Authors: Pat G'Orge-Walker
No Ordinary Noel (16 page)
Chapter 26
T
he bickering began as soon as the reverend opened the floor to the minds and hearts of the congregation.
he bickering began as soon as the reverend opened the floor to the minds and hearts of the congregation.
“Why in the world would he put Jesus in a chair?” The question came at the reverend in various ways, but it added up to the same thing.
“I know this is a bit unusual,” he told them. “In divinity school we used an exercise where we place Jesus in an empty seat. We wouldn't judge. We acknowledged that Jesus would do that. However, we had to tell the entire truth. After all, not only do we serve God in spirit and in truth, but as I said, He is watching us from that empty seat.”
The church erupted. The reverend had given his congregation an early Christmas present. Only the members of the church attended the business meeting, so they dispensed with protocol and manners. Things got ugly quick. Fights almost broke out as they jockeyed for space at the microphone. It was a miracle the reverend sat down without pain because they ripped him a new one before his butt hit the cushion. Every so often, they nodded at that empty VIP chair for Jesus' approval.
It didn't matter that they knew the reverend would now accept the twenty-five million dollars from Trustee Noel. Reverend Tom had been a snob in their minds for almost eight years, and they were going to let him know it.
The members gave the reverend more than an earful. They laid him out about everything. They griped about his selfishness toward the Promised Land project, not allowing them to sell tickets at the door when they held functions, and not taking a wife to share his wonderful life.
When they finished with him, Jesus probably hadn't seen that much hell since He snatched the keys from Hades early on Resurrection Sunday. They forgot they were supposed to reveal their grievances toward one another, but a man who'd turned down twenty-five million dollars deserved their full attention and wrath.
For a church that had not gotten down to the business of holding a business meeting the members were exhausted. It was the perfect opportunity for BS to start. And it did.
Sasha sashayed up to the microphone. She stood on her toes and spoke her piece as if Jesus watched everyone but her.
“It's good that you've promised to stop getting in the way of progress, but I still want to know how you managed to mess up my one hundred forty dollars and twenty-six cents.”
Reverend Tom had had enough from Sasha. Without hesitating, he reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. He counted out the exact amount Sasha had complained about including the twenty-six cents. It took all the Christianity he had not to shove it in her face. He told her politely, speaking into the microphone for all to hear, “Mother Pray Onn, on behalf of Crossing Over Sanctuary church I am refunding your tithe for the year. I pray that God increases it and your faith. I am sure that without your tithe, whether we had Trustee Noel's millions or not, the church would survive.”
Sasha was beyond embarrassed. She stood with her cane handle dangling from her tiny wrist, and while she counted the money he'd returned, including the twenty-six pennies, she threw Bea under the bus.
“And Bea wants to know why, when they turned off her lights, the church didn't come to her aid? You waited until the electric company threatened to turn off the street lights in front of her building before y'all gave her a dime.”
Bea didn't mean to snatch off that blonde wig she had pinned under her wide-brimmed purple hat, but she did. With the wig in her chubby paw, she raced to the microphone and took a swing at Sasha with it. “I tole ya not to open ya big mouth about my business, didn't I?”
Bea swung and Sasha ducked. The two old women played the game of cat and mouse until they were exhausted and plopped down on the closest pew. Ushers reluctantly raced over and gave each a sip of water and a Martin Luther King fan before retreating to their posts.
Reverend Tom looked toward Sister Betty. She had her head down, no doubt praying. He looked toward the Church Board and the Finance Committee who stared back at him as though they'd just dipped their hands in awash-bowl and he was brand new again.
All of that went down while the invisible Jesus watched from the high-backed VIP chair.
The photograph albums the reverend brought from his study went unopened. He'd meant to show the church how far they'd come from the time he'd taken over. As much as he'd fasted and prayed, he'd somehow managed to bring it all back to himself. From what he gathered from the membership, they'd achieved it in spite of him and most of it by means he strongly disapproved.
The sanity returned once the meeting turned to real church business. Personalities were set aside and with the probable influx of monies from not only Trustee Noel, who'd kept quiet during the melee, things became almost normal.
Reverend Tom wisely stepped aside and allowed the auxiliaries to make their reports.
Surprisingly the Seniors Prom almost tripled the initial five hundred dollar investment. Bea's handwritten T-shirts sold out completely and she had orders for almost five hundred more.
