Church Folk

by Michele Andrea Bowen

  Mother Harold opened her mouth to protest but closed it when Saphronia gave her a look she had never seen on her face before. As far as Saphronia was concerned, if she could take a good butt-whipping like a woman, her grandmother was going to be woman enough to put these books in Rev. James's very capable hands.

  "Saphronia, dear, do you think this is the right thing to do? I mean, if I understand what is going on, two pastors and a bishop could very well lose their jobs. That is a very serious thing, dear. It takes years for a man to reach those points in a ministerial career. And what you are proposing could take it all away in a matter of minutes."

  "That is exactly the point, Grandmother. I want it all taken away in a matter of minutes."

  "But, dear, what would have happened if every time someone became upset with your grandfather, they brought him before a Triennial Conference?"

  Saphronia sighed and forced herself to sit up straight. Using her own house money, her grandmother had protected her grandfather for years, to pay off a woman who showed up at the house with a big child who looked just like him. He acted like butter would not melt in his mouth, when he was one of the biggest devils around.

  "Grandmother, maybe somebody should have called Grandfather on the carpet about all of that mess. Maybe he would have been a better preacher and a better man. He certainly had a lot to offer, but he could stir a lot of trouble, too.

  "And as far as Bishop Caruthers, Rev. Washington, and Marcel are concerned, they don't deserve the privilege of being pastors and a bishop in the Gospel United Church. So, Grandmother, whether you like it or not, you are taking those books to Rev. James. You are the only one, of the three of us, who can get in and get into the conference past Marcel, Rev. Washington, the Claytons, and Bishop Caruthers. So I am begging you, Grandmother. Please, help me and do right by your church."

  Mother Harold didn't say anything. She reached out her hands to take the books and went to get her purse and hat. As soon as she was out the door, Saphronia and Precious both looked up at the same time and said, "Thank you, Lord."

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  ESSIE SAT DOWN JUST AS THE ORGANIST STARTED UP a somber march to herald the entrance of the bishops, candidates for bishop, and prominent ministers.

  This would be the last session before the final vote was cast to elect the new bishops this evening. The first three of the four voting sessions had eliminated all but ten of the sixty candidates. And this was the day the bishops would do their most ferocious politicking to get their choice man into one of those four seats. It was the last day to help or oppose any man you wanted to have a lifetime job of running your church.

  The first candidate for bishop in the procession was Ernest Brown, who was marching next to his son. Ernest was stepping boldly and with great pride, like he had already been elected a bishop. But Marcel was dragging and looking battered, as if he had gotten into some kind of brawl. But that wasn't likely, Essie thought. Marcel Brown was too cowardly and stuck on himself to fight somebody straight-up.

  Ernest Brown was wearing a pale purple shirt with a matching tie under his robe, forgoing his black clerical shirt for one that would give the impression that he was a shoo-in for a bishop's seat. The sight disgusted Susie James, who was sitting next to Essie. She couldn't understand how men like him always managed to get away with so much dirt. And it was taking too long for them all to march up onto the stage— and not because the processional was so large. It was because they were all marching slowly, to make sure that nobody missed them and who they were walking with. In fact, before the session started, groups of bishops had held court in the gymnasium with the candidate of their choice. A couple of bishops had even taken turns walking around the building with a hand on the shoulder of the man they wanted to occupy one of those four coveted episcopal seats.

  Essie looked around the room for Theophilus and was relieved to see him standing with Eddie, Johnnie, and Willis. She was worried about him, and it showed on her face. Lee Allie reached across Susie James and squeezed her hand.

  "Essie Lee, Theophilus is gone be just fine."

  "I know, Mama. But I hope he knows that he's going to be all right."

  "He does. Not up in his head, where he running down a list of everything he got to worry about, but deep down in his heart, where he can feel God pulling at him and nudging him to take this stance this morning. Rev. James is right that Theophilus got a whole lot to offer this church. But it ain't gone do nobody a bit of good if he don't learn to stand up for what's right. Just think about what Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., must be feeling every time he got to face those evil white folks in all those places he go to, to protest for our rights. I'd bet some money that he has been real scared a many a day. And this thing that Theophilus got to do, ain't nowhere close to the danger Dr. King facing just about every single day."

