Mama B: A Time to Speak (5 page)

Chapter 9

Reverend Martin called an emergency meeting for church leaders Saturday, but I couldn’t make it on account of I spent most of the day in Dallas shopping with Nikki and Cameron for church clothes.

They could have came on to church in what they had packed. Church ain’t about the clothes you wear. But my great grandson ain’t had no kind of dress shoes, no belt, nothing to wear in case of a funeral or to give a speech at the schoolhouse. And I don’t know what kind of job Nikki think she gon’ get with all those tights and oversized shirts she had done hung up in the closet.

I believe every male ought to have one good black suit with a tie, and every female ought to have one black dress she can wear year-round. Period. Can’t tell you how many times I done bought a suit or a dress for somebody so they could pay last respects looking respectable.

Anyhow, the three of us squeezed into my little MINI Cooper and rode over to the closest mall.

I got Reverend Martin’s text message while we was out shopping. Had to call Henrietta (she don’t do no texts) and ask her to sit in the meeting at the coffee shop on behalf of the Mother’s Board. About two hours later, after I got all the stuff for Nikki and Cameron, I was in the dressing room of
Chico’s
trying on a few things for myself when Henrietta called me back just a-cryin’ and a-sniffin’.

“B, Pastor Phillips done took a leave of absent.”

My chest started thumping real hard. “What happened?”

“Well, he said the cancer hospital in Oklahoma gon’ release Geneva. Said there’s nothing else they can do for her. Sending her back to Texas. She ‘bout to go any minute now. Got more tubes coming out of her than anybody ever seen. Pastor want to be by her side every minute she got left.”

“Oh no,” slid out of me.

“Yes. This is awful, just awful,” she sobbed.

I was close to crying myself until the Holy Spirit told me to stop and consider the messenger. Henrietta hadn’t bit more seen Geneva lately than me. How would she know Geneva got a bunch of tubes comin’ outta her? And why would they send Geneva on a long trip back to Texas if she was in that critical of condition?

What Henrietta said wasn’t addin’ up. Not tryin’ to talk bad about my church member, but she did have a habit of overexaggeratin’. I’d have to wait until I saw Reverend Martin at church to get the complete record of what was actually said.

“Well, let’s pray for Geneva and Pastor right now,” I prompted. Then we both went before the throne and thanked God for His peace, His healing, and everything Jesus already did for us on the cross. We prayed for Pastor’s well-being and for Geneva’s health. “Amen.”

Henrietta said, “Amen,” and kept right on going. “That ain’t all, B.”

Now why she couldn’t tell me everything before we prayed?
“What else?”

“Reverend Martin done got us a enter- in pastor.”

I mashed the phone to my ear. “A what?”

“Enter in. He gon’
enter in
while Pastor Phillips is gone. Be our regular preacher for the time being.”

She meant
interim
, but I wasn’t gon’ embarrass her with the correction. Plus, I know my English ain’t always perfect, either. Pots got no business callin’ kettles black.

“Will the other pastor start tomorrow?”

“Yes. It’s somebody the deacons brought in a few times before. Jerome or Janeem? Jamaal?”

I said, “Jamaal Dukes?”

“Yeah, that’s his name.”

      Someone in Reverend Martin’s extended family, I knew. Last time Rev. Dukes came to the church and preached for the church anniversary, he preached like he come from one of those churches with all that hootin’ and hollerin’ and carryin’ on, but barely crack open the Bible.

That was a while back, though. Like I said before, sometimes it take a while for a preacher to come into his own behind the pulpit, and it don’t help the process none with people like me in the audience lookin’ at him like he Daffy Duck.

“Well, let’s pray for him, too, that the Lord use him well, that we can give him a good congregation to practice more preaching, and that his presence will be a relief to Pastor.”

Henrietta snapped, “Nuh uh. I ain’t prayin’ for him. I’m prayin’
against
him. I’m too old to have somebody practicin’ on me. Too many things goin’ wrong with me right now. And Pastor Martin done already signed Jamar up without even askin’ anybody!”

Lord knows, I tried to calm Henrietta down. “Pastor Martin represents the Deacons, Ssister. I’m sure they all agreed before he ever set up the meeting with the rest of the leaders.”

“Well, I don’t. I don’t like Jerome nor his wife. She too uppity. Always got on a bunch of flashy jewelry and perfume, fancy clothes.”

I looked at myself in the mirror. Henrietta probably would say the same thing about the gold jacket and black sequin tank top I was sho nuff ‘bout to buy and wear to church the next day. “Now you know we can’t judge people by what they—”

“I’m not just talkin’ bout what him and his wife wear,” she cut me off. “He can’t preach! Just get up there and put the mic real close to his mouth so it sound like he got the Holy Ghost on him.”