Sasha, however, didn't report how much she made from photographs that somehow never made it into their Seniors Prom book. Judging from the calm demeanor of the Mothers and Deacon Boards, apparently she'd made a killing.
No one was more surprised than Reverend Tom when Sister Betty stepped forward. She didn't belong to any particular auxiliary for good reason: she preferred to remain an alternate. Too much drama and too little progress, she'd always said. But that afternoon, she had something to say, so everyone hushed.
“First of all,” Sister Betty started, “I thought I'd be somewhat embarrassed by all that's been revealed today.”
She turned toward her pastor and pointed. “I've never heard of no one whoring in my family and God using the funds to bring about some good, but if the pastor ain't embarrassed, neither am I.”
Laughter rang out, not too loud at first, but it quickly grew into a roar. It might've been to take away the sting or the stench of embarrassment for the reverend or because of Sister Betty's quirky way of saying what needed saying.
“It's almost time to bring this meeting to a close, but some of what needs revealing is still hidden. I know because my left knee feels like a bowling ball dropped on it, so y'all know God done showed and told me something. Please don't let me hafta tell your business.” Sister Betty pointed toward the high-back VIP chair. “Jesus is waiting and He may have an eternity to wait on you, but I don't.”
“Oh Lord, please forgive me.” The request came from one of the young men who sang tenor in the choir. Standing tall with a body built for tackling, he yelled out, “Pastor, when you spoke this morning from Acts ten, fourteen, and fifteen, I played the Big Four after service.”
“Was it your first time?” Sister Betty asked slowly.
“No ma'am. I've been playing the sermon numbers since I joined the church five years ago. I used most of it when I donated the new choir robes two years ago. I promise you I will not ever do it again.”
And that's when applause rang out over the sanctuary and the reverend made a mental note to find another way of presenting his text.
Sister Betty might as well have sprinkled conviction dust across the sanctuary. Testimonies of ill-gotten gains and their contribution to the church began with the tenor and didn't stop until someone standing by the exit had their say.
The reverend thought it only pertained to the improvements he'd been aware of in his photograph book. He wasn't even close.
Members confessed bartering for the hymnals to a few kickbacks on the combined grape juice and wafer sets. Even the new aluminum eight-eye Deluxe Chef's range in the church's kitchen had fallen off a truck, although no one explained how it fell off a truck without a report being made.
When the reverend got over his shock, he asked, “Why didn't I know about this?”
Elder Batty Brick spoke for the entire membership. “Because you never asked. You always praised God for the increase and never determined how it got increased. We were always in the news about what good we were doing so we just kept doing bad and asking for forgiveness.”
The reverend felt as though he were not only a failure as a pastor, but that he was back to square one. “So, if I take the twenty-five million then I have to believe it's what God wants because of what God showed Peter on that roof.”
And that's when a few of the folks who would never have been convinced Jesus sat in the high-backed VIP chair took out their dream interpretation books. They flipped the pages and looked up the word
roof
and its numerical meaning.
roof
and its numerical meaning.
Sister Betty hadn't moved too far from the podium when she sat down to let the members have their say. Seeing the powerless look on the reverend's face, she returned to the podium.
“You know some of y'all make my teeth itch.” She made a clicking sound with her partials, not only to show her disgust, but also to ensure the fit was still tight. Then she held up her Bible.
“This is your roadmap. This is how God speaks to us. I know y'all have read the same scripture or verse many times and it meant something different each time. Why did it hit you differently? It was because you had different needs.”
She turned and pointed at the high-back VIP chair. “We can go back and forth till the Lord comes off that chair 'cause some of y'alls minds won't ever change and some change all the time. Just remember that when Moses led God's hardheaded children to that Promise Land, he wasn't gone but for a minute to talk to God like the reverend did on his recent fast and prayer. When Moses came back, they had lost their minds, much like y'all have. They melted down gold and such, even made idols that God told them were a no-no. And yet, God kept his promise and they went on to the Promised Land.”
The eyes of the congregation didn't even blink while Sister Betty spoke. They swung between Sister Betty and the invisible Jesus in the high-back VIP chair.
“We know Moses, because he was disobedient, didn't make it to the Promise Land. He remained behind and only God could find him. One thing is now clear. Those thoughts Reverend Tom once had thinking he's righteous or better than y'all are what's left behind, too. He's brought a better insight into God's leading as we go to the Promised Land across the road.”