  The men finally made it up onto the stage, and Bishop Giles walked to the microphone just as everybody took their seats. He opened the large Bible lying on the podium and turned it to the chapter selected for the morning's scripture reading. But before he had a chance to open his mouth, Bishop Jennings came up over to him.

  "Sit down, Lawson," he said.

  Bishop Giles looked at Bishop Jennings like he was crazy.

  "I said sit down, Lawson. You don't have a right to stand up here in front of all of these people."

  Bishop Giles stepped back from the podium and said indignantly to Bishop Jennings, "What do you mean I don't have a right to stand here? I think, Bishop, that you owe me an apology."

  "No," Bishop Jennings said slowly, beckoning Theophilus to come up and join him. "No, I don't owe you a thing. Sit down. Rev. Simmons has something to tell us. Rev. Simmons, come up here, because as the senior bishop in this denomination, I have just exercised my administrative privilege to take over this session so that I could turn it over to you."

  Bishop Giles stepped away from Bishop Jennings. What could Jennings think a junior pastor like Theophilus Simmons had to say that was so important he would break conference protocol on his behalf? He looked over at Ernest Brown to see if he could make any sense out of it, but Ernest just made a face to let him know that he had always thought Percy Jennings was a pain in the butt.

  Marcel was reeling from the past twenty-four hours, still mad about Saphronia's performance at the club, worried about the money he had left with her, wondering where Precious Powers was. And now, to make matters worse, Theophilus Simmons was strutting up to the podium looking like he had just come down from a visit on a mountain with God.

  He put a hand to his aching head and glanced over at Sonny to see how he was taking all of this. Sonny looked agitated and Marcel's anxiety rose by several degrees when he saw Sonny take out a handkerchief and wipe his face.

  The only one who was calm and composed throughout all of this was Otis Caruthers. Unlike the others, he knew without a doubt that all this posturing in front of the pulpit had something to do with the preachers' club. Laymond had called him late last night to tell him about Marcel's fiancée and some unknown preachers who had gotten past their security system. It didn't surprise him that his enemies had found out about the club. He knew his adversaries well enough to know that they were capable of almost anything.

  Even though a small part of him worried about the outcome, most of him was amused and eager to see how all this would play out. The danger of being exposed even thrilled him a little. He only regretted that he wasn't at the club when Marcel's siddity fiancée, or that "fabulous hostess girl, all dressed up in a pink dress," as the pastor from Detroit described it, had rolled all around on the floor. Otis would have paid a whole lot of money to see that dance. He couldn't, even in his wildest dreams, imagine what Saphronia Anne McComb looked like doing that dance, and he knew that the look on Marcel's face when he discovered her dancing like that must have been priceless.

  Otis unzipped his robe to get a little air, sat back in his seat, and got real comfortable so that he could enjoy the show.r />
  Bishop Jennings had moved aside so that Theophilus could take the podium.

  Theophilus was as ready as he would ever be. He knew that what he had to say would be greeted with a mixture of curiosity, shock, and disbelief. He hoped that he would never regret his words when he ran off the list of crimes of the men who had so callously violated the trust of their people and the sanctity of the Negro church. He took a deep breath and looked at Essie, who smiled at him. It was just the inspiration he needed.

  He placed a hand on either side of the podium, and began, in as commanding a voice as he could muster.

  "Church, it grieves my heart to have to disrupt the order of this service and come to tell you what I have learned. Now, I know that so many of you good people out there are here to help set the course of the church for the next four years. Setting that direction includes selecting the men who will govern our great church, our bishops. I know that not a one of you good, Christian folks came here to support men who, in their need for money, power, and illicit pleasures, would sacrifice the soul of our church.

