Church Folk

by Michele Andrea Bowen

  Essie blew air out of her mouth in disgust. She knew he was right. She adjusted the scarf around her neck and started to walk into the hall when he stopped her, saying, "Just a minute, baby. Wait here for me. I have to use the men's room."

  Essie moved out of the entranceway to stand near a long table where two young ministers sat, checking new arrivals' names against the guest list. Overseeing them was a big man, who looked Essie over with harsh disapproval on his face. The invitations had specified that women were to dress all in white, so he figured that lone woman in the lobby wearing a champagne dress had to be someone who didn't belong here. He came and loomed over her, hoping she got the unspoken message to leave.

  Essie glared at him for coming up on her, but did not shrink back.

  "Mister, is there some problem?" she asked.

  "There definitely is a problem," Laymond Johnson said. "Why don't you come over here by the door so I can explain it to you? I don't think you want me to say it in front of these Reverends."

  Essie stood her ground. She put one hand on her hip and stared at him defiantly.

  "You don't belong in here," he said. "This dinner is for special people and not women like you."

  "Women like me?"

  "Yeah, women like you who come here to tempt the first godly man they come across for reasons only the ungodly can truly understand."

  Essie was appalled. Here was a supposed churchgoing man at a church function talking to her like the old drunk men from Pompey's Rib Joint. She whispered to herself, "Lord, please don't let this devil make me lose my religion at this fancy dinner."

  Laymond Johnson heard her prayer and resented being called a devil. He decided right then and there that he was throwing her out of the hall, ignoring the waves of one of the ministers, who was trying to signal him that Essie was a special invited guest. He took a quick step toward her.

  Essie drew up her pocketbook, ready to take a swing at him.

  "Baby? You all right?" Theophilus was on his way back when he spotted his wife poised to beat up a big man with her new purse.

  He hurried over, and the big fool turned around to see who was talking, only to discover that it was that young up-and-coming pastor from Memphis, looking real unhappy.

  "You know her, Reverend?"' he asked, with sarcastic innuendo in his voice.

  Theophilus was furious. "Yeah, I know her," he said in a flat, hard voice with the menace of the street in it. "I know her well. I know her as my future babies' mama. And I know she hasn't done a single thing to warrant this mess from you."

  He squared off his shoulders, and Essie sucked in her breath when he dropped one shoulder, tilted his head to the side, and flicked his thumb across his nose, looking like he was going to whip up on this man.

  "And," Theophilus continued, "I know that if you do not apologize to my wife, I will whip your behind right here at this banquet in front of all your bishops. That's what I know."

  Essie reached up and tapped Theophilus on the shoulder to distract him. She knew that he must be blind with anger to shout at the man like he was doing, especially at a church function. He would be angry with himself if he completely lost his cool and whipped this man's behind.

  He looked down at her, saying, "I'm okay, baby. I'm okay," then turned his attention back to Laymond Johnson.

  Laymond didn't want to apologize to this woman but he was scared of this preacher, who, even in that fancy tuxedo, looked like a formidable opponent. If his wife had come here looking like the rest of the ministers' and bishops' wives, they wouldn't be having this problem.

  Theophilus repeated, "I am waiting for your apology and will commence to whipping your tail unless I hear it now."

  Laymond's face was swollen with resentment. Against his will, he said, "I apologize to you, miss."

  "It's Mrs. Simmons," Theophilus said in a tight, nasty voice. "Mrs. Simmons."

  Laymond turned toward Theophilus. "And, I am very sorry, Reverend, for mistaking your wife for the wrong type of woman. I hope you have enough Christian charity in your heart to forgive me."

  Theophilus hated to let him off the hook, thinking he deserved to be taught a lesson on how to treat the women in this church. But he said, "I'll do my best," pulling at Essie's arm. "Come on, baby, let's go find our table."

  But Essie couldn't resist looking back at that man, and when her eyes fell on his white, fake leather shoes, she whispered, "You nasty, cheap-shoes-wearing thang." The threatening look he gave her, when he was absolutely certain that Theophilus could not see him, told her that he heard what she said.

