No Ordinary Noel

by Pat G'Orge-Walker

  Bea suddenly pushed one of her fingers under her wig and straightened what didn’t need straightening. What needed straightening was the truth. She wrestled with telling the reverend that Lillie paid tithes on the money she’d made on servicing men. In fact, most of the Charleston high life crowd paid tithes. They didn’t go inside the church, but they cut anyone who said or did anything against it. She understood Cheyenne’s position on a lot of matters. She just didn’t like the way Cheyenne put her business out there.

  Meanwhile, after Bea fled the choir room, Elder Batty Brick, Sasha, and Brother Casanova remained and listened with their ears pinned to the AC duct on the wall. It was their intention to snoop quietly.

  Yet as soon as Elder Batty Brick overheard the reverend ask Bea whether she knew about Lillie Sinclair and he heard nothing from Bea, Elder Batty Brick reared back and boasted loudly, “Oh, Lillie was a fine ride. I should know . . .” By the time he put his hand over his big mouth the only thing he saved was a few teeth. Sasha punched him right in his grill.

  Everyone in the study shut up. The only sound was that of Elder Batty Brick’s confirmation coming from the choir room, followed by his scream. What they didn’t know was Sasha had used her cane to whack Elder Batty Brick in his big mouth.

  Five minutes later, after they’d been caught snooping, Sasha and the men joined the others in the pastor’s study. Sister Betty, Cheyenne, and Trustee Noel sat on one side of the desk, Bea, Sasha, and Brother Casanova sat on the other side with Reverend Tom seated in the middle. Elder Batty Brick stood near the door holding a rag over his bloody mouth. In case he needed to leave suddenly, he’d said.

  The conversation continued after the reverend rebuked Sasha and the men for their unChristian-like behavior. During the next half hour, the reverend learned that his grandmother Lillie was indeed quite popular. At least the way Elder Batty Brick and Brother Casanova bragged about her expertise. Of course, back then, they didn’t know Jesus, but the way they expressed their appreciation for his grandmother was a bit too graphic for the reverend’s taste. It appeared they hadn’t come out of their throwback mood.

  The only one, other than Sister Betty and Trustee Noel, who’d not contributed to Grandma Lillie’s dubious occupation, was Sasha. I’m beginning to have a bit more respect for Reverend Tom. He might have just enough hidden gangster genes to pull the church out of this mess. He just needs some prompting, that’s all.

  “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m tired. We got church in the morning in case y’all have forgotten.” Sasha rose and turned to Trustee Noel. “Do you think I can catch a ride back with you and Sister Betty in your fancy car?” Sasha didn’t wait for an answer before she turned and pointed her cane at Bea. “I’m too grown up to play with baby dolls.”

  Bea felt the temptation to set Sasha straight from her wig to her toenails, but she didn’t. She glanced over at the reverend and, again, felt the pangs of guilt.

  Elder Batty Brick offered to take Bea home. He knew too well there was no way Brother Casanova would take her.

  Chapter 23

  The throwback Seniors Prom had taken craziness and feuding to another level. By the time those Crossing Over Sanctuary seniors finished partying, drinking, and dancing their way through a modern day Egypt, there wasn’t a tube of Ben-gay or a bottle of Geritol found around Pelzer. But the event was a cakewalk compared to what lay ahead.

  Reverend Tom tossed and turned all night. The legacy of his grandmother Lillie Sinclair erased all he’d known to be true. Before Cheyenne’s revelation, he’d been ready to toss aside what Bea told him about members of the congregation as gossip and hearsay. He tolerated to a small degree that not all were as saved as he. He couldn’t do that any more.

  Sunday morning arrived, bringing not a bit of rest for the weary. He pondered the vision he had when he’d fasted and prayed. He recalled the beautiful woman who’d worn the ankle bracelet of a harlot and how she gave away her jewelry to the old woman. He remembered how young the old woman became when she received the gift of jewelry. It was as though she’d been reborn.

  Stoking the fire in his fireplace, he looked into the flames and remembered the beautiful woman and the bright light that engulfed her body; the same light that had shone on the old man in rags who’d inherited the castle.

