“No son of mine can possibly be gay!” Simon stared at the large picture of Jesus hanging on his living room wall. “Lord, this is another one of your tests, isn’t it?”
Simon stopped mid-tirade and looked over to the kitchen entrance. Jonathan was standing there, his hands stuffed in his pockets, a look of defeat across his face.
Simon stared at his son. He didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to run to him, hug him, and tell him everything would be all right, that they would work through his confusion. The other part wanted to beat him like he was a twelve-year-old thief stealing from a candy store.
“Can we talk?” Jonathan asked, never taking his eyes off the floor.
Simon eased into his chair. Without responding, he motioned for Jonathan to take the seat across from him.
“Dad, I don’t know where to start,” Jonathan said as he sat down.
“Try from the beginning.” Simon didn’t mean to sound so cold to his son, but burying Loretta was bad enough. Now, he had to face this.
“I love Tracy,” Jonathan said, finally looking his father in the eye.
Simon stared at his son like he was trying to find the right response. “You said you loved Angela, too,” he finally said.
“I did. I mean, I do. But not this way, not like I love Tracy.”
Simon turned up his nose in disgust.
Jonathan continued. “I know you’ll never understand that, but I do.”
Simon felt like he could no longer hold it in. He leaned forward, a look of exasperation across his face. “How, Son? How can you love another man? Why? What did your mother and I do wrong?”
“You didn’t do anything, Dad. I don’t know; maybe I was just born this way.”
“Don’t hand me that cockamamie answer. Ain’t nobody in my family funny. It ain’t in your blood, so where did it come from?”
“I don’t know.”
Simon leaned back like he was considering some possible reasons. “Did somebody molest you when you were a little boy?”
Jonathan exhaled slowly. “No, Dad. No one has ever molested me.”
Simon wrung his hands. “It’s because your mama let you take them dang piano lessons, ain’t it? Or because you were always drawing pictures and stuff, and never roughhousing it like the other boys?” Simon shook his head like he was talking to himself. “I knew I should’ve been harder on you. Should’ve made you be a man. You know, one time I caught you doing cheers. Cheers with that girl from down the street. What was her name?”
“Suzette?” Jonathan numbly responded.
“Yeah, the Watson kid. You and her were in the front yard just cheering away. Sis boom bah! You weren’t but eight or nine. I should’ve tore your hide up. But no, Loretta thought it was cute. Maybe if I had beaten the crap outta you, you would’ve toughened up.”
“Dad, me doing cheers did not turn me into a homosexual.”
“Stop it! Stop saying that blasphemous word!”
Jonathan lowered his eyes again. “That’s me. That’s who I am.”
Simon tried to calm himself down. “No, it’s not, Son.
You’re confused, that’s all. I mean, you’ve been with a lot of women. I know. I’ve heard the stories. They can’t all be lies.”
“They’re not,” Jonathan responded. “But I think I was doing that because I was running from who I really am. I thought if I could be with women, it would prove the feelings I had were just a fluke. That’s why I married Angela. I was trying to prove to myself that I was a man, all man.”
“Is that why you moved home? Does she know?”
Jonathan sadly nodded his head. “I never meant to hurt her.
I thought I could do it, be a husband. She never deserved me and I feel terrible about hurting her.”
Simon got up and went to his son. He sat next to him, taking his hands. “It’s okay, Son. We’ll get you some help. Put you in therapy or something. We can overcome this. We’ll cure you.”
Jonathan eased his hands out of his father’s grasp. “Daddy, there is no overcoming, no cure. This is who I am. I can’t pretend anymore.” Jonathan got up and walked toward the front door. He stopped to face his father. “Unless you can accept that, then I guess I’m as dead to you as Mama.”
Simon vigorously shook his head. “I can’t accept that. I won’t accept that.”
A sad look crossed Jonathan’s face, but he didn’t respond.
“What about the Bible?” Simon shouted as Jonathan opened the front door to leave.