  Theophilus gently pulled Essie along with him, saying, "Let it go, baby."

  The huge banquet hall was designed for a big crowd, but to Essie's surprise, there were only little more than a hundred people present. All of the men scattered among the tables were wearing tuxedos, and virtually all the women wore white—white chiffon, white brocade, white satin, white lace, white silk. The women like herself, the ones wearing something other than plain white, were in the extreme minority.

  Some of those white gowns were pretty—pretty enough to break the monotony of the sea of white and capture the eye. But most of them lacked color—not color like red, orange, peach, but some character, some sparkle, something that made the woman wearing the dress look good, exciting, and colorful herself. It was no wonder the man in the lobby zeroed in on her. Her dress had such a distinctive quality about it, it was impossible not to notice her.

  When Theophilus had told Essie that the invitation requested that all the women wear white, she scoffed and said, "I'm wearing whatever I think looks good on me." When he questioned her stubbornness, she asked him if he thought Susie James would walk in the banquet dressed like everybody else. He then raised his hands in surrender.

  Tonight, even some of the men had violated the dress code by wearing white, light blue, navy, beige, and even red dinner jackets instead of black tuxedos. And of course, a few of the bishops could not resist wearing their purple clerical shirts with the tuxedos, just to emphasize their elevation above all the other preachers in the hall.

  Finally, Rev. James saw Theophilus and Essie and guided Susie over to where they were standing. "Boy, what y'all been doin' out in the lobby all this time? Susie here saw Essie peeking in the door at least twenty minutes ago."

  "Essie had a run-in with one of Bishop Caruthers's flunkies while I was in the men's room."

  "Rev. James, that nasty man had the nerve to imply that I was one of those temple women," Essie explained.

  Rev. James looked confused. "Temple women, Essie?"

  "You know, one of those women who are always trying to go with a preacher."

  "She means a temple prostitute," Theophilus said, getting angry all over again because he knew Essie was right.

  "Well," Susie said in her husky voice. "Ain't no need for us to spend time getting upset over that trashy fool, now is there? We all looking good and might as well try and enjoy this old dry-as-toast banquet as best we can."

  Essie had been right about Susie's outfit, which was not white but an exquisite beige and powder puff pink silk brocade evening gown. The tailored coat was beige with pink lapels, pink flaps on the pockets, and pink pearl buttons on the sleeves and down the front of the jacket. Underneath was a sleeveless beige top that rested on the hip of the matching long skirt with a slit up the back. She wore pearlescent pink pumps and a string of pale pink pearls with matching earrings that made her pretty brown skin shimmer, and her wavy brown hair was pulled up into a smooth French roll held together with pale pink, jeweled hairpins that glittered when she moved her head.

  "Rev. James, that gown Mrs. James is wearing isn't short-changing anybody tonight," Theophilus said.

  "Sho' ain't. But it should look good, as much as she paid for it."

  "Well, it looks like it was worth every penny Mrs. James spent on it," Essie said as she reexamined the gown.

  "It certainly is worth every penny I spent on it and this man knows it," said
Susie James. "He wanna fuss about my clothes, but don't you know, he want me lookin' good when he take me out of Charleston."

  "We need to go sit down. Bishop Jennings is over there waiting for us," Rev. James said, with some impatience in his voice. He and Susie always fussed about her expensive clothes.

  But as they were walking to their seats, Essie took a good look at Rev. James. For all his fussing about fancy-pants expensive clothes, he had let Mrs. James dress him in a beige brocade dinner jacket that matched her gown to a tee.

  Vivian Jennings, who was sparkling in an incredible ivory bugle-beaded gown, got up and gave both Essie and Theophilus a big hug, enveloping them in a cloud of Joy perfume. She was a beautiful woman, tall and shapely, who looked so much like Nancy Wilson that when she opened her mouth to speak, Essie was always surprised to hear her soft, light tone instead of the Nancy Wilson voice she was expecting.

