus was blameless—far from it. He decided at that moment to do a little meddling that would teach the two of them a lesson about the kind of conduct expected of both men and women in the church.
"Don't you go and sit down on me just yet, son," Bishop Jennings told Theophilus.
"Now, church," he said, ignoring Theophilus's obvious discomfort. "I made Rev. Simmons keep standing because there's just one more thing I want to tell you about him. You see, church, this fine young man is a single preacher, and it's high time he got himself his good thang. Aaa . . . men. You hear me, church? I said . . . I said this young man needs our help in getting himself a wife—the right kind of wife, the kind of woman his own mama would approve of for him. Aaa . . . men."
He looked over at Theophilus, who was thoroughly embarrassed, and smiled at him.
"Now, I'm going to overstep my bounds a bit and try to help our young pastor out. You upstanding single young ladies sitting out there in the congregation, I want some of you to start baking some peach cobblers and bring them on over to Greater Hope for Rev. Simmons. Aaa . . . men."
By announcing that young Simmons needed a wife, Bishop Jennings hoped that he was putting him on notice—as well as any young lady who set her mind on him—that he was watching and that there were to be no more slipups. Marriage wasn't a foolproof guarantee, but after fear of the wrath of God, it sure was the best deterrent to misbehaving he could think of.
"Didn't you tell me that you liked peach cobblers, Rev. Simmons?"
"No, Bishop," Theophilus said, playing along. "I've always said that I liked blackberry cobblers, especially the ones that are tart and sweet at the same time."
Bishop Jennings chuckled and said, "Ohhh, I'm sooo sorry, Reverend. Don't any of you ladies get all dressed up and sashay over to Greater Hope toting a peach cobbler. Rev. Simmons wants a blackberry cobbler. You must bring him a blackberry cobbler. And you all better make sure that it's right sweet and tart all at the same time. Aaa . . . men."
Rarely had the Bishop seen Theophilus so embarrassed. He was sure that his message was getting through. "Now, Rev. Simmons," he went on. "Do you want any of these fine young ladies to bring you anything else?"
"Well, Bishop, since you asked, some freshly picked collard greens and pot roast would be right nice."
To his credit, the Bishop thought, Simmons was remaining both respectful and dignified, and he admired the young man's effort to be a good sport. He smiled at Theophilus and said, "Rev. Simmons, I guess I should leave you alone. I've given you enough of a hard time this afternoon. But it was my Christian duty. I just don't believe that one of my finest young pastors should be out here serving God alone, without the kind of helpmeet who would make an honorable and good first lady. I only want what is best for you, your church, and this district. Aaa . . . men."
Theophilus's whole body relaxed, hearing that he was about to be let off the hook. And he was surprised and grateful to have been called one of the "finest young pastors" by Bishop Percy Jennings. That was a rare compliment indeed. He said, "I thank you, Bishop, for caring enough about me to do your Christian duty right here at the great Annual Conference."
Then he sat down to a hearty round of applause.
Eddie nudged him in the arm and said, "Man, that was tough. I don't know why Bishop Jennings had to put your business all out in the street. And if Glodean wasn't mad at you before, I bet she sure is now."
Theophilus nodded and stared straight ahead, steadfastly avoiding looking at either Essie or Glodean. Bishop Jennings was announcing, "Church, now let us welcome some special guests. Evangelist Elroy Thorn and his Gospel Songbirds are here and they have agreed to render a song from their new album titled A Soul-Saving Savio
r Is He."
A ripple of excited murmurs ran through the congregation as Elroy Thorn and his group made their way up to the front of the church. Elroy Thorn and the Gospel Songbirds was one of the best gospel ensembles in the Tennessee-Mississippi area.
"As they are setting up, I'd like the organist to play 'Great Is Thy Faithfulness.' " He began to hum the melody, and the organist played a few notes until she matched his key. When Bishop Jennings heard the music, he began to sing, "Great is Thy faithfulness, O God My Father, There is no shadow of turning with Thee, Thou changest not, Thou compassions, they fail not, As Thou has been Thou forever wilt be . . .' "
Then he raised his hands, summoning everyone to stand and sing along with the choir, saying, "I want you all to keep singing as we prepare for our first collection. Now this has been a blessed week indeed and you all need to show your appreciation for all that God has done for you during this Annual Conference. Aaa . . . men. And when you march up to this table, I don't want to hear anything falling into those collection plates. Because if I can hear it, you can keep it. God doesn't like cheapness from His children."
