When the music stopped, Edwin got up and stood behind the pulpit. He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, not saying a word. It was as if he wanted to look into the eyes of each and every one of his congregants. The church was packed, more packed than usual. It was full of not just members, but also curiosity seekers and about a dozen news reporters standing in the back. There wasn't a seat available. It was standing room only. Edwin had never seen so many people in one service. But there was one person whom Edwin wanted desperately to see— his wife.
Since they had been married, not less than four hours passed without them speaking. Now it had been two days since Edwin had heard from his family. Patricia's mother had given Edwin an update, telling him Patricia needed more time. He understood. Everything she believed in had been ripped from her. Edwin wasn't just her husband, he was her pastor, her connection to God. That, too, was hanging in the balance, but Edwin was going to make it all right again, he hoped.
Edwin steadied himself and placed his hand on the side of the pulpit. With his other hand, he unbuttoned his collar, then unzipped his robe and let it fall to the floor. He stood there with his crisp, white dress shirt and royal-blue tie with silver specks. It was a tie Patricia had picked out for him at Brooks Brothers, and it was his favorite. He loosened the tie, cleared his throat, and began to speak.
“I took off this robe because I am here before you naked. I am not your pastor this morning. I am one of the flock. I am just a man. I have always been just a man. I know many of you are here today more out of curiosity and the desire to know something that— quite frankly— is none of your business. Some of you are here out of glee, hoping to see a fallen man, and you want to see whether or not that fallen man can get up again and walk again. I see that our church is filled to capacity, with many new people here.
“Maybe we should have sold tickets and charged our new friends a hundred dollars for admission. No, make that five hundred. On second thought, make that a thousand dollars a pop. They would have paid that, gladly. And think of what all that money could do for our annual Help the Homeless campaign!”
The congregation— as one— gasped.
Most of them were expecting Edwin to do a Jimmy Swaggart, forgive-me-lord-for-I-have-sinned routine, complete with bended knees and crocodile tears, like when the televangelist got caught in a motel room with a two-dollar-an-hour hooker, whom he paid to watch him masturbate.
“Well, I hate to disappoint you. But this sermon today is only for people who love God and who serve him. Turn with me if you will to the Book of John, Chapter Eight. We will start with Verse Three. The New International Version reads:
The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery. They made her stand before the group and said to Jesus, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. In the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?” They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing him.
But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “If anyone of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.”
“Now, most people stop there. And I am going to talk about the throwing of the stones, but the meat of this scripture comes a little later. After Jesus tells those without sin to cast the first stone, He continues to write with his finger on the ground. I guess he was writing out the sins of those before
him, just in case someone decided to lie and stone her anyway. Each one of those men walked away one by one. I also found it interesting that if the woman was caught in adultery, where was the man she was caught in adultery with? And why wasn't he brought forth to be stoned? But Jesus deals with this directly when He is left there alone with the woman to be stoned. In Verse Ten, Jesus stands up and asks her:
“Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?”
“No sir,” she said.
“Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared. “Go now and leave your life of sins.”
“Many of you are here today to throw stones at me. And it would be easy for me to stand before you and tell you that whoever is without sin can do so. I'm sure there will be a few toddlers sent up here carrying rocks too big for them to handle.”
A wave of chuckles carried throughout the church. It was the first time the church members were able to release any energy. Usually when Edwin started his sermon, the Amen Corner started early. You have those folks in every church who want to be heard agreeing with everything the pastor says, amening and mmm-hmming throughout the whole sermon. On this morning you could hear a pin drop until Edwin broke the ice with his little joke. Edwin's style was very different from his father's. Pastor Lakes Sr. was serious— an old-style-religion type. He was dignified and scholarly in his delivery, using big words and breaking down the Greek and Aramaic words in scripture.
Edwin was more down-to-earth. His style was simple, homey, and appealed to folks in the street because he didn't preach down to people. He made the Word understandable. He, too, knew the Greek and the Aramaic translations, but when he sprinkled that in he would also throw in a “Holla if ya hear me” every now and then, too. Faith Baptist had one of the youngest new memberships of any church in the city. Edwin was proud of his youth ministry because it meant something: It meant that people who might not ever get the Word of God were receiving it. They weren't waiting until they had one foot on a banana peel and the other foot planted in a grave. They were willing to change their lives early. They were the people that Edwin served.
“No, there will be no rock throwing today. We're going to talk truth. We're going to keep it very real today. Many years ago, before I even wanted to stand up here in front of this church and lead, I had a life. It wasn't a life I was looking for; it was a life that found me. Now, I'm not going to get all sanctimonious and talk about how ‘the devil tempted me' and ‘I was too weak,' because, while that may be true, it's not real. I wanted the life that found me. I enjoyed that life and that experience. And I wouldn't trade the experience for anything in the world.”
More than a few gasps rose throughout the church, and a couple of mumbles could be heard near the back.
