Second Sunday
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2003 by Michele Andrea Bowen
Excerpt from
Up at the College
copyright © 2008 by Michele Andrea Bowen
Reading Group Guide copyright © 2005 by Hachette Book Group
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written
permission of the publisher.
Grand Central Publishing
Hachette Book Group
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Visit our Web site at
www.HachetteBookGroup.com
.
Originally published in hardcover by Hachette Book Group
First eBook Edition: March 2009
ISBN: 978-0-446-55011-6
Contents
Part 1: A Little Women’s Revolution, Right Up Here in the Church
Part 2: The Devil Is Very Busy in Church
Part 5: A Love That Only God Can Give
Part 6: God Ain’t Playin’ with You People
GLORIOUS PRAISE FOR MICHELE ANDREA BOWEN’S NOVELS
Second Sunday
“Fresh, passionate, and laugh-out-loud funny.”
—Dallas Morning News
“Strong . . . humorous . . . Conspiracies, drama, and political intrigue abound. Bowen offers lessons on a myriad of issues
including the power of love and forgiveness and the strength of community.”
—Greater Diversity News
(NC)
“Bowen’s writing humorously explores familiar terrain for anyone who has witnessed church politics. [This] book contains important
messages about redemption and love—that we are imperfect people who serve a gracious and merciful God.”
—Black Issues Book Review
“Bowen [has] an astute sense of character and sharp, humorous dialogue.”
—Pathfinders Travel
“Readers won’t regret meeting the spunky, hilarious members of Gethsemane Baptist.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews Magazine
Holy Ghost Corner
“Ms. Bowen is truly blessed and it shows in her work.”
—Birmingham Times
“Both humorous and uplifting.”
—Herald Sun
(NC)
“Michele Andrea Bowen has done it again! I found myself laughing out loud . . . hilarious and romantic.”
—Shades Of Romance (sormag.com)
“Thoroughly enjoyable . . . a funny, juicy story with plenty of Scripture thrown in to keep us humble.”
—NightsandWeekends.com
“Filled with delightful characters.”
—Southern Pines Pilot
“I loved the setting of Durham, North Carolina, and the characters that she so deftly brought to life.”
—MyShelf.com
“Awesome . . . will have you laughing, crying, and praising all at the same time.”
—Birmingham Times
“Coupled with quirky characters,
Holy Ghost Corner
tells a tale of love almost missed and opportunities overlooked.”
—RoadtoRomance.com
“Peopled with hilarious characters . . . A lighthearted and humorous look at the issues facing today’s black Christian woman.”
—BookLoons.com
Church Folk
“Exceptional . . .
Church Folk
really tells it like it is! . . . Lots of emotion and plenty of truth! Full of the African-American culture in its richest
form—church life.”
—Salisbury Post
(NC)
“Readers will embrace this steamy morality tale, with its bold themes and fallible characters . . . [They] will enjoy the
rich glimpses into the spirit-filled African-American church of the 1960s, complete with politicking, blackmail, [and] colorful
dialogue.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Charming . . . some very unexpected twists and turns . . . A joyful and enriching first novel.”
—
BookReporter.com
“Will please churchgoing readers.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“An entertaining, fast-paced story filled with colorful characters and dialogue . . . Explores the challenges and morality
issues church folks face in their Christian walk.”
—Irmines.com
Books by Michele Andrea Bowen:
Church Folk
Second Sunday
Holy Ghost Corner
Up at the College
This book is dedicated in loving memory to my cousin, Mack Earl Sanders (1955–2003).
On hot St. Louis summer days, when I
was six and Mack was eight, we watched the clouds as I told him some of my first stories.
M
y first novel,
Church Folk
, was put on bookshelves across the country. What an incredibly joyous and blessed experience. And it didn’t stop there. Because
you, the readers, responded to my little ole country story about the folk at “chutch” in a remarkable way. Thank you with
all of my heart.
Now I have been blessed with the release of my second novel,
Second Sunday
. And nothing as big as publishing a novel happens without the help and support of so many wonderful people. I know I can’t
name everybody, but I want to give a few shout outs to a few.
Elisa Petrini, my editor. Thank you so much, girl. I really appreciate your understanding of my work and what I try to accomplish
with each story. I am very fortunate to be able to work with you. You are absolutely the best (and “good people,” too).
Hachette Book Group and the artist who creates my beautiful book covers—thank you.
My family. What can I say about y’all? You have been there for me through it all. I appreciate your help and support and ceaseless
prayers.
Thank you, Mama, for helping me with the girls. I couldn’t tour and travel without your help.
Thank you Laura and Janina for being so patient with all that Mommy has to do with work.
My friends in St. Louis (including the “Theodosia Girls” from back in the day), and in Durham, Richmond, and all the other
cities where my loved ones live.
Thank you Valerie Ann Johnson for taking my picture for this book.