“Well, Henrietta, maybe he was raised in a Pentecostal church. You know that’s how they do. No harm, it’s just a different—”

“I don’t care if he from a penny-cost or no-cost! Last time he came, my ears was ringin’ the rest of the day. I ain’t finna sit up here every week and get my eardrums blowed out, and I ain’t movin’ off the front row, either!”

Even though I half-way agreed with her about Jamaal, I could see we wasn’t headed nowhere godly down this road of conversation. And I’d had enough of her not letting me finish my sentences.

“Don’t get your pressure up, Henrietta. You got to remember he won’t be here forever. Just until the Lord move on Geneva’s health. I got to go now. I’ll see you at church tomorrow. We still meetin’ at First Baptist, right? Twelve-thirty?”

“Yes. Maybe you’ll see me there, maybe you won’t.”

“Good-bye, Henrietta.”

Chapter 10

Nikki got all dressed up in her sour face. Said she wasn’t used to getting up and out on Sunday mornings.

“Mama B, we’ll be the first ones there!”

“Exactly how I like it.”

She whined some more. “Do we have to go to church every Sunday?”

“Chile, I don’t leave nobody behind who’s well and able to get up and go to church on the Lord’s day. House rules.”

Cameron wanted to know if he could take his book to church in case it got boring.

“No. The only book you read in church is the Bible.” Part of me wanted to fuss at Nikki ‘cause obviously this boy ain’t gettin’ trained right.

He frowned. “I don’t have a Bible.”

I patted him on his head. “We gon’ have to fix that problem then, won’t we?”

I suppose Libby and Peter had already gave Rev. Martin, Jamaal Dukes, and the choir a run of the building because everybody was in place and almost ready to start when I got there.

Libby and a few other ladies were combing through the padded green pews picking up trash people from their service had left behind and shoving the hymnals back in their slots. I come alongside her on the next row over and helped. Cameron helped, too, until we had walked down every one.

“Libby, this my great-grandson, Cameron.”

“So nice to meet you! And how handsome you are! Spittin’ image of Son.”

“Ain’t he though?” I agreed.

Cameron shook her hand properly. “Nice to meet you, too.”

When she walked toward the trash can, Cameron looked up at me and asked, “Who’s Son?”

Nikki had done took a spot on the very back row, so she couldn’t hear us. Lord knows I wasn’t tryin’ to cause no mess, but the boy had a right to know his peoples. “Son’s your grandfather.”

“My friend at school, her name is Sierra. She calls her grandfather Paw-Paw. Can I call my grandfather Paw-Paw?”

“If he lets you, I suppose you could. Would you like to meet him?”

That boy’s face lit up like somebody told him they was givin’ out free donuts. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

“I’ll see about makin’ that happen for you, Cameron. Keep that between me and you right now, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He skipped on back to sit by his mother.

I overheard Peter telling Rev. Martin how to work the sound system. Then Libby joined them and told Rev. Martin that she and Peter were going home to have lunch. They’d be back later to lock up the church. She said some people from the men’s fellowship team were meeting in the back of the church and could help us if we needed anything, then they left.

For some reason, Rev. Dukes still hadn’t started the opening prayer by 12:45. Guess he was waitin’ on more people to show up. He had conversations with Angela, talked to Clive on the organ, ran over and said something to his wife, called Rev. Martin over to the side. My goodness—who all he did he have to talk to?

Pastor Phillips ‘bout worse than Libby when it comes to being exact on time for stuff. He start church right at whatever time he say, whether it’s two people there or twenty. I guess Rev. Dukes starting a little later didn’t hurt nobody, but it sure didn’t set well with me.

In the meanwhile, I took another good look at First Baptist. Libby and Peter done a good job of keeping the church going. Nice, clean building. Bible studies on Wednesday night. Serving food to the community, helping pregnant teenage girls find couples to adopt babies. They sacrificed a lot to keep this ministry going.

First Baptist wasn’t really all that much bigger than Mt. Zion. Just the ceilings were higher, tricked the eyes into thinking you were in a big old place when you wasn’t.

       Still waiting for somebody to get us going, I decided I might as well read a few scriptures and get my mind on the Lord. Just in time, too, ‘cause Henrietta flopped her behind down right next to me, wearing her white usher uniform, even though she ain’t served on that auxiliary in years.

She crossed her arms high on top of her bosom and rocked herself into a frenzy. “It’s going on one o’clock! What he waitin’ on?”

“I don’t know.”

