Reverend Feelgood (22 page)

Conversations with Carla
was on but Jennifer wasn’t watching. She couldn’t have cared less about the guest who had children she couldn’t control. “Join the crowd,” she muttered before switching off the television. Jennifer felt she hadn’t been in control since Reverend Thicke had left her life. To make matters worse, the savings she’d built up while earning the big bucks managing Nate had dwindled. Another month, two tops, and she’d have to get a job. Getting a job meant that she’d have to leave Palestine. The more Jennifer thought about it, the more she realized she should have left town months ago.

Relocating had been her intention in December, right after seeing Pat and Deacon Robinson together at the dinner party. On top of seeing Nate and Destiny, this surprise coupling had been almost too much. Belatedly, Jennifer had realized she liked the attention Deacon Robinson had paid her. She never took him seriously, not beyond the number of zeroes she guessed were behind the first number in his bank account. But she’d felt a twinge of envy seeing Patricia on his arm, and that had surprised her. She’d thought about him later that night, how kind he was, and patient. James Robinson had diligently asked her out for months, even as “powerful pretty” continually refused his advances. He’d said one day the invites would cease. And they had.

Actually, James had had little opportunity to ask Jennifer out, since she hadn’t been to church since before Nate’s wedding. She’d gone a few times after Destiny arrived, but couldn’t stand to see everyone fawning over the soon-to-be first lady. She went to the other Baptist church in town a couple times, but their service was so boring and the pastor so old that one time he closed his eyes while sitting in the pulpit and Jennifer thought he might have died. After then, she’d relied on television for her weekly Word, watching famous ministers from all over the country—and Nate.

The weeks of inactivity were beginning to take their toll. Jennifer began overeating, letting herself go. It had been weeks since she’d had a mani-pedi and her hair could definitely use a perm. She realized she was entering into a depression, but wasn’t sure how to stop the downward spiral.
I’ve got to get myself together,
she thought to herself yet again.

But not today, she decided as she reached for the copy of
LA Gospel
that she’d scanned a thousand times. A beaming Mr. and Mrs. Nathaniel Thicke adorned the cover while a pictorial spread of their island nuptials took up four pages and the centerfold inside. She tried to view the pictures dispassionately, and it was starting to hurt less each time she viewed them. But she kept imagining herself in the photo, in place of Destiny, by his side.
I was so close…
Jennifer angrily turned the magazine page, determined to turn a page in her life as well. She knew she had to move on, but how? Where should she go? Returning to Mount Zion Progressive Baptist Church didn’t appeal to her, although her pastor, King Brook, had said she was welcome.

Jennifer kept thumbing through the magazine, making herself read the articles she’d previously ignored. There was an informative one on Shabach, who’d rededicated his life to Christ after being cleared of rape charges. There was a large ad, and accompanying advertorial about SOS—Sanctity of Sisterhood—a popular women’s conference that was holding its annual retreat in August. For the first time, the retreat would be held out of the country, in Mexico. The resort sounded beautiful and the topics relevant. Carla Chapman was listed as one of the speakers.
Maybe I’ll go,
she thought.

Jennifer yawned, stretched, and thought about what she could fix for dinner. She was just about to put down the magazine when a small article near the bottom of the next to last page caught her eye. It was about the gubernatorial race in Louisiana, one in which a decidedly right-wing, conservative Republican incumbent was being challenged by a moderate Democrat openly running on Christian principles. “Now that’s a switch,” she said out loud as she continued reading. Her mouth flew open when she read the name of the candidate: Mark Simmons.
Simone’s husband!
She continued reading and grew more intrigued when she read a quote from Mark’s pastor. “I told Mark that God belonged in politics as much as the devil did. And we all know the devil is constantly walking the halls of political buildings everywhere. I fully endorse Mark Simmons. He is a man with the right principles and values to lead Louisiana toward a new day.”

The pastor’s name sounded familiar but at first she couldn’t place it. And then she remembered: the hotel in New York City and the television interview she stumbled upon. That’s where she first heard Ed Smith speak, and now she knew where he pastored, in Baton Rouge. The wheels started turning before Jennifer could get off the couch and go to the computer. She needed to schedule a hair appointment and go buy a new suit. Because come Sunday, Jennifer would once again be in church.