A special thank you to the extraordinary pastors in my life. My church home, St. Joseph A.M.E. Church, Durham, North Carolina,
Rev. Phillip R. Cousin, Jr., Pastor. My home away from home, Mount Level Missionary Baptist Church, Durham, North Carolina,
Rev. Dr. William C. Turner, Pastor. Bethlehem Temple Apostolic Church, Baltimore, Maryland, my uncle, Bishop James D. Nelson,
Sr., Pastor.
And most of all, thank you, Lord, for letting me know what it feels like to be exceedingly and abundantly blessed.
A Little Women’s Revolution, Right Up Here in the Church
I
n September 1975, just nine months before Gethsemane Missionary Baptist Church was to celebrate its hundredth anniversary,
its pastor, Pastor Clydell Forbes, Sr., died. Some church members cried, others immediately started cooking food for the First
Lady and her three boys, and Mr. Louis Loomis, one of the senior deacons in the congregation, said out loud what others were
secretly thinking: “Why couldn’t that cross-eyed, carrying-on stallion of a preacher hang on till the church was a hundred
and one? If the boy had to up and die, at the very least he could have had the common decency to get us through the church’s
hundredth year.”
Pastor Forbes was only in his fifties and hadn’t occupied Gethsemane’s pulpit all that long; just six years to be exact. No
one expected that they’d lose him so soon, and at the worst possible time. A church anniversary without a pastor was like
a Sunday worship service with no Hammond organ—the pastor was that central—and the centennial was the most momentous occasion
in Gethsemane’s history. The pastor was the one who would appoint and supervise the centennial committees, oversee fund-raising,
and, most important of all, determine the celebration’s theme, developing the sermons to herald and commemorate that special
day which, for Gethsemane, was the Second Sunday in June.
Now all the planning was brought to a screeching halt until the Forbes family and the church family got through the man’s
funeral. And it was an ordeal—a long tear-jerking service that became a spectacle when three of his “special-interest” women
fell out, crying and screaming with grief, and had to be removed by the ushers. Then the congregation pitched in to help his
widow pack up the parsonage and get resettled with her children in a new home. So it was some time before Bert Green, the
head of the Deacon Board, thought it appropriate to resume business and called a meeting of the church officers to discuss
hiring a new pastor.
As they chewed over the list of potential preachers to interview, Bert’s wife, Nettie, walked into the room, carrying a tray
loaded down with sandwiches, potato salad, pickles and olives, caramel and pineapple coconut cakes and sweet potato pies cooked
by one of the church’s five missionary societies. Bert grabbed himself a thick, juicy, home-cooked ham sandwich as his fellow
Deacon and Finance Board members heaped their plates high with food. Nettie had gotten an earful of their conversation on
her way up from the kitchen, and it hadn’t escaped her that the men had quit talking the moment they saw her struggling with
that tray in the doorway.
Now they all sat there so self-satisfied, with that we-is-in-the-Upper Room look on their faces—the same men whose political
head-butting had led to the appointment of Clydell Forbes, as spineless and weak a pastor as the church had ever seen. Helping
them to their choice of iced tea or fresh coffee, Nettie pressed her lips together, mad enough to want to shake up these smug,
never-did-know-how-to-pick-a-good-preacher men.
So she ignored Bert’s signals that they were impatient for her to leave. Avoiding his eyes, she asked, as if butter wouldn’t
melt in her mouth, “So, who’s on this list y’all talking about?”
No one seemed to hear her but Mr. Louis Loomis, the oldest member of both boards, who was chewing on the fat from his ham
sandwich. He slipped his reading glasses down to the tip of his nose and resumed where he’d left off. “Like I said, some of
these here preachers out of our price range.”
Bert looked at the paper without acknowledging Nettie, picked up his pen, and asked, “Which ones?”
“Rev. Macy Jones, Rev. David O. Clemson, III, Rev. Joe Joseph, Jr. . . .”
Bert started drawing lines through those names until Cleavon Johnson, the head of the Finance Board, stopped him. “Keep Rev.
Clemson on the list,” he said.
“Why?” Mr. Louis Loomis shot back. He and Cleavon Johnson mixed like oil and water. Cleavon might be a business leader who
had grabbed hold of the church’s purse strings, but to Mr. Louis Loomis he was still the arrogant punk he used to belt-whip.
“Because—,” Cleavon started to say, then slammed his mouth shut, staring pointedly at Nettie.
Pretending not to notice, Nettie grabbed one of the chairs lined up against the wall, pulled it up to the conference table,
and sat down like she belonged there. Then she looked straight at Cleavon and asked, still sounding innocent, “Just what is
it that
we’re
looking for in
our
new pastor?”
Cleavon Johnson glared at her, as if to say, “Woman, you way out of line.” His “boys” on the Finance Board coughed and cleared
their throats, Bert’s cue to get his woman straightened out. But Bert locked eyes with Wendell Cates, who was married to Nettie’s
sister, Viola, and caught his smirking wink.
Wendell’s expression told Bert, “Your girl on a roll. Let it be.” Bert gave Wendell a sly smile that implied, “I hear you,”
and sat back to watch his wife give Cleavon a good dose of her down-home medicine.
