by Dijorn Moss
“There’s a reason I’m not married.”
“I already know,” Quincy said. “It’s obvious you’re gay. I see the way you hover around Pastor. I don’t know if our pastor is like that, but it’s obvious that you got a thing for men. I don’t judge you, if that’s your thing,” Quincy said.
“I am not gay!” Chauncey jumped up and scanned his brethren.
“I don’t know, playboy. I can tell by your hands that you get manicures, and you dress a little too feminine for me,” Will added.
“It’s called grooming, you idiots. I’m not gay. I’m just a deacon with a sense of style.”
“Deacon McClendon, I’ve never seen you really interact with women at the church. At least not in that way,” Jamal said.
“That’s because my father used to beat my mother’s head in whenever she did not give him money for his drug addiction. My brother inherited the drug addiction and I inherited my father’s temper. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I beat on a woman. I don’t hate women, but I just don’t trust myself around them.” Chauncey paused to clear his throat. “Pastor Dawkins is the father I wish I had, but we don’t get a choice in that matter.”
Quincy was pleased to discover that Chauncey had not been born in a manger. He did not walk on water, but he walked on earth with the rest of the common folks.
“I can’t even stand my father,” Jamal said, scratching his chin. “He has taken better care of his cars than he did my mother. It was like my mother was his mistress. He would run around on her all hours of the night, and then come home and go straight to the garage to work on his car. He didn’t even respect my mother enough to tell her where he had been.”
“You see, this is why I don’t too much care for Father’s Day.” Quincy stood up and dusted the sand off his butt. “It’s more of an indictment of fathers than a celebration. I’m fortunate. I saw my daddy slave at a factory plant for twenty years before he decided that he would no longer take any orders from a white man. He struck out on his own and started his own business. Though he struggled for the rest of his life, I’d never seen my father prouder. I know he would be proud to see his son become a great architect,” Quincy stated.
“Let me just say this.” Chauncey put his hands up. “If you don’t have God as your foundation, then nothing you build will last.”
Quincy took Chauncey’s words to heart and knew that there was truth within them. Though he couldn’t care less about the messenger, Quincy did get the message.
“Q, God is not asking you to forgive Karen and Minister Jacobs for their sake. He’s asking you to forgive them for your sake. Because the pain doesn’t go away the longer you hold on to it,” Jamal replied.
“Man, don’t give me no sermons,” Quincy spat. “I just want somebody to be real with me and feel where I’m coming from. You don’t know what it’s like to be betrayed by the one person you love and trusted.”
“I know, because I’ve been on both sides of that equation. Have you ever stopped to think what you might have done in the process?” Jamal asked.
Even now, Quincy could not see the error in his actions. He had done everything he was supposed to do as a husband, and what Karen did in appreciation for that was reprehensible.
“Think about it, Q. Neither you nor Karen got into this thing planning to mess up. So how did you guys end up here?” Jamal asked.
“I paid the mortgage, I paid the light bill. Cars, vacations, and shopping sprees. What more could she want a brother to do?” Quincy wondered out loud.
The bonfire transformed into a pulpit and Quincy was about to educate his young, single brethren about what it took to be a man. “You see, part of the problem with women is that they don’t know what they want. They say they want a man like their father, who is strong, works hard, believes in God, and takes care of his family. That man could be staring them right in the face and you know who they would pick over him? Soulja Boy!”
The last statement conjured up some laughs from all the men. Quincy was surprised that even a stiff-neck like Chauncey knew who Soulja Boy was!
“Man, you were doing extras. I don’t know if I could do all that for a female,” Will said.
“But keep it one hundred, Q. I may not be married, but I know that it takes a lot more than that to be a man. I mean, real talk, you might as well have been a Visa card and not her husband,” Jamal said.
Quincy felt the sting of Jamal’s comments. He had never heard anyone challenge his philosophy before. He did the same thing that he’d watched his father and grandfather do, and that was to take care of their women. What more could Karen expect from him?
“I did more; I even went to church with her on Sunday. Y’all saw me.” Quincy looked for confirmation among his brethren but did not find anything.
“Um, I don’t know about that. I mean, yes, you were physically present at church, but mentally and spiritually you were somewhere else,” Chauncey added.
Quincy could not believe this; he was having his entire manhood tested. He did not like being questioned, and if this kept up, a fist fight was about to break out.
“Q, what happened to you was cold, and whatever you decide to do with your marriage is up to you and Karen, but at least give God the chance to try to work it out,” Jamal said.
“I don’t have anything to say to God.” Quincy turned away as if he were turning his back to God.
“But God got plenty to say to you. If you would put your pride down and listen, you might get the answers you need,” Chauncey said.
“I thought I was in a hopeless situation, and if God didn’t give up on me, then I know He hasn’t given up on you,” Will added.
Quincy was overwhelmed with emotions. All he’d wanted to do was to confront the man responsible for all that he had lost. He did not expect to gain a brotherhood. And in his darkest hour, he never expected to find comfort. Quincy had an epiphany, that there was no hole he could fall into that God could not pull him out of. And, in the meantime, God would send His saints to comfort him. That was what had transpired this weekend, and Quincy could no longer dwell in God’s presence and with God’s people and be resentful. His will had finally decided to bow along with his head. “Lord Jesus. Forgive me of my sins and forgive me for trying to do it on my own. I have made a mess of things and only you can fix it.”