  The crackling sound of the logs surrendering to the power of the fire caused the reverend to shake. As strong as he was he suddenly became weak as he remembered more of his vision. The young man in the preacher’s robe had taken, not given, and the people fell before him, moaning as he touched them.

  He’d nearly done that. He wanted all the support and long-suffering of his members, but he’d caused them pain in the process.

  The reverend looked at the clock. There wasn’t enough time for even a power nap. He stood and walked over to his desk. Fingering one of the red ribbon placeholders that protruded from his Bible, he started to open it up, but instead started to pray. “Jesus, I’ve fasted and I’ve prayed and my wall of Jericho has fallen on top of me. I’m too tired from beating my head against that wall. Whatever it is, even if it’s about my grandmother, please make it plain. I’m too tired for parables this morning.”

  With time moving much faster than he did, the reverend showered and left for the morning service. He had no idea what he’d say or from which book he would bring the message. He wasn’t even certain if there’d be a packed sanctuary since so many had attended the Seniors Prom the night before. He determined to press on anyhow. “Your will Lord; Your will and Your way . . .”

  Reverend Tom, deep in thought, passed by his turnoff to the church. Since he needed to go down the road to make his U-turn he decided to drive past the Promised Land development. As he approached the development, he saw six men there. He slowed down and realized three of the six men were the Cheater Brothers.

  They stood alongside several other men. All the men appeared to have large sheets of paper in their hands. The reverend didn’t bother to stop. His fists pounded the steering wheel. “The Devil is a liar!” Those words had become his way of avoiding cussing. Lately, it hadn’t worked as well as he’d liked.

  Reverend Tom felt helpless as he realized the bank had already decided that he wouldn’t make the Christmas deadline. No doubt, the news of declining Trustee Noel’s generous offer had made the rounds. The Piece of Savings Bank had begun to proceed as though they’d already reclaimed the land.

  Reverend Tom didn’t realize how angry he’d become until a state trooper pulled him over.

  Unfortunately for the reverend not only was he clocked at speeds of more than seventy miles per hour in the fifty-five zone, but the trooper turned out to be a member of Crossing Over Sanctuary. While he wrote out and handed the ticket to his pastor, he went further than issuing a warning along with it.

  “Reverend Tom, right now I’m a man on his job and thank God I have one. But you, sir, have a chance to help your members who are struggling and you haven’t. You might want to think faster about that and drive slower.”

  The trooper doffed his wide-brimmed hat and added, “You have a good day. It was only God’s traveling mercies that prevented an accident or worse.”

  Reverend Tom didn’t respond. He couldn’t argue with the trooper. The trooper couldn’t let him slide any more than the reverend did the trustee. Shoving the ticket into his topcoat pocket, he shook his head and muttered, “No sleep and now a speeding ticket.” He was angry, yet on his way to preach, tired to the bone.

  There was no sleep for the trustee either. For the past few hours, Trustee Noel lay in his small bed and shivered. The Soul Food Shanty’s heater was broken again, producing nothing more than nerve-racking rattling sounds from a rusty radiator.

  Between the heater’s clanging and him learning of the reverend’s grandmother’s rather unconventional career choice, Freddie Noel had not slept a wink.

  He tossed and turned. He was angry one moment and praying the next. The only break he caught was a silly g
rin that broke through when he realized his sudden infatuation with Sister Betty.

  Since he didn’t sleep much through the night, he rose and laid out another JCPenney unoriginal suit. He wanted to give Sister Betty a feast for her eyes. He chose a black, three-button pinstripe, a white shirt, and black and white tie with zigzag lines throughout. His spit-polished black Florshiem shoes had white flaps. The sales clerk had promised he’d be the only one wearing them. She’ll like this one.

  As pleased as he was with his new sense of style, he couldn’t push past his disappointment with Reverend Tom. Last night, before they’d all gone their separate ways everyone hugged or shook hands before departing. Everyone, including Bea and Sasha acted civil, but not he and the reverend. There was still that matter of the twenty-five million dollars and it shadowed their every move. “He’s such a stubborn mule. He should’ve apologized last night as soon as he found out his grandmother’s money was as tainted as he’d called mine.”