“Yes. I said I wouldn't trade that experience for anything in the world. Because that experience made me the pastor and the man I am today. I know temptation. I know what it is to fall. I know what it is to sin. I think it's important to know sin if you're going to serve the Lord. You have to know what you're dealing with. There's a reason why the police hire former thieves to help them crack a burglary ring. Sometimes you need a thief to catch a thief. It takes one to know one.
“Jesus may have been perfect, but none of his disciples were. The men Jesus chose to lead his church were all flawed, sin-filled individuals. Some were fishermen. But among them was a tax collector, one of the most vile people of Jesus' day. Among his flock was Mary, called Magdalene. In Luke, Chapter Eight, she is described as a woman from whom seven demons had emerged. Seven demons. A demon-possessed woman was one of his disciples!
“There is a book— a big bestseller— called The Da Vinci Code, that claims she was Jesus's wife and bore him children. Now, y'all know I don't believe any of that, but think about that for a minute. Jesus and Mary Magdalene were so close that people spread rumors about their relationship. And Jesus would still be Jesus if he were married, because last I looked that wasn't a sin. But the Bible does describe a close relationship between the two. She washed his feet with perfume before he was crucified. The point is, she was possessed by seven demons and Jesus chose her to be among his flock.
“Now, look around you. Who in here is without sin? And can any of your sins be worse than being possessed by seven demons?”
A few congregants nodded their head in agreement. And one man blurted, “No, pastor!”
“Can we even measure our sins against the next man's sins? I mean, who is to say that being an adulterer i
s better than being possessed by seven demons? Who is to say that being a thief is worse than being a liar? A sin is a sin. And only the Father in Heaven can judge any man on Earth. And when our Father came to Earth in the form of Jesus, he didn't judge. What did he do? Well, let's look at the Scripture. Turn to Verse Ten of John, Chapter Eight. Jesus told Mary Magdalene that he did not condemn her. He did not judge. He simply told her, ‘Go now and leave your life of sin.'
“Now, I don't know about you, but I didn't come to the church a perfect man. Not even close. But once I left that life in Miami, Florida, I left my life of sin. I totally committed my life to Jesus. So I will not be judged. I will hold my head high because I have nothing to be ashamed of. I sinned. I repented. I was forgiven. Jesus died for all of that. That's the walk of a disciple of Christ.”
A splattering of “Amen”s rose up throughout the church.
“This church my daddy built was a vision that I carried with me when I was called to step into the huge shoes he left for me to fill. I envisioned this as a temple of healing, where people learn the true Word and know the true meaning of being a disciple of God. It is not an easy walk. But if the journey is undertaken, it is completely fulfilling. I don't put a lot of stock in the pomp and circumstance of church. It's like ‘playing church.' Now, don't get me wrong, I love the choir and Sister Jones, you sure do tear up those solos. It's like we have Patti LaBelle right here in our house. But that's not why we come to church, is it?
“We don't come to church to see who's wearing what or who's not wearing what. It's not to see who's driving what. And when you so-called celebrities show up, I can't give you preferential treatment, because you aren't special in the house of the Lord, you are just a disciple. God is not impressed by your celebrity status. There are no saved seats, because everyone has a seat in God's house. So if you all decide to keep me as your pastor— but it's not really your decision, but God's— I'm going to step it up. It's going to get a little more difficult. Some of us are going to be a little more uncomfortable with things. But that's good. Because that discomfort means there is growth. This church is not just going to increase in the number of people, it's going to grow in its spirit. That's a promise.”
“Well, all right, now!” shouted Sister Jenkins, one of the deaconesses.
Edwin smiled, his first genuine smile of the day. He continued:
“Speaking of growth, I, too, have some areas of growth to work on. I will ask that you pray for me in these areas. I need my family back. I want you all to pray for Sister Patricia, so that she finds it in her heart to forgive me for not telling her about my past. And in that same vein, I want all of you to pray for Ritz Harper.”
With that name, grumbles ripped through the sanctuary.
“What have I been talking about all morning? Don't condemn Ritz Harper! The walk with Christ is not easy. It is all about love. It's about forgiveness, not condemnation. It's about not holding grudges. How lost is that woman, that she has built her career spreading rumors about people, spreading vicious gossip, and destroying lives? How can she look herself in the mirror? How does she sleep at night?
“Yes, she's a millionaire, and many of you may think that she has everything. But the truth is, she has nothing.
“She needs our prayers right now— especially now, as she fights for her life. She needs to live so that she doesn't go to hell. And let me remind you, the primary goal of a follower of Christ is to make sure that people know the truth so that they can avoid Hell. So we are going to pray for Ritz Harper, and we are going to pray that she makes a full and speedy recovery. Then we are going to pray that she finds Christ. Someone in here may be the one to touch her. Someone in here might be the one to bring her into the light.”