  Bishop Jennings shook Theophilus's hand and then took both of Essie's hands in his, held her at arm's length, and said, "Looks like this little lady plans on putting the rest of our sisters to shame with this dress. I hope you know you're a lucky man, Rev. Simmons. Just a couple of years ago I was trying to help you find a good woman and look what the good Lord helped you find all by yourself."

  Essie tried not to smile because she knew it would make Theophilus mad. Bishop Jennings always teased him about the time he tried to help him find a wife from the pulpit at the Tennessee/Mississippi Annual Conference back in '61.

  The bishop and his wife sat down in chairs in the middle of the long banquet table and motioned for everyone to sit close together so they could talk without being overheard. "I invited you good people to this banquet because I want you to get a bird's-eye view of how bishops are really elected in your church," he told them. "You see, this banquet has been held at the Triennial Conference for over twenty years. And, with few exceptions, just about every pastor who has been elected a bishop was introduced at this affair. It has become something of a rite of passage for those who join the ranks of the episcopacy."

  "Bishop Jennings, I thought the election of bishops was scheduled for next Friday," Theophilus said. "I mean, how can they select a bishop without the consent of the delegates? Isn't that why we went through so much trouble selecting delegates? To vote for our bishops?"

  "Bishops and prominent pastors can influence the selection of bishops, Rev. Simmons, by soliciting pledged votes from delegates long before we come to the Triennial Conference. But the delegates who have not been approached for a pledged vote will most likely vote for the men who tonight have gathered enough pledges for votes to convince everybody that they have what it takes to secure the 925 votes needed to become an elected bishop. Once these men are introduced to this crowd, someone will leave the banquet and report to the delegates who is hot. And once that happens, that election will simply ratify what was done here this evening."

  "But—"

  "But, Rev. Simmons, this is how it is, not how it is supposed to be. Just look around this room and think of all the good men in the denomination you know are running for bishop and are not here this evening."

  Theophilus looked around the room at who was there. Bishop Jennings was right. With the exception of Rev. James, all the other pastors he thought would make good bishops were absent.

  "Then why didn't you invite any of them, Bishop?"

  "My political strength rests pretty much within the parameters of my district. Once you travel outside it, you run into another bishop's territory. And unless he is an ally, you can hang up politicking for any support in his district. You see, most of a bishop's power comes from who he can get to support him. Take Rev. Ernest Brown. Lord knows, he has no business trying to be anybody's bishop. But he has that Michigan machine run by Bishop Lawson Giles behind him, and he will be recognized tonight as one of the pastors with enough pledged votes to win an episcopal seat."

  "You really think Ernest Brown will win a bishop's seat at this conference?"

  "I don't think, Rev. Simmons, I know. Lawson Giles has been grooming Ernest Brown for years—moving him to the right churches, introducing him to the right folks in Detroit and throughout Michigan, and taking him along to any important function in his district. Bishop Giles knows that Ernest wants this so bad, he will uphold everything Lawson does once he gets elected. And that is a shame, since anything Lawson does is guaranteed to line his pockets at the expense of the denomination."

  Bishop Jennings stopped talking because waiters had arrived to serve their dinner. Essie was hungry, so she was disappointed to find that, at this out-of-the-ordinary banquet, the food was the standard fare—baked chicken, string beans, small red potatoes, salad with too much iceberg lettuce and not enough tomatoes, rolls that needed heating, sweet potato pie, iced tea, and coffee. Then there was the long-winded prayer that went on and on and on and on while everybody was waiting to eat, a solo by the most revered soprano at the most prestigious Gospel United Church in the city, comments (mini-sermons for a few) by prominent pastors in the audience, and the soft gospel music played by the Minister of Music at the soloist's church. Everything, as far as Essie was concerned, had that universal church-folk-banquet quality to it. The only thing that distinguished this banquet from any other was the reason they were here—to find out who the bishops wanted to join them in the ranks of the episcopacy.