  Trustee Noel didn’t realize how upset he was until he heard the words leave his mouth. It was no way to prepare for service and for that he was angry at the reverend, too.

  The clock on Sister Betty’s kitchen wall read five o’clock and there were hints of a bleak sunrise on the horizon. Neither she nor Cheyenne had slept a wink since they’d arrived back at Sister Betty’s house. The women spent most of the night seated at the kitchen table. They snacked on Little Debbie cupcakes and tea while they chatted, waiting for someone who was due to arrive in about another hour to drive Cheyenne to her home in Belton.

  “I should be worn out. An old lady at my age should try and take better care of herself, but I can sleep on my way home,” Cheyenne teased as she waited. “You, my dear Sister Betty, can sleep during the service. I doubt if Reverend Tom will wanna whoop and holler this morning.”

  Cheyenne sighed. “I know I wouldn’t want to if I’d been hit like he was last night. But that uppity something had it coming. Lillie never wanted nothing but the best from and for him.”

  Just like the night before in the reverend’s study, Sister Betty wanted to push back on Cheyenne’s disrespectful remarks, but she didn’t. Not only was Cheyenne a guest in her home, but the woman spoke close to what was on Sister Betty’s mind.

  She sipped slowly from her cup of hot cayenne pepper tea, as did Cheyenne with a cup of orange ginger tea. In between sips, as they waited for the car, they discussed last night’s conversation inside the pastor’s study.

  “I probably should’ve told everything I know.” Cheyenne took another sip of tea, then rested her hands on the table. Another second and her hands would’ve felt the hot tea that spurted from Sister Betty’s mouth.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Sister Betty poured more tea into her cup to replace what she’d spat out. She knew she had to speak up whether Cheyenne was a guest or not. “I don’t know if I can take another word against my church or my pastor. I don’t believe God is pleased with all this.”

  “You are probably right. I’m sorry. You know me; I’m just an old political drama queen.” Cheyenne’s apology accompanied a nervous laugh.

  The conversation had taken another turn that neither woman wanted to visit. By the time the car service arrived it brought relief to both. They said their good-byes and promised to keep better in touch with one another. Cheyenne said she’d call once she arrived in Belton.

  Sister Betty was exhausted. She felt a bit eerie and didn’t know why, then realized she’d never called for her ride to take her to church. Brother Randy, one of the church’s young deacons she’d hired as her on-call driver, had left earlier with Cheyenne. A glance at the clock showed that it was almost a quarter after seven. She dialed the reverend’s home. Maybe I can catch a ride with him. After her third attempt at calling, she gave up. The first two times she thought he might’ve been in the shower. The last try meant either he was ignoring her or he actually wasn’t home.

  The camera inside the pastor’s study scanned the sanctuary and the hallways. Reverend Tom pushed back in his chair and put his chin in the palm of his hand. It was almost time for the second service. While his fingers tapped out a rhythm on his desk, he surveyed the sanctuary and parking lot for the last time. There wasn’t a lot of activity in either place. Whoever was coming apparently was already there. Of course, he suspected the seniors had partied way past their bedtimes and probably would’ve fallen asleep during the service had they come. However, packed sanctuary or not, he still had to preach the Word.

  He bowed his head and whispered a prayer. “Holy Ghost, you bring the word.”

  The choir sang, announcements were made, and a missionary offering was held. Welcome was extended to all, first-time visitors in particular. The request for the members to stand was given, then the ushers, stoic as usual, escorted the reverend into the service. It was time to preach again.

  Because it was the last Sunday of the month it was also Communion Sunday. As customary when he served the Last Supper the reverend dressed in all white. In front of the pulpit on a long narrow table draped entirely in white linen were the wine and wafers. He felt unqualified to serve them, but he’d have to deal with that later.