Then Henrietta busted out singing, “Jesus getting us ready for that great day.” She clapped and sung it a few more times before Clive picked her up on the organ. Guess he was ready to begin, too.

Finally, after Henrietta done ran through a whole medley of songs, about fifteen people—mostly women—come waltzing in the church and took the first three rows. None of them members of Mt. Zion.

Finally, Rev. Dukes got up to the podium and started singing along with the rest of us. He been waitin’ on them the whole time, I saw.

Henrietta saw it too, ‘cause she elbowed me all in my ribcage something awful. Leaned over and said, “Is he here for them or us?”

One of the guests took over the congregational number, sung herself happy and got their bunch to start the hollerin’ early.

I just hoped we wasn’t about to have a circus. Now, don’t get me wrong: I believe in dancing, jumping, hollering, falling out, speaking in tongues, all that so long as the Spirit of God leads. I’ve done just about all of that myself, truth be told. My mother was a Baptist, but my father was born and bred Church of God in Christ. If he hadn’t died when I was a little girl, I’m sure I would have COGIC all in my socks right now.

Got nothing against undignified praise.

What I do have a problem with is people just doin’ stuff to be seen, be loud, tryin’ to push your forehead down to the ground when they pray for you—that’s what I got a problem with.

I used to think you couldn’t discern what other people doin’ cause they in the house of God, after all. But the Holy Spirit get grieved when folk mock Him. And since He alive in me, I can’t help but get grieved, too.

Hmph. People be surprised how much He reveals once you get into the habit of listening to Him. I done had folks look me in the eye and tell me a lie, and the Holy Spirit whisper in me He lying, but don’t say anything right now. Or I be listening to a preacher on the radio talk about something happened to him, and the Holy Spirit say That didn’t really happen to him. He just made that up for the sermon.

Anyway, I saw already that me and Rev. Dukes wasn’t on the same page, but I couldn’t share none of my thoughts with Henrietta. Just add more fuel to her fire. I ignored her question about who Rev. Dukes was preaching for. Kept my eyes facing forward.

Lord, help my attitude and Henrietta’s, too.

The choir sang, Deacon Bledsoe led the reading of the scriptures, Angela made the announcements, we took up an offering, and the next voice we heard was none other than Rev. Jamaal Dukes. (I think Rev. Martin knew we’d better get on with it.)

“Would you please turn with me to the book of Psalm. Chapter thirty-seven. Verse four.”

Henrietta hunched me again. “He ain’t gon’ pray? Give honor to our pastor?”

“Henrietta, please.”

She cut her eyes at me. Sat straight up, crossed her arms again.

Soon as I read the scripture, I had an idea where Rev. Dukes might be going. Of course, all the word is good for teaching—so long as you don’t teach it out of context and twist it up like that snake Cameron was keeping in the jar.

“Church, I stopped by to talk to you today about two words. Dreams and desires.”

“Amen,” came from his cheerleading corner. “Preach it!”

“The scripture reads as follows. Delight thyself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Anybody in here got desires? Anybody in here got dreams?”

“Yes, sir,” the congregation answered.

Thought I saw Henrietta nod.

“I know. Life’s been hard on you. You been struggling to pay your house bills, your doctor bills, keep food on the table. I stopped by to tell you the struggle is over!”

“Yes!” came from the congregation.

“No more living from paycheck to paycheck. I’m telling you that car, that house, that job, that woman, that man—whatever you want from the Lord, you can have it!”

This time I saw Henrietta’s hand go up, plain as day.

“All you got to do is give Him praise. Delight yourself—get happy about Him!”

“Yeah!” A few people jumped up.

“Holler for him like you hollerin’ for the Cowboys!”

“Yeah!” came the reply again.

Then Henrietta shot up and waved a handkerchief at him. “That’s my kinda preachin!”

I’m tellin’ you, he put that microphone right up to his teeth and yelled, “I say holla!”

Good Lord, I hope Libby and Peter got some good speakers.

“Holla!” from even more people.

A lady from the other crowd scooted Clive off the organ. She played a dancin’ tune for a good minute while everybody clappin’ and hollerin’.

“Y’all sit down,” Rev. Dukes said, running a cup towel over his bald head. “I’m going to preach this like it’s my very last sermon because you never know when it might be. It is my determined will that in the time I have here at Mt. Zion Baptist church, however long or short, I make everyone as rich as they can possibly be. Is that alright?”

Henrietta calmed herself down and gave me a smirky smile. “Long as he gon’ preach about gettin’ more money, he might be alright with me.”

I just put my head down in my Bible and wait for him to tell ‘em the whole truth about this particular book of Psalm. Get to the next verse or even go back to the one before it.

But he never did.