Jonathan paused, but didn’t turn around.
Simon got up and approached his son. “It’s wrong. In the eyes of God, it’s wrong. Don’t you care about that none? Can you be happy damned to hell?”
“So I should choose a lifetime of misery so that my soul can have eternal happiness?” Jonathan asked with his hand on the knob.
“You won’t be miserable.”
Jonathan took a deep breath. “God made me who I am. I didn’t choose to be gay. Who would choose this?”
“God didn’t do this to you. You did it to yourself!”
Jonathan hesitated, like he knew the conversation was useless. “Well, it’s a good thing I got to say good-bye to Mama.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Simon asked.
“I know she’s resting in Heaven, and since you say I’m going to hell, I’ll never see her again, kinda like I guess I’ll never see you again.” Jonathan fought back tears as he slowly closed the door behind him.
38
SIMON SAT AT the head of the large mahogany table in the church conference room. Uneasiness swept his body. The church board, five men and one woman, had summoned him there. Usually it was Simon calling the meetings. Today, they were in charge.
Simon could feel the intensity in the room. Something told him he wasn’t going to like what the board had to say.
The lone woman in the group, Addie Lee Shepard, a member of Zion Hill since it was founded in 1928, spoke first. “Reverend, the board has been discussing this and, well …” Addie Lee stopped talking and looked around the room like she wanted someone to take over.
Deacon Jacobs stepped in. “What she’s trying to say, Simon, is that we’ve appreciated all that you’ve done for Zion Hill, but this stuff with your family is too distracting for the business of the church. We think it’s time you stepped down.”
Simon was dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe they were sitting there saying this to him. Zion Hill had been his life. It still was his life. And the fact that they would even consider firing him as pastor, especially after burying his wife less than a month ago, was unbelievable.
“So, you’re saying you want me out?” Simon looked around the room. No one responded. “Brother Baker, you can’t support this foolishness?”
Deacon Baker looked down.
Simon turned toward another man he thought was his friend. “Percy?”
Percy just stared at Simon. His eyes had an apologetic look, but he too said nothing.
“I don’t believe this! I have given everything to this church!” Simon roared. He needed to contain his temper. It seemed like he’d been blowing up a lot lately.
“We know that, Simon,” Deacon Jacobs said. “That’s why we’re willing to give you a nice stipend and tell the church it was your decision. If you step down without a fight, that is.”
Simon gazed around the room, waiting on someone to tell him this was all a cruel joke. The looks across the faces in that room told him they were dead serious. “You all better be glad I’m a God-fearing man or I would tell you what you could kiss. I’m not going anywhere without a fight! I am Zion Hill! I built this church into what it is.” Simon pointed to the laminated newspaper articles hanging on the wall throughout the conference room. “I’m responsible for all of that. I’m responsible for getting a packed house here every Sunday. I’ve been a good, faithful, honest steward and this is the thanks I get?”
Percy spoke up. “Simon, it’s nothing personal.
It’s just, well, how can you lead the church worth anything when you can’t even lead your own family?”
Simon pounded on the table. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Deacon Jacobs said, with firmness in his voice, “that you have a teenage daughter who has not one, but two kids out of wedlock. She goes to sleep during church, comes late, talks, and won’t even show you any respect during your own sermon. Then you have a son on drugs who stole money right off the collection plate. Then you just go and all but appoint your other son as associate pastor and he turns out to be gay. Something we all suspected months ago.”
Simon looked confused.
“That’s who we were talking about, the day you came into the conference room,” Deacon Davis spoke up. “I saw Jonathan openly hugged up with another man at the airport. They even kissed. Then had a big fight like an old married couple, crying and all. Hidden off in a corner, thought nobody saw them. But I did! Nobody believed me, though.” He turned to face everyone in the room. “But you believe me now! I told you this one good eye knew what it saw! I can spot one of them funnies a mile away! But y’all thought I was crazy! It was the same man he was all hugged up with at Loretta’s funeral. Just shameful!”