  "Good church folks, since the conference began, two preachers and one bishop have been helping a member of this denomination run a club of ill repute right here in Richmond. And not only that, this business has been thriving because some of our bishops and many of your pastors have patronized it while attending this conference."

  Uncle Booker knew how much courage it was taking for Theophilus to put himself on the line. But as he surveyed the room, he could tell that some of the people listening weren't exactly sure what he was talking about. Theophilus was going to have to spell it out in black and white, he thought, and decided to help him to get his message across. He walked to the edge of the stage and said loud enough to be heard by the people in the front rows, "Theophilus, son, you gone have to tell these here folks that Bishop Otis Caruthers, Rev. Sonny Washington, and Rev. Marcel Brown running a ho' house at this here conference. That house of ill repute mess ain't gone pluck nobody's nerve and make 'em mad enough to do something about it."

  At that point Marcel Brown lost all restraint. He had enough of Theophilus Simmons to last him a lifetime, and now this old country coot was trying to help Theophilus drive him and his father right into the ground. He wasn't having it. If he and Sonny had to whip Theophilus's butt right up on that stage, so be it. Theophilus wasn't scoring any more points in this denomination—and especially not at his expense.

  Marcel and Sonny advanced on the stage, backed up by Willie Williams and the thuggish Jimmy Thekston.

  When Theophilus saw them, he unzipped his robe, threw it on the floor, and put up his fists, like he was warming up for a good fight. When Essie saw him drop one shoulder and start dancing in a boxing stance, she cried, "Ohhh Lord," and had to beg forgiveness of a few church mothers nearby.

  Rev. James, appalled to see a bunch of preachers getting ready to start a barroom brawl at the General Conference, stood up and paced in place, trying to think of something that he could do to defuse the situation. Where was Mother Harold? She had called him, saying she had something to help his cause. And when he acted like he didn't know what she was talking about, she said, "Cut the crap, Murcheson. I know it all and you need what I have."

  Marcel reached out and grabbed Theophilus's starched white collar, winding up for a punch, when Theophilus said, "Man, save that swing. Because if you take it—one, I'll whip your trifling butt, and two, ain't nobody gonna vote for your daddy."

  Marcel backed off, as did Sonny, Willie Williams, and James Thekston. The last thing they needed to do was further jeopardize anybody's chances of getting elected bishop by starting a fistfight in front of all of these church folks.

  Theophilus went back to the podium, recognizing that the time to mince words had passed, and jumped right into what he had to say. "Look, people. You all need to know what's happening, and I just don't have the luxury of spelling it out to you all nice and churchy-like. Bishop Otis Caruthers, Rev. Sonny Washington, and Rev. Marcel Brown are running a cathouse, a brothel, right up under your noses at this conference."

  That quelled the hubbub that had arisen at the prospect of a fistfight. The gymnasium grew so quiet that Theophilus could hear himself breathing. Every eye and ear was on him as he said, "People, these men helped Cleotis Clayton, one of the proprietors of Clayton Funeral Homes out of Memphis, Tennessee, operate this club where some Gospel United preachers and bishops betrayed their office by sinfully consorting with women."

  Theophilus looked straight at Marcel when he said, "So, what do you men have to say for yourselves?"

  "He has nothing to say to you or to anybody else talking this nonsense," said Ernest Brown. "Look here, young man. Your people have schooled you wrong. While I applaud your bravery and concern for our great church, you are a fool to hurl insults at your brother preachers and even a bishop without one shred of evidence to prove what you say is true."

  "He has some evidence all right," Booker said. "I have seen the place and can point out a few of the preachers who was there and sitting right up in this audience."

  "That doesn't prove anything," Ernest scoffed. "So a few wayward preachers found their way to a hot spot and decided to go on in. Why, we have been dealing with this sort of thing for almost as long as we have had preachers."

  "Oh, there's more to it than that, Ernest," Rev. James said, approaching the stage with the blue record book in one hand and Marcel's red leather address book in the other. It was nothing short of a miracle that Mother Harold had found him and given him these books just when they were most needed.