Uncle Booker leaned over and whispered to Rose, "I guess that means I can keep it. He ought to be glad to get whatever he can, seein' that this here congregation filled up with hardworkin' people. And I don't think he need any more money than he already got—especially seein' how he got so much more of it than me."
Rose shushed him as Essie and Lee Allie got up to put money in the collection plate for the group. When they walked back to their seats, Theophilus finally caught Essie's eye and gave her a wink. She smiled warmly, as Glodean stared at Theophilus, narrowing her eyes to let him know she was watching. Eddie nudged him and warned, "Man, Glodean is over there watching you like a hawk. Looks like she is determined to figure out who your new woman is."
Theophilus sighed once more. He did not want to deal with Glodean today—or on any day ever again.
Elroy Thorn now took the microphone. A plain, medium-brown-skinned, portly man in his early forties, he was dressed in a plain black suit with little adornment except the gold watch and large diamond rings on his right hand. He said, "Giving honor to God, I want to thank you, Bishop Jennings, for giving us the opportunity to sing at this great Annual Conference of this mighty, God-filled denomination. The song we've picked out for you is a gospel ballad. I hope and pray it reaches deep down in your soul and helps you know the Lord just a little bit better."
Elroy motioned to his musicians (a pianist, organist, tenor saxophonist, bass guitarist, lead guitarist, and drummer) to start playing. Then the three men and four women who were the Gospel Songbirds lifted their voices in the opening chords of Thorn's beautiful arrangement of "Touch Me Lord Jesus." And when Elroy Thorn finally joined in, a thrill ran through the church as his lovely, soothing voice evoked the presence of a wondrous and mighty God. By the time they finished the last verse of the song, Theophilus was wiping his eyes from the intense emotions he was feeling, and even Eddie Tate, who was always stoic, could not stop the flow of tears down his cheeks.
Bishop Jennings came back up to the pulpit podium, dabbing at his eyes with his handkerchief. "Church, if you didn't feel the Lord stirring your heart after that song, you just don't know a thing about Jesus. Rev. Thorn, thank you so much. Let's all show our appreciation for this good music by standing and giving Evangelist Elroy Thorn and the Gospel Songbirds another big round of applause."
Rev. Gant tugged at the back of the Bishop's robe, handing him a note. A quick grimace flashed across his face as he read, but he proceeded to tell the congregation, "Church, Rev. Gant has informed me that we are blessed to have another special guest in our midst. There was some doubt as to whether he was even going to be able to make it, but God is great. Our guest is someone who has served God for longer than many of us have been alive and who needs no introduction to many of you out there. He is a faithful servant and one of the oldest practicing preachers in the entire United States."
A few barely stifled groans escaped from the audience. The bishop continued: "At the tender age of fourteen, he became a traveling, itinerant preacher and called many to Jesus at tent revivals throughout Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana. After marrying, he continued his evangelizing until the Lord led him to the pastorship of a small church in Lafayette, Louisiana. Years later, he was summoned to Mississippi by the late Bishop Zeebedee L. Carson, Sr., where he pastored churches in Hattiesburg and Grenada. He is now at Solid Rock Gospel United Church in Yazoo City, Mississippi, where he has served as pastor for the past forty-five years. And he says that he intends to stay at Solid Rock until the Lord calls him home. Church, I give you Rev. Roscoe Alexander."
"He can't be gettin' ready to try and preach," said Coral Thomas as Rev. Alexander signaled to several of the younger pastors to help him out of his chair. "He too old."
Rev. Alexander tottered up to the pulpit podium. He was a tall, lanky man with a weatherworn face. He had a thick head of white hair and gray eyes. He put on his glasses and began to fumble with the papers he was holding with one hand, while using the other to adjust his false teeth. Then he began to speak in a strong but scratchy voice: "I don't have a whole lot to say to you this afternoon. But I just wanted to tell you about holdin' up yo' chutch. Hol . . . din' up yo' chutch. You see, you can pray by yo'self, you have to get saved by yo'self, you can even shout quietly in the midnight hour by yo'self, but you cain't go to chutch by yo'self. You need others for that. Others, which include yo' pastors."
Rev. Alexander stopped talking, looked around the church, and cleared his throat. Bishop Jennings handed him a glass of water.
Coral Thomas said, "What kind of sermon is this gonna be? He just standing there movin' those teeth around in his mouth, talkin' 'bout what? This is the craziest thing I've heard of, 'cause I ain't never heard of him giving no decent sermon."
D.S. leaned over to Coral and said, "Coral, why you gettin' so undone 'bout all this? You know them bishops can't insult an old pastor, even though, like you said, he ain't never been able to preach. And he sure ain't gone do anything decent now that he lookin' glory straight in the face."