“On top of that, what he did to poor sweet Angela is unforgivable,” Addie Lee interjected. “The child hasn’t been back to church in weeks, just too ashamed to show her face. Her mama told me she’s about to move to Wisconsin with relatives. They say they goin’ move their membership because they don’t want to be around none of the Jacksons.”
“Then Jonathan didn’t have no shame,” Deacon Jacobs added. “The ink wasn’t even dry on his annulment papers and he’s sitting up at the funeral carrying on with that boy, knowing Angela was there!”
Simon didn’t know what to say. He had been thoroughly embarrassed at Loretta’s funeral. So much so that he could hardly concentrate. Jonathan had sat in the front row, clutching Tracy’s hand the entire time. Tracy rubbed his back, wiped away his tears and wrapped his arm tightly around Jonathan. People were staring and whispering. Angela had stood silently in the back of the church the whole time, but Simon saw the pain in her eyes as she looked at Jonathan and Tracy. Simon had to pray real hard and then just pretend Jonathan wasn’t there so he could focus on the funeral proceedings.
“Why didn’t someone tell me then? Why didn’t someone say something at his wedding?” Simon asked.
“Would you have believed us without proof?” Deacon Baker asked. “We weren’t even sure Brother Davis knew what he was talking about. Besides, that wasn’t our place. And someone had seen David shoplifting, so we just decided to let you deal with that.”
Simon was speechless. Everything they said about his children was true, but how was that his fault? “So you’re going to hold the father responsible for the sins of his children?”
“It just ain’t right, Simon,” Percy said.
“Yeah, it makes us look bad,” Addie Lee added. “People talking about it left and right.”
“My kids are grown! I can’t be held accountable for their actions.”
“They ain’t that grown. And they’re still your kids,” Deacon Jacobs said. “Besides, you’ve been in another world since Loretta passed. You even blew up at poor Percy here, right in front of the youth choir.”
Simon looked at his friend. He had yelled at Percy, calling him stupid in front of the children during their choir practice.
He hadn’t meant to lose his cool, but Percy had forgotten to call the newspaper and tell them about the upcoming Women’s Day. Simon hadn’t bothered to apologize. He thought Percy was his friend and understood he was going through a lot.
“And then,” Deacon Jacobs continued, “that awful sermon you preached this past Sunday had the whole church talking. Getting up there talking about Sodom and Gomorrah and the sinful nature of its people, damning gays to hell.”
“I think that sermon was fine,” Simon said. He knew the sermon was a little over the top, a diversion from his normal style, but the Lord had laid that message on his heart.
“Pastor, you said ‘fag,’” Deacon Baker retorted. “You called the men who came to Lot’s house fags. You can’t do that in the middle of your sermon. Everybody knew that message wasn’t for nobody but you and your son.”
Simon worked to fight back the tears. No one in church had ever seen him cry. He had always been a strong man. He even held it together at Loretta’s funeral, only shedding tears at home. But this was too much. They were taking away the only thing he had left in his life. “How can you do this to me, knowing I just lost Loretta?”
Deacon Baker looked Simon in the face. “That’s part of why we also think it’s time. Loretta, God rest her soul, was the glue that held your family together. We all know that. Now, with her gone, ain’t no telling what’s goin’ happen and Zion Hill just can’t stand to endure that.”
“Simon, we think you’ve run your course here at Zion Hill,” Deacon Jacobs added. “Maybe you should just go home, get your head together, and come back to Zion Hill in an advisory capacity on the board.” He had a look of satisfaction on his face.
Simon could see it was useless to argue. He stood up. His heart was aching terribly, but he made sure to hold his head up in a dignified manner. He took a deep breath and said, “I will not submit my resignation. And you cannot just vote me out. This is a matter that has to go before the entire church.”