Applause and amens went up. Reverend Tom sat farther back onto his seat and smiled. Almost everyone came onboard with Sister Betty's explanation.
But Bea wasn't that convinced. “So, are you sayin' that we can gamble whenever we want to and God's okay with it?”
Folks leaned forward in their seats. Most had agreed with Sister Betty's reasoning on how God sometimes blessed when it seemed that He shouldn't. But Bea's question merited an answer from Sister Betty.
“No, Bea, I am not. I was using the story of Moses leading God's people to the Promise Land as a metaphor for our situation.”
Bea began to claw at that blond wig that she had put back on her big head. Whether she should show more ignorance than normal became her dilemma. She'd already put in her numbers for that day and wanted God's approval. “I don't know what a met a fore is, but I don't want it for my situation.”
“Okay, Bea. Let me make it plain for you. Only the new generation of God's people made it to the Promised Land. All those gripers and idolaters didn't.”
“So, Trustee Noel gets to go to the Promised Land even after he's been gambling, but I can't go?”
Things crumbled so fast that the reverend, Sister Betty, nor perhaps their invisible Jesus could've prevented it.
Trustee Noel jumped to his feet. He was so mad at Bea for creating what he'd decided was a mess that he blurted, “I played the numbers that you gave to Sister Betty on a piece of paper. I didn't always gamble like you do.”
Every head in the sanctuary swung in Sister Betty's direction. Whatever chances Trustee Noel thought he had with Sister Betty, he'd just erased. He'd turned her into a numbers runner.
Trustee Noel explained as best he could Sister Betty's limited role in how he came into possession of Bea's paper with her numbers. When he saw her nod her approval, he felt better and certainly safer.
But Bea had enough of “met a-for” and “randomly selected numbers.” She felt she was in for a cut and if the trustee didn't fork over her money she would cut him.
While the trustee wrote out a check to Bea for money she didn't deserve, the reverend stood and went to the high-back VIP chair. His experiment had failed miserably. There weren't enough spiritually minded to go along with his unconventional experiment. With tears in his eyes, he apologized to Jesus for the absurdity of the whole matter.
Night fell before all the church business concluded. However, in the end they'd all come together and celebrated the idea that Crossing Over Sanctuary was on their way to the Promised Land.
Chapter 27
D
uring the week after the business meeting news of the church's resurrection spread. They were going to the Promised Land unless something crazier than usual happened.
uring the week after the business meeting news of the church's resurrection spread. They were going to the Promised Land unless something crazier than usual happened.
During the first week of December the cold should've kept folks in their homes. However, when the doors to the church opened that next Sunday members and visitors poured inside. Without a “Welcome to Crossing Over Sanctuary” greeting from the ushers they hurried to find a seat wherever they could.
Ushers raced to open the upstairs overflow sections. It still wasn't enough room and they had to place chairs in the aisles alongside the pews. It was the first time in the church's history where the Mothers, Deacons, Trustees, and Church boards shared pews. They didn't have a choice.
While the service formalities took place in the sanctuary, Reverend Tom remained inside his study. For the umpteenth time he and the trustee were going over their plans for presenting once more the twenty-five million dollar check and all it represented.
Reverend Tom looked more rested than he had in weeks, and almost ten years younger. God had not only restored his faith, but his vitality and it showed in the new red, white, and gold robe presented by the Pastor's Aid Committee. It was their early Christmas gift and he didn't question how they could afford it.
Trustee Noel, however, was a completely different matter. While they reviewed their plan, he happened to look in a mirror and saw his reflection. A big grin appeared upon his face.
After last week's church business meeting, he'd shopped again. In truth, he had come to the point where he just loved to shop. An outfit from JCPenney, instead of off the rack at the Salvation Army, was a come up. Unfortunately, the store's tailor hadn't been available so no alterations were done. He actually looked like the scarecrow from
The Wiz
in his ill-fitting suit, especially with that sprig of white hair spouting from the top of his head.
The Wiz
in his ill-fitting suit, especially with that sprig of white hair spouting from the top of his head.
One of the ushers knocked on the study door and told them it was time to go to the sanctuary. Once they arrived, the trustee went ahead and found his seat reserved near the pulpit and the reverend was led inside a few moments later.