Tonight Pastor Dawkins walked along the beach without his swagger. He did not even dare venture to where some of the brothers had gathered around for a bonfire.
Normally he would be walking on a natural high. Tonight, however, he was confused, to say the least, about how this weekend had unfolded. Pastor Hughes was awesome, there was no doubt about it, but was he enough to cause a breakthrough? Will had dedicated his life to the Lord and all of heaven would rejoice, but how long would it be before the streets became too much for him to resist? How does a man let go of what the world says he needs and lay hold of what God know he needs? That question perplexed him beyond anything that could possibly transpire this weekend.
“Hey, you.”
Pastor Dawkins turned around and saw Grace walking along the beach. She carried with her an aura that could pull anyone from the depths of melancholy. And melancholy had been keeping Pastor Dawkins company this night.
“Hey. How’s things with your book club?” he asked her.
“We concluded our meeting hours ago and all the girls packed into their cars and left. I drove up by myself and I wanted to stay back and enjoy this evening some more.”
Pastor Dawkins would have loved for her to say that she stayed back for him; his ego could enjoy a boost. They looked out to the ocean, and the moon’s reflection made a white puddle in the mist. It was not like Pastor Dawkins could not see a beach where he lived, it was just that he spent most of his time in the broken neighborhoods of Long Beach, trying to keep people from falling through the cracks.
“How did everything turn out? I mean, if you’re at liberty to talk about it. I know that everything that goes on at a Men’s Re
treat is hush-hush,” Grace stated.
He laughed because, in truth, most women could not handle the flaws and the struggles that their men encountered on a daily basis.
The Men’s Retreat was an outlet for men to vent their frustrations.
“Some men received their breakthroughs, while others are still waiting for their time.”
“You’re doing an awesome work with these men. I can see it.” Grace patted Pastor Dawkins on the shoulder.
“Right now it feels like I’m trying to skate up a mountain during a blizzard.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.” Grace flashed him a smile.
Pastor Dawkins surveyed her hands and did not see any rings on any important fingers. “Let me ask you something. How come you’re not married?”
“I was married, but I got too old for my husband, so he decided to go and get a woman twenty years younger.”
Her husband was a fool. Grace was not only beautiful; she carried a beautiful aura and had more class than most women.
“Now, I ask you, why hasn’t the great Pastor Dawkins gotten married? And be honest.”
“To tell you the truth, I never wanted to bring shame to the cross. So I hid behind it and thought that I was being super spiritual. The truth is, I’m afraid of being vulnerable to anybody but God.”
A weight lifted off his shoulders. He was naked, not in a literal sense, but on a deeper level that only someone who was ready to entrust his heart to a person could possibly understand.
“You don’t have to be afraid to be vulnerable. That’s where your strength comes from. Jesus was perfect so you don’t have to be.”
What irony it was that Grace was the one teaching Pastor Dawkins a lesson about grace.
Chapter Twenty-eight
When Will awoke the next morning, he was free from the burden of his previous life. He ignored all the calls from home and from his boys. He was not sure what to do next, but this overwhelming feeling made him believe that nothing was out of the realm of possibility.
He went into the conference room where all the men had assembled. Will could not believe that all of these men had gotten up and gathered at five in the morning. The plan was to meet and then head back to Long Beach in an effort to make the eleven-thirty service at Greater Anointing.
“What size?” Brother Evans asked.
Brother Evans held up a black and gold T-shirt of two men side by side holding up the cross. Will pointed to a XXXL and threw the shirt over his shoulders as he had a seat. The men formed a circle around Pastor Dawkins, who paced around the circle in his T-shirt.
“God has certainly revealed a lot about who we are and where we are in relationship to Him. Now, this is usually the part where we go home and make vows to be better men. But I’m wondering, what can we do to sustain that transformation?” Pastor Dawkins asked rhetorically.
Will had learned that Pastor Dawkins liked to ask a lot of rhetorical questions.
“It is crucial that we make a long-term commitment to change. I am going to encourage you to form a bond with the men in this room because we are going to need each other and God in order to get to the next level.”
All the men clapped, and Will clapped with pride for Pastor Dawkins and for his new God.
Jamal always looked forward to returning to church on the Sunday of the Men’s Retreat. As a tradition, the men who attended the Retreat would lead the congregation into praise and worship.
Sixty men of different walks of life filled the choir stand, and they shouted and praised God with their hands lifted and smiles on their faces. It was truly remarkable. The women certainly enjoyed watching their husbands, sons, relatives, and prospective suitors praise God.
“Oh, what a sight to behold. Men coming together to praise God,” Pastor Dawkins said as he approached the podium in his black and gold T-shirt.
His words were greeted with shouts and aggressive claps. Pastor Dawkins set his Bible and notes down on the podium. He looked back and saw the men in the choir stand still praising God.