Rev. Alexander continued, "You see the devil is too busy in chutch. I look 'round this here room and I see all the ladies lookin' like flowers, the gentmins all fined up in they conference suits. But without, withouuutt!" he shouted. "Without this here building, this here choir, these here preachers, this here chutch, you wouldn't be sittin' here. You'd be all dressed up with nowhere to go. 'Cause the colored chutch is just 'bout everythin' to colored peepes. So whin I sit here and watch you posin' in yo' fine clothes, talkin' durin' service, walkin' in and out of chutch in the middle of the sermon—"
Rev. Alexander stopped suddenly, having spotted a man trying to slip back in church. "See what I'm talkin' 'bout. This here man missed the first part of what I sayed. Son, don't you walk out of chutch no mo' like that—especially durin' one of my sermons.
"Now," he said and fumbled some more with his papers. "Now, you peepes is blessed and don't even know it. I 'member times back when I had to hold chutch out of my car. Yes, Lawd, I sayed out of my car. Peepes just gathered 'round the car and we had chutch.
"And the missus, Lawd bless her sweet departed soul, the missus sold dranks and sandmidges out of the cooler in the trunk after service. Didn't hear nobody complainin' and everybody left our car happy, sanctified, and full of the Holy Ghost. But y'all? Y'ALL," he yelled. "Y'all ain't satisfied and full of nothin'. You ain't happy 'less you sittin' up in a fancy, fine building you think oughta be good as the ones for the white folks. And some of you won't even come to chutch in the summertime 'less yo' pastor has an air conditioner contraption. That's right, 'less yo' pastor has an air conditioner contraption. You more worried about sweatin' and makin' yo' hair go back up under them wigs and big hats than you are 'bout the Lawd and yo' chutch. Now tell me, peepes. I must ask the answer to the question."
Rev. Alexander paused, gave the people sitting on the fr
ont row pews a mean, penetrating stare. "What kinda feeble, cain'ttake-the-heat, ungrateful, so-called Christian colored peepes is you anyway?"
He banged on the podium and then stumped around in the pulpit, taking care to add a rickety-rocking-sounding rhythm to the next part of his sermon. "I sayed, what kinda Christian colored peepes is you anyway? Haah. I'll tell you what kind you is. Haah. You is the kind that don't 'preciate yo' chutch. Haah. You hear me, chutch? Haah. You is the kind that don't 'preciate yo' chutch. Haah. And God has made me come here—haah—just to tell you that. That's why I'm here."
He raised his hands, looked up at the ceiling. "Yes, Lawd, that's why I'm here.
"And chutch, you know what the main message the Lawd want you to hear? Chutch, the main message the Lawd want you to hear is that you don't 'preciate yo' chutch and it's TIME TO STOP!" He screamed into the microphone. "TIME TO STOP!
"Time to stop complainin' about the heat when it's hot outside and the cold when it's winter. Haah. Time to stop sassin' and back-talkin' yo' pastor. Haah. Time to stop buyin' fake-haired wigs and cheap corn liquor with yo' tithe money. Haah. Time to 'preciate yo' chutch. Haah. It's your'en and you got to suppote it. Haah. You got to pay yo' pastors and go to chutch wherever and however it may be. You hear me, chutch? 'Cause I don't hear you. And, if I don't hear ya', I just think you lettin' Satan take over your mind and stoppin' you from hearin' the truth. I . . . I . . . I . . . I aahhhh."
There was a gagging sound, and Rev. Alexander's false teeth popped right out of his mouth. They bounced off the oversized Bible, hit the altar railing, and landed down in front of the altar on the prayer cushions. Rev. Alexander banged his gums together, mumbling like his mouth was full of school-room paste, and mopped the drool off his chin with his handkerchief. He seemed not to realize that his teeth had fallen out and that people in the front were whispering about what to do and how to retrieve them as he kept preaching.
Eddie bent his head forward and shook and wiggled his foot, struggling to keep a straight face. Theophilus stuck a piece of peppermint candy into his mouth, and hoped that by sucking it he could keep from laughing out loud. He sneaked a look back at Essie and spotted her walking out of the sanctuary. When Rev. Alexander turned his head, he eased out of church. As soon as Glodean saw him leave, she, too, edged out of her seat and slipped out. Hot on her heels was Coral Thomas, who made her own getaway, determined to head off Glodean before she caught up with Theophilus, whom Coral figured was coming around to meet up with Essie.
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