Deacon Jacobs let out an exasperated sigh. “We figured you would feel that way. Simon, it would be so much easier for you to take us up on the offer to step down. Things could get pretty ugly. Zion Hill doesn’t need any more bad publicity.”
Simon started gathering up his things, including a notepad. He had thought this meeting was going to be about some church business, not his firing.
“I repeat, I will leave if and only if the congregation votes me out.”
He tucked his belongings under his arm, raised his head high, and left the conference room, praying that somehow God would deliver him through this storm.
39
ALL THREE of his children sat in the living room. They looked so out of place, sitting awkwardly on the sofa. Nobody knew what to say. Rachel had a look of bitterness in her eyes, Jonathan a look of hurt, and David a look like he’d rather be anywhere else. Simon said a silent prayer. God, how he needed Loretta. She would rally them together. He didn’t even know where to begin. These didn’t even feel like his children.
“Well?” Rachel said sarcastically. “You summoned us here, so talk. And can we make this quick? I have to go pick up Nia and Jordan from Twyla’s.” Simon stared at his daughter. She really was a pretty young lady, but so bitter. Had he done that to her? He couldn’t remember the last time they had had a civilized conversation.
“Yeah,” David chimed in. “I know how you don’t like having me in your house, so the sooner we get this over with, the better.”
Simon felt a deep pain in his heart. It’s like they both hated him. And Jonathan wouldn’t even look at him. Lord, where did I go wrong? Simon wondered. He cleared his throat and said, nervously looking away, “I sure do miss your mother.”
Rachel huffed and stood up. “I’m outta here. I didn’t come over here for this.” She grabbed her purse and headed toward the door.
“Rachel, wait,” Simon called out after her. Rachel stopped, but only slightly turned her head.
“Why are we here?” she asked.
Simon walked up behind his daughter and eased her purse off her shoulder. “Sit down, please.” Rachel let out a long sigh and returned to her seat. Simon looked at her with tears in his eyes. “Do you hate me that much?”
Rachel didn’t respond. She crossed her arms and leaned back against the sofa. She started looking everywhere except at her father.
Simon dropped Rachel’s purse on the table and turned to David. “What about you? Do you hate me?”
David glared at his father. He didn’t respond either. Finally, Jonat
han spoke up. “Daddy, I don’t think any of us hate you. It’s just we feel like you hate us.”
“I could never hate you all. You’re my flesh and blood.”
“You could’ve fooled me,” David mumbled.
“It’s just that I want what’s best for you all.”
“Oh, save that for your loyal church members,” Rachel interjected. “You want what’s best for Reverend Simon Jackson.”
Simon held his head down. He had no idea his children despised him this much. “All I ever wanted was to be a good father, a good preacher.”
“No, Daddy. All you ever wanted was to be a good preacher. Forget being a good father,” Rachel said. “Think back. My first steps, my first date, my first school play. Do you remember any of it? No, but I bet you can remember your first revival, your first Baptist conference. That’s what’s been important to you all your life, not us.”
“I’m just trying to live my life for the Lord.”
“What about living for your family sometimes? You think God wants you to create this perfect church but a messed-up family?”
Simon felt himself getting defensive. “I provided for you all your life. You never wanted for anything.”
“We wanted for a father,” Rachel said coldly.
David, who had the least to say, finally spoke up. “It’s like we didn’t live up to your expectations, so you wrote us off.
Jonathan married Angela because it’s what you wanted. Why do you think he was so scared to tell you he’s gay?” Simon looked at Jonathan, who still looked away. “It’s because he saw how you wrote me off,” David continued. “I turned to drugs in the first place trying to seek solace after my football injury. I knew I wasn’t going to amount to anything without football, and football was the only thing I had that could make you proud. So when I lost that, I was like, fu—, I mean, screw it. Now don’t get me wrong, I take total responsibility for my drug problem, that’s on me. But, it’s like you said, you’re still my flesh and blood, yet you turned your back on me.”
Let the Church Say Amen Page 20