  "Young Rev. Brown, do you recognize this?" Rev. James asked, holding out the red leather book.

  Marcel looked at the book with a perfectly contrived, perplexed expression. He shrugged and said, "Don't believe that I do, Rev. James."

  "Well that's odd. Because your name is right here in the front of it. Here, come on down and take a better look."

  Marcel narrowed his eyes at Rev. James and stayed in his place. Nothing, not even the flames of hell lapping at his feet, would make him admit that this book belonged to him.

  Rev. James looked around at the church folks and knew from the looks on their faces that no one believed that Marcel was telling the truth. He held up the blue book, saying, "Ernest"—he opened it—"Ernest, it says right here that you incurred expenses at this club and that your church was to be billed to pay for them. Now, how do you explain all that? I have a copy of your signature right here."

  Ernest ran over to Rev. James and jumped up in his face. He said, "That is a bald-faced lie and you know it," loud enough to be heard all over the gymnasium.

  A few of the older women held their fans up to their faces and whispered things like, "Chile, he know he courtin' the devil to carry on like that." And, "I always knew he was a big devil—always prancing around here like he got the spirit and all he got is a fit for evil-doing."

  Rev. James continued to flip through the pages, prompting Ernest to leap at him, trying to snatch the book out of his hand. But Rev. James dodged his lunge, and Ernest fell flat on his face. Stepping over Ernest, Rev. James presented the book to Bishop Jennings. As Bishop Jennings turned the pages, he said, with disgust, "We don't need to waste another minute talking about this sordid mess. What Rev. Simmons has told you is the truth. Aaa . . . men. Now, some of you sitting out there may not want to hear this truth, and some of you might not want to believe it about the leaders in your church. But accept and believe it you must. Because the lamp of truth is shining down on our church. Aaa . . . men. And I just have to tell you people that the Gospel United Church is too fine an institution to be desecrated with this filth. Aaa . . . men.

  "Church, you need to think long and hard and decide what you want to do about this. You delegates out there, you need to vote right tomorrow. If a preacher's name is in this book, don't make him a bishop. And if a pastor's name is in this book, run him out of his church. Be strong and have the conviction to do right with the Lord. Aaa . .
. men."

  Folks started jumping up from their seats and running to the stage to see if their pastor's name was in one of those books. Many were not all that surprised by what had transpired this morning—they had been gossiping about their ministers' bad behaviors for years. Maybe, as one lady put it, they had all become so accustomed to the status quo operations of their church that they had lent those no-good preachers a helping hand toward this fall. And perhaps, she had surmised, this is just what everybody needed to get them back on track to doing right in how they served the Lord.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  REV. JAMES FORKED UP A BIG MOUTHFUL OF ROSE Neese's chit'lin's, looked up to heaven, smiled, and said, "Thank you, Jesus!" Theophilus laughed. He had never met anyone who loved chit'lin's as much as Rev. James. He dipped his fork into his own pile of chit'lin's, covered in hot sauce, and tasted them.

  "Whew," he said, eyes watering, and reached for his glass of iced tea.

  "Now see, Baybro," Thayline said. "I have told you almost all of your life to quit piling all of that hot sauce on your chit'lin's. But do you listen to me? No . . ."

  "Honey, let Baybro enjoy his food," Willis chided. "He's only gonna be with us a few more days, and then you'll be moping around the house all sad and lonely for your little brother."

  Theophilus looked over and raised an eyebrow at Thayline, who ignored him.

  "Don't act like you don't care," Willis said. "Baybro, it's true. Whenever you and Baby Doll leave, this here woman gets all long in the face and worry me something terrible about when y'all coming back. Don't let all of that fussing and carrying on fool you."

  Theophilus smiled at his sister. He knew she loved him dearly but was just too stubborn to admit it out loud. He wiped his mouth and went over to where she was sitting and gave her a big smack on the cheek.

  "Boy, stop. You'll have my whole face stinking with your old chit'lin' lips."