Reverend Tom preached until he had to come out of his new robe. His hair was a mess, huge round circles of sweat appeared under his armpits, and his voice grew hoarse. By the time he finished just about everyone in the sanctuary looked as messed up as he did. Everyone was on one accord with praise.
Then it was showtime for real. The reverend wanted the dedication to go a certain way, and the church had agreed to it.
The trustee stood. His skinny chest supposedly pushed out but it was too skinny to tell. With his annoying, silly grin still plastered on his face, he spoke.
“First of all, I want to give honor to God.” Trustee Noel needed to get that part of his speech out of the way. He knew that any good church-going Christian would never start without that customary churchy-type acknowledgment.
“God has been good to me no matter how often I've felt my fellow man might not have been”âhe let that little admonishment settle over the churchâ“but I love Crossing Over Sanctuary and I want to help.”
By that time, the reverend had begun to move toward the trustee. In his mind, the trustee hadn't kept to the script since they'd discussed not bringing up old wounds. Reverend Tom wasn't but a few feet away when Trustee Noel sped up his speech.
“And so with great humility, I want to give a special offering. I am, once again, giving the church a check for twenty-five million dollars.” He raised the envelope above his head, then walked over and handed it to the reverend.
There wasn't another sound heard throughout the sanctuary until Reverend Tom accepted the envelope from Trustee Noel's outstretched hand.
Sister Betty switched her Bible from one hand to the other as she wrestled with the scene unfolding in front of the pulpit. She had a proud look upon her face as though she witnessed her man performing a heroic deed. “Lord, help me,” she murmured. “I don't wanna man. Please take this feeling away.”
While Sister Betty sat a few pews away praying, the drama continued to unfold at the podium.
When the reverend took the envelope from his hand, Trustee Noel felt a flood of relief run through his body. His new personality had him as perplexed as those around him. He'd prayed for holy boldness. Perhaps he should've joined a Toastmasters speech class instead.
“I'm just going to sit down and let the pastor tell the church what I've done. He can do it better than me.”
It became quiet as if another offering was requested.
As the reverend held up the envelope his eyes grew large. It was really happening. “I dedicate this tithe offering to God as the priests did in the Old Testament. We won't burn these twenty-five million dollars, but we give it as instructed by the Lord for the Promised Land.”
Trustee Noel broke into some kind of awkward movement that could only be his version of a shout. “Hallelujah, praise Gawd!”
Of course, people started popping up all over the sanctuary. The shout-fest reignited and no one was happier than Bea Blister.
She'd been praising God for days once the trustee's check for five thousand dollars cleared. Bea jumped up off her pew seat, stopping just long enough to backhand Sasha on purpose. With her hunched back sticking out Bea used it to smack the faces of those still seated as she inched her way out of the pew. Bea's arms started flailing. No usher was crazy enough to mess with Mother Bea Blister when she was in the spirit or acted something akin to being possessed.
Of course, Sasha was in a different sort of pain, humiliated again by Bea. She had two reasons to shout. She wasn't about to let Bea get away with slapping her, then outshouting her, too, so she jerked and shook as if lightning had struck her as she fake-danced her way over to Bea's side. Once she got there, she took the tip of her cane and jabbed Bea's pinky toe.
“Oh Jesus, Father!” Bea squealed, “Jesus, Jesus, oh Jesus!”
“Hallelujah Jesus, please touch this old nasty sinner.” Sasha wiped the side of her eye as though there'd been a tear. She then wiggled her tiny hips; that signature move when she thought she'd had the last word on a matter. Hopping around as if praise came in an IV bottle and was hooked up to her, she joined the other Mothers who'd started shouting again.
Normally Sister Betty would've joined in. She always liked to see the Mothers of the church bring the praise. That time she decided she'd just praise God in her heart.
Visitors who'd come for a show that morning got their offering's worth.
Other books
Uncharted (Unexpected Book 3) by Claudia Burgoa
Dead Giveaway by S. Furlong-Bolliger
Promethea by M.M. Abougabal
Everything’s Coming Up Josey by Susan May Warren
Fight by P.A. Jones
The Red Magician by Lisa Goldstein
Promises to Keep by Jane Green
Prohibit by Viola Grace
The Dog Collar Murders by Barbara Wilson
Kinky Neighbors Two by Jasmine Haynes