  When the last tables served were finishing dessert, the current senior bishop walked onto the stage. He adjusted the starched white collar of his purple clerical shirt, pulled at the lapels of his black tuxedo, and coughed loudly into the microphone before he hit it and asked the audio man if it were turned on. It didn't seem to matter to him that his coughing blasted across the hall just moments ago.

  "Lord, this has been such a blessed evening," he began. "How many of you sitting out there looking all dressed up and pretty would agree with me? Raise your hands if you do."

  Everybody raised their hands.

  "And you know something, church? There ain't nothing prettier than these lovely little ladies sitting before us all perfumed and silked and satined in their pure white for us tonight. How many of you men out there agree with me? Raise your hands if you do."

  The men in the audience obediently raised their hands.

  "Well then, now that we know we all looking pretty, let's get down to some real church business. Because, you good people know we're not here just to eat and look pretty, right? You know why we here, don't you? Raise your hands if you do."

  Essie said, "If he asks me to raise my hand one more time, I'm throwing my purse at the stage."

  Bishop Jennings laughed and said, "No you won't, Miss Lady, because I'm throwing it up there for you."

  "Now, the first order of business is to introduce the men sitting in this audience who have, to date, acquired enough votes to convince us that they can win that blessed seat of bishop."

  He got quiet and raised his right hand up as a gesture of thanksgiving to God. "Ohhh! What a glorious day it is when a preacher becomes a bishop. Yes, Lord! All the bishops in the audience raise your hands if you agree with me."

  All the bishops, with the exception of Bishop Jennings, obediently raised their hands. It never ceased to amaze him how some bishops abused the power of their position. It was as if they wanted to make sure no one ever forgot that they were one of the few men chosen to serve at this high a level in the church. And all of that posturing wasn't even necessary because the men distinguished by those purple clerical shirts and the purple adornments on their robes had incredible power in the denomination—unharnessed and at times even illicit power. Some folks in the church believed that the President of the United States had nothing going for him when compared to the power, privilege, and influence of Negro bishops.

  "Now, people," the Senior Bishop announced. "I am going to call out the names of the men sitting in this audience who have the most votes for bishop. As you know, we have a total of sixty men, all stalwart and good pastors, running for the four op
en seats. And I just want you to know that there would have been only two available seats if God had not called Bishop Walker home and then turned around and told me that it was time to step down. And you know what God said to me, church?"

  "I don't want to know—though he's going to tell me anyway," Theophilus said.

  "Church, He said, 'Bishop, you been here serving Me for a long time now. And you know at eighty-two you need to step on down and let a younger man do the job.' Now, church, all of you know that I always listen to God and I do everything He tells me to do."

  "I wonder if he listens to God before or after he insists on being paid a huge love offering whenever he decides that it's time to visit a church in his district," Bishop Jennings said out loud in disgust before he had a chance to catch himself.

  "So you see, good blessed people, the Lord has seen fit that only four of these great men of the Gospel United Church will be the chosen ones out of this group of magnificent candidates for bishop. And now . . ." He looked over at the pianist, scratched his head, and said, "You know, I need something to help me make this announcement. Brother musician, play us a godly march. This kind of thing happens only once in three years and some pomp and circumstance is in order, don't you think?"

  The pianist launched into "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" because it was the Bishop's favorite song.

  The Bishop began to move his hands around to the beat of the song, singing off-key and swaying to the pounding rhythms coming from the piano.

  Percy Jennings looked up toward the ceiling like he was praying for strength and sustenance to get past this moment.

  When the pianist mercifully beat out the very last chords of the song, the Bishop looked back at the audience. "Whew! Yes, Lord! Now that's more like it. Ohhh . . . Jeesusss! A godly song for a godly moment." He raised his right arm up in the air, turned around in a circle and shouted, "Jesus!" an octave higher than his normal speaking voice.

  "Now, church, we get to see firsthand the hand of the Almighty God at work. All too often the work of His mighty hand remains invisible to the human eye. But tonight we are blessed with the chance to see God's hand work almost as clearly as we can see our own."