  Rarely was church business done on Communion Sunday, but it was the last quarter. Later that afternoon, members would return for the business meeting.

  The congregation appeared a bit restless, shuffling Bibles and feet from side to side as they awaited his text.

  “Today, I am led by the Holy Ghost,” the reverend explained as his fingers flipped through the large print Bible on the podium. “A lot has occurred here at Crossing Over Sanctuary and God is cleaning house.” He pointed first at himself, then over the members. “None of us is complete unless God does the work. We’re all a work in progress.”

  He hoped the Spirit was leading him because at that moment, he floundered for a text to bring it all together. Without giving another thought, he looked down at his Bible and felt unexpectedly light in his spirit. It was as if every burden he’d borne for the past twenty-four hours suddenly lifted off his shoulders. Within seconds, his lips began fluttering and his knees buckled slightly. He threw his head back, and as he slowly brought his head forward, his words were barely audible. They became unintelligible sounds of a language understood by God alone. Snippets found their way via the microphone into the ears of the congregation, but it was okay. He and the church knew the Holy Ghost had taken control. Sounds came and although he knew he’d begun to speak in tongues, he was surprised.

  Reverend Tom and God had a heart-to-heart, spirit-to-spirit experience. The pastor’s face glistened and suddenly from over in the corner where the deacons sat came more tongues and those met and agreed with the reverend’s utterances.

  Then it all died down and he began to read.

  Chapter 24

  “I will begin at Acts 10:14,” the reverend announced. “If you have your swords—Bibles to those not familiar with that term—then please read along with me.”

  Sister Betty watched with interest and awe. She’d managed to get a ride and had arrived at the end of the missionary offering. She nodded at the two church mothers who had somehow managed to get to the service. She wasn’t surprised when she didn’t see either Bea or Sasha. She was almost relieved. She didn’t feel like playing the role of spiritual probation officer with those two.

  Trustee Noel sat with a few other men. The reverend’s confidence caught him off guard. He figured after the reverend discovered his grandmother sold her body, he would’ve preached about the woman at the well or even the woman caught in the act of adultery. He certainly didn’t expect him to preach from Acts, particularly since he seemed so embedded in church law without compromise. The trustee took a moment and looked toward where Sister Betty, Bea, and Sasha usually sat. He found only Sister Betty, her eyes fixated on the pulpit. He turned and did likewise.

  Reverend Tom normally had one of the deacons read the text scripture but not that morning. He was God’s general on a mission and if he ne
eded his army, he’d call them, but at that moment, he fought alone.

  “But Peter said, Not so, Lord; for I have never eaten anything that is common or unclean.” The reverend stopped reading and ran his hand through his hair, although there was not a strand out of place. He was the only thing out of order. He withdrew a large handkerchief from his sleeve, wiped his brow and continued. “And the voice spake unto him again the second time, what God hath cleaned, that call not thou common.”

  He slowly closed his Bible and came down from the pulpit.

  There was none of the usual enthusiasm or prodding from the congregation. No “amen,” or “preach, pastor, preach.” Even the men who, moments before, had confirmed the pastor speaking in tongues with a display of their own were silent.

  Before the entire congregation, the pastor testified of his journey through his prayer and fast. He went from summation to testifying without interruption.

  Reverend Tom ran the gamut. The words poured from him and he was helpless to leave out anything. He confessed how he thought he’d lost his mind when he wrestled with an angel. He connected the dots of his vision of the woman wearing the harlot’s ankle bracelet. “And then I discovered my beloved grandmother, Lillie Sinclair, sold her body for money. That same money sent me to divinity school to preach God’s word and the interest on that investment stands humbled before a tolerant congregation.”

  From across the sanctuary the reverend heard, “Tell it. God is the master builder,” and “Let Him use you, pastor,” and “Nasty money ain’t always nasty.” He had no idea from whom or from where exactly the encouragements came. He was in the zone that only those connected directly to the power of God experienced. Everything else became background noise.

  When he’d told almost all he needed to reveal, he was exhausted. But he wasn’t finished. Taking a deep breath, he returned to the pulpit.