“Be not deceived, God is not mocked. Whatsoever a man sows…that shall he also reap!” Reverend Smith preached with fervor, mopping sweat from his brow with a large, white handkerchief. “If you sow greed, you’re going to reap greed.”

“Amen!” various members of the congregation shouted.

“Preach, preacher!” one of the deacons encouraged as he stood up.

“If you sow lies, you’re going to reap lies. If you sow fornication, you’re going to reap fornication. If you sow false doctrines, you’re going to reap false doctrines. But if you sow Jesus!” Reverend Smith held the first syllable until dozens more members had jumped to their feet. “If you sow Jesus, then you’ll reap Jesus. You’ll reap peace, a peace that passes all understanding.”

“Say it!” yelled someone from the choir stand.

“You’ll reap joy!”

“Hallelujah,” an elderly church mother agreed.

“You’ll reap everlasting life. With Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!”

Reverend Smith’s sermon ended amid furious clapping and cries of joy. The choir, small but boisterous, began singing a Baptist hymnal,
Jesus Is All the World to Me.
Reverend Smith walked to his chair, sat, and rested his forehead against steepled fingers.

He’s got a wide reach for someone so small,
Jennifer thought as she observed the minister she’d researched online. She’d learned this compact man, five-seven, eight tops, Jennifer guessed, was a mover and shaker in the Baptist denomination and the state of Louisiana. His church managed several programs that benefited the city, including education for the homeless, food banks for the hungry, and a low-cost thrift shop for others in need. The big, round glasses he wore, along with his near-bald head and flowing white robe, gave him the countenance of a fly, especially as he sat bowed and hunched over. Jennifer stifled the urge to laugh. Fortunately, her attention was diverted as an associate minister stood and opened the doors to the church, inviting anyone wanting to give their life to Christ or become a member of First Baptist to come and sit in one of several chairs that had been hastily placed down front, near the pulpit.

Jennifer watched a middle-aged woman and a teenaged girl make their way to the area where the young associate minister beckoned. She also recognized Simone Simmons, standing in the front row next to her husband, Mark.
They look alike,
Jennifer concluded, thinking of Nate and the man at whom she now stared.
Except he’s bulkier, and a bit shorter, I think.
He also had the slightest traces of gray appearing at his temples, which gave him an air of gentility and importance somehow.

After the benediction, Jennifer shook hands with the woman seated next to her and pondered what to do next. The answer made itself known as she watched Reverend Smith, along with two associate ministers, make their way to the farthest aisle against the wall and begin walking toward the entrance. At the same time, she noticed that Mark and Simone followed a small group of people to a side door and walked through it. Immediately she remembered when she’d been ushered through side and back doors, into various church’s executive and VIP areas, where she’d waited as Nate held court, conducted interviews, or visited with the pastor. The seed of bitterness that had lay dormant in her soul since her ouster, and had grown roots while looking at Nate’s wedding pictures, grew further in this moment. She remembered why she’d come to this church, what she and Reverend Smith had in common: they both despised Nate Thicke.

Jennifer tried to ignore her aching feet as the line to shake the pastor’s hand inched forward. Instead, she focused on the reverend, and how he seemed to connect intimately no matter who greeted him, from children to old people, male and female alike. As she drew closer and could hear his comments, she was impressed at how he seemed to know little tidbits about each person who shook his hand, something personal, or something he remembered.

“I haven’t forgotten about that grade card you’re going to show me, Bobby,” he said to a pimply faced teenager.

“Tamika, I’ll be by on Tuesday to pray for your baby,” he promised a young mother.

“Miss Fields, I do believe that’s a new hat,” he complimented an elderly member. “You’re looking mighty fancy!”

Jennifer began to see how this caustic minister could maintain a loyal following. Ed Smith made people feel special. “This is my first time at your church and I really enjoyed it,” she said when she finally reached him.

“Well, then, hopefully it won’t be your last,” Reverend Smith replied.

“I especially appreciated what you said about reaping what you sow, and about certain ministers sowing questionable crops. I used to work for a popular church, and I know what you’re saying is true.”

“Is that so?” Reverend Smith said, suddenly intrigued.

Jennifer lowered her voice so that the member waiting behind her couldn’t hear. “I’d rather not say his name here, but you are well acquainted with his ministry. I saw you on a talk show in New York several months ago. You mentioned some things that…pertained to the church I attended.”