Tracee Remington sat in the fourth pew on the far right of the church. She hadn't come for the spectacle. She had come to hear the Word. She needed comfort. She didn't even know if Edwin Lakes would be preaching. Tracee just knew she had to be around believers. She had to stay plugged in. Reading her Bible wasn't enough. There was too much going on, and she had to be grounded. She bowed her head as Pastor Lakes instructed and she prayed as hard as she could for Ritz, her friend who had gained the world but lost her soul.
9
Ritz fought against that floating feeling. She knew that if she allowed herself to just go with the flow, it would be over. She knew that she would not, could not, return once she surrendered to that peaceful, tempting white light. If she followed her mother and left the place of limbo, she would be “officially dead.” All that would be left of her would be a fancy funeral— which she would be in no condition to appreci-ate— and after the hoopla died down maybe every now and then there would be a few lines about her in David Hinck-ley's “Radio Dial” column in the Daily News. And her name wouldn't be in boldface type in that column.
The News did not boldface the names of dead people.
There was a part of her that wanted to give up, a part that wanted to just let go. What did she have waiting for her back there? She didn't have a man. There was a career that was booming, but it took all her energy to keep it hot, and that career did not make her happy, though she tried to convince herself that it did. She felt so bad for herself.
Ritz tried to process everything her mother had said to her and it added up to one thing: She was a bad person. She had no friends except for Tracee, and Tracee had changed so much. She wondered who Tracee really was now.
Despite the temptations of that bright light, Ritz had a burning desire to come back. She wanted to live. She had things she needed to take care of. At the top of her list was revenge. Ritz wanted to get whoever shot her. She wanted to live so she could get them. They say that living well is the best revenge. No, revenge is the best revenge.
The Sicilians have a saying: “Revenge is a dish best served cold.” Ritz once heard somebody on The Sopranos say that. At the time, she didn't know what those words meant. But now she did.
It would all come later. Let the dish get cold. Right now, she had something else to do.
She reached deep inside herself to that place in her heart that made her special, the place that made her strong, the place that was Ritgina “Ritz” Harper.
Live. Live. Live. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
She felt a tingly sensation that seemed to be a mile down south. Then she realized: Those were her toes. She wiggled them.
Then she felt another tingly sensation— coming from her left and from her right.
They were her arms. She could feel them. Then she felt her hands coming back.
Could she give someone the finger?
She tried, and she could feel the middle finger of her right hand rising.
Yes!
Then she could feel that she was on her back and that all kinds of things were stuck in her body. They hurt. She could hear an air conditioner humming. She could feel a harsh light on her eyelids. She could make out faint voices; she couldn't understand what they were saying, but the voices were getting clearer and clearer. Her left butt cheek itched. She ran her tongue along her teeth. They were still there.
Ritz tried to talk, but there were tubes stuck in her mouth.
“Thank you, Mama. I love you, Mama.” That's what she was trying to say.
“Doctor, come quick! I think Ritz Harper is coming out of her coma!” said the nurse who was on duty.
Paul Grevious was at the nurses' station. He had just checked on his most famous patient and was going to finish his rounds. There was a lot of attention around this case, and Dr. Grevious was taking his time to make sure he didn't make a single mistake. This case could make his career. He was a solid neurosurgeon, but he wanted to be known as the best.
This case had already brought him the first press conference he had ever done. That was the night after Ritz Harper was identified. He didn't have much to report other than that she was in critical condition and in a coma.
There would be many more press conferences if she held on, and lived, and was a
ble to discuss her “progress” with a tabloid press that would pant like a puppy dog after his every word.
And if he played his cards right, Dr. Grevious figured, there might even be a book deal in the mix somewhere. He was going to make sure that Ritz Harper got the best care possible, and he was also going to make sure that everyone knew who provided that care.
When his beeper went off, Dr. Grevious raced to Ritz's room. Lights! Camera! Action!
Ritz's eyes were fluttering. The pace on the heart monitor was quickening. She seemed to be moving her lips. Finally, she opened her eyes.
“Welcome back, stranger,” Dr. Grevious said, smiling. He took out his light and checked her pupils. There was still some swelling around her eyes, so he was very gentle. Ritz tried to talk, but it was painful. It felt like she had swallowed a bunch of chopped glass. The tube they had shoved down her throat to feed her had made her throat raw. Her eyes hurt. Her head was pounding. She couldn't take a deep breath without feeling a stabbing pain. The grimace that was etched across her face told the story.
“Nurse, get Ms. Harper some morphine, stat!” Dr. Grevious said. He smiled at Ritz. “The worst part is over, Ms. Harper. We're going to focus now on getting you back on your feet.”
Ritz opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry and she felt pain all around the sockets. Her head pounded, as if the entire cast from Drumline were practicing in her head: Rat-a-tat-tat! Her chest hurt, her knees hurt, her side hurt. She was a bundle of pain.
Tears streaked down the sides of her face, creating another kind of hot pain that started from somewhere inside. The great Ritz Harper, the “Queen of All Media,” was flat on her back and helpless. Ritz prided herself on her independence. Since her mother died, she had lived as if she could rely on no one but herself.
Is the Bitch Dead, Or What? Page 5