Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [29]
He couldn't help but notice how different the women looked, even though they were obviously related. Mother Harold was a tiny lady and if you didn't look at her too closely, she could easily be mistaken for a little bitty white woman. Her hair was straight and fine and her skin was very pale, with only a hint of peachy brown in it. Saphronia, though light, had too much color in her skin to pass for anything other than what that behind clearly stated she was. And even though her hair was straight, it was thick and heavy—actually quite lovely, if it were styled in any kind of way.
"Rev. Simmons," Mother Harold said. "I must say that I am curious to know what motivated you to preach that outrageous sermon this morning. I did not approve of it one bit.
Your blatant referrals to human passion were unseemly for a minister to have, let alone speak of during a church service."
Was this attack some kind of test? Theophilus wondered. Was he supposed to give a certain kind of answer to prove himself worthy? He took a few sips of his coffee to get his feelings under control. What kind of so-called proper and upstanding hostess would go out of her way to make a guest feel so uncomfortable in her home?
But he did his best to keep his answer measured. "Mother Harold, if Negroes are going to make any real progress in this country, we have to begin by loving ourselves. And that love has to begin in the home where the family is, between a husband and wife, where the family begins. How can the Negro community appreciate itself and believe it deserves the best, if Negroes aren't able to experience an all-abiding, passionate love in their own homes? And if passion helps to binds us to one another, I shouldn't be afraid to preach about it, whether it concerns the deep love we have for a child or the kind that sets off sparks between a man and a woman."
Mother Harold narrowed her eyes at him and took a tiny bite of her cake before saying," And you attended Blackwell College, Rev. Simmons? Simply amazing. I cannot imagine anyone at Blackwell entertaining this foolish thinking of yours."
Theophilus sat dead still, fighting the impulse to snatch up that hateful little woman and shake her. He said, "A lot of my professors at the seminary thought just like you."
She looked relieved, and that made him even madder.
"Did you attend Blackwell on a scholarship? I run the Blackwell scholarship program here in Charleston and I would never approve one for a colored youngster who echoed your sentiments."
He thought, "I just bet you wouldn't," but said, "I had a partial scholarship and worked to pay for the rest of my education. And you know something? Working that hard taught me a lesson."
"And what is that, Rev. Simmons?"
"That we have to stand up for what we believe in and trust God when storm winds blow over us because of those beliefs. And you know something else, Mother Harold? It is my job as a minister to preach the truth as God wills me to understand it. Where would we be if Peter had shut his mouth when questioned by the Scribes and Pharisees as described in the Book of Acts?"
Mother Harold didn't know quite how to respond to his reference to Peter. But she did know that he needed to be straightened out about his foolishness concerning Negroes and passion.
"Well, young man. You may not like hearing this but I truly resent young people like you who try to undermine all that people like me have worked so hard to accomplish for our race. There is absolutely no reason for us to stay 'field Negroes' by holding on to ways that mark us as overly emotional and animalistic. We must rid ourselves of