“You don’t have to stop on my account.” Pastor Dawkins walked away and the musicians revved up the music, allowing men to dance in their seats. Some started to dance on the floor right in front of the pulpit. Even the women in the congregation joined in on the praise as they started to fill the aisles and dance.
Pastor Dawkins then returned to the podium with a smile on his face, and leaned against the pulpit with the microphone in his hand. “All right now, I’ve got to eat at some point today.” Pastor Dawkins paused for a moment to laugh. He then turned to the men in the choir, who stood tall and proud. “You can be seated.” Pastor Dawkins turned back to face the congregation.
“As you can see, we had a marvelous time in the Lord this weekend, and He revealed some things in us that we needed to change. What’s important to know is that God is always in the business of changing us. There is no condemnation for those who are in the Lord, what there is is an opportunity to become better and serve as a better example to others.”
Jamal scanned the congregation, and, to his surprise, Chantel was in the pews with Jamir sitting next to her. Chantel was not much of a churchgoer, but she did believe that religion was vital in a child’s formative years, so she allowed Jamal to take Jamir every Sunday. Seeing Chantel in church without an invitation was a minor miracle.
“I would submit to you that the choice to become men or women of God lies ultimately in you,” Pastor Dawkins continued.
The congregation started to holler and shout. At the end of service, when altar call was announced, even Chantel and Jamir went down to the altar. Jamal went to stand beside Chantel and Jamir. He heard the prayer that he had wanted to hear for quite some time: the prayer of Chantel giving her life over to God.
When the prayer concluded, Chantel and Jamir both embraced Jamal. They felt like a family. This should’ve been Jamal’s family, but maybe this was part of his punishment for betraying his best friend, to be close but to never actually be a family. Jamal recalled reading about this in Dante’s Inferno. Though he could not remember the circle, he did remember reading about two lovers who could never be together. They were like tornadoes that bounced off each other. Jamal would not consider his situation hell, but he could empathize with the analogy.
“It’s a blessing to see you here,” Jamal said to Chantel as they walked out of the church with a sleepy Jamir draped over his shoulders.
“Jamir and I missed you this weekend and we wanted to see you.” This was the first time that Chantel had ever included herself in the mix of Jamir and his longing to be with Jamal.
“My father is having a cookout today. I was wondering if you’d want to go.”
“I don’t know. I might pass.”
Even before this week, Chantel and Jamal’s father’s relationship was so-so. Jamal could understand why Chantel would be apprehensive around his father, especially given the recent revelations.
“Come on, you know my pops can throw down on the barbeque. It will be fun, I promise.”
Chantel fidgeted for a moment, but a smile emerged. “Okay, let’s go, but I don’t want to stay long.”
On Sunday mornings, Otis could not be found in any church, but he could be found in front of his flat-screen TV, and if it was a beautiful, clear day, then he could be found in front of his barbeque pit. Otis would sacrifice slabs of ribs to the gods of good food. With a football game, good food, and friends from his job at Hudson Automotive, Jamal knew that his father felt like a king. The whole crowd gathered around the grill. Of course, Otis also took pleasure in poking fun at his Christian son.
“Go ahead and bless the food,” Otis said once most of the food had been prepared.
Jamal bowed his head and closed his eyes. “Father, in the name of Jesus—”
“Jesus weep, let’s eat!” Otis started to hand his friends pieces of ribs from his tinfoil pan.
“Dad, don’t disrespect God like that!” Jamal hissed.
“Ain’t nobo
dy disrespecting God. We just know that you pray long and we need to be considerate of the fact that people are hungry.”
By the time three pieces of ribs with hickory barbeque sauce were placed alongside Jamal’s plate of potato salad and baked beans, Jamal had forgiven his father’s offense. There was no sense in starting a fight. Jamal had had a great time at the Men’s Retreat, and he had come to a decision that it would be in his best interest to accept the promotion. There were some positives to more money. Jamal maneuvered his second plate, and instead of his father putting on ribs, he glanced over Jamal’s shoulder to where Chantel sat.
“So what? You done put an apron on my son now? What’s wrong with your legs?” Otis asked.
“Dad, don’t even start,” Jamal said.
“What you mean don’t start? This is my house.”
“It’s okay, Jamal, I’m not even hungry.” Chantel helped Jamir wipe his face as he devoured corn on the cob.
“See? She’s not hungry.” Otis turned around and continued to pull meat from the flame and put it in the pan.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jamal snapped ferociously.
“I should be asking you the same thing. Why are you still messing around with this slut?”
“Excuse me, I heard that!” Chantel replied.
“I wanted you to hear it!” Otis turned back and said.
“Hold on, hold on! Pops, you are crossing the line. She’s a guest of mine.” Jamal was seething with anger at this point.
Otis tossed a towel over his shoulder and placed his hands on his hips. “You know, sometimes I wonder about you. I don’t know about your religion or this silly little girl over here, but you’re acting like a little girl. Man up!”
Rage flowed through Jamal’s veins and his fist balled up. Jamal was at a crossroads between what his two fathers had taught him. His biological father taught him not to ever let another man disrespect him and to never run away from a fight. His Heavenly Father taught him to turn the other cheek. It was clear which ideology was winning out at the moment.