Reverend Smith’s eyes narrowed as he peered at Jennifer. “What’s your name, sister?”

“Stevens, Jennifer Stevens.”

The minister motioned to one of his associates, who pulled out a card and handed it to Jennifer. “Give my office a call in the morning,” Reverend Smith said. He then turned and greeted the next parishioner, effectively ending their brief but pivotal chat.

At five minutes till the hour, Jennifer pulled in to the First Baptist parking lot. She wanted to be exactly on time for her three o’clock appointment with Reverend Smith. Jennifer stepped into the administrative area of the church, which was in a building behind but connected to the larger sanctuary. She was greeted by a lone secretary and directed to the pastor’s office, a few feet beyond where the elderly woman sat. It was refreshing not to have to deal with the hoopla that now surrounded Nate’s ministry, or that she knew outsiders experienced at Mount Zion. Here she’d simply announced her name and been directed to the senior pastor’s domain.

“Sister Stevens,” Reverend Smith said as he walked around the desk. He offered his hand, which Jennifer shook.

“Good afternoon, Reverend Smith. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”

“I found your comment yesterday very intriguing,” the minister answered honestly. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

“Whatever you’re having is fine.”

Reverend Smith hit his intercom button and asked the secretary to bring two coffees. Then he rocked back in his chair and looked at Jennifer.

“I take it you are no longer with this ministry you mentioned yesterday?” he asked.

“No, Reverend Smith. Once again, I’m looking for a church home.”

“You say ‘again.’ Have you been moving around, Sister Stevens? Because in order to grow spiritually, you need to be planted, in good ministerial soil you understand. You need to find a place and stay there so your instruction can be steady and strong.”

“That had been my intention when I joined Gospel Truth.”

At the mention of Nate’s church, Reverend Smith stopped rocking in his chair. “You belonged to Nate Thicke’s ministry?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, sir. I also worked as his manager, helping him promote his first book. Without wishing to beat my own drum, it was my work that helped make
Have It All
a best seller.”

Reverend Stevens rubbed his chin, continuing to observe Jennifer as the secretary brought in a tray of coffee with sugar and cream. The silence continued as each doctored their brew, a liberal dose of sugar and cream for the reverend, a small amount of cream, no sugar, for Jennifer. They each took a sip, and then looked back at each other.

“I believe your coming here is an answer to my prayer,” Reverend Smith said after a moment, and another sip of coffee. “I’ve been toying around with an idea for the last year or so, but didn’t know exactly how to get the project started, or what steps to take after that. I think you just might be the perfect person to help me. This is a personal project of mine, still dealing in ministry but separate from the church.”

Jennifer remained quiet, trying to guess what kind of project the minister could possibly be talking about. She didn’t have to wonder long.

“I could use someone with your experience, Sister Stevens. It just so happens that I want to write a book myself. One that deals with what I’ve been espousing in my sermons, as I did yesterday. It’s a message I’ve been delivering for the past several years now, about the false doctrines that have sprung up and become the more popular ministries, the ministers leading thousands of congregants to hell every Sunday morning. They’re an abomination in the eyes of God, and somebody has to call them out without fear and without holding back. Sister Stevens, I’m the man to do it.”

Jennifer hesitated. With all of Nate’s faults, and the way he’d treated her the past few months, a part of her still cared about him. She wished that weren’t true, but it was. Did she want to be a part of something that could cause him problems? Did she want her name attached to a work that criticized megaministries? Most of the Total Truth ministers ran megachurches. What would Reverend Smith say about these pastors she admired?

“I’m not sure, Reverend Smith. I don’t believe all megachurches are bad, nor do I believe all megachurch pastors preach a message that is unbiblical. I guess I’d have to hear more about what the book would entail, before I could decide whether or not it is something I could be a part of.”

Reverend Smith leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk. “Sister Stevens, we’re living in the last days. This is no time for foolishness, no time to be fearful about standing up for God. I should add that you will be well compensated for your time and expertise, and we could probably find you a paid position in the ministry as well. What I’m trying to say is, you’d be treated like the queen in God’s kingdom I know you are, if you decide to help me do His will.”

“So I’m right. This book is about megachurches and mega-pastors?”

“Sister Stevens, the title will say it all. This book is going to be about pulpit pimps.”