Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [45]
Coral Thomas said, "What kind of sermon is this gonna be? He just standing there movin' those teeth around in his mouth, talkin' 'bout what? This is the craziest thing I've heard of, 'cause I ain't never heard of him giving no decent sermon."
D.S. leaned over to Coral and said, "Coral, why you gettin' so undone 'bout all this? You know them bishops can't insult an old pastor, even though, like you said, he ain't never been able to preach. And he sure ain't gone do anything decent now that he lookin' glory straight in the face."
Rev. Alexander continued, "You see the devil is too busy in chutch. I look 'round this here room and I see all the ladies lookin' like flowers, the gentmins all fined up in they conference suits. But without, withouuutt!" he shouted. "Without this here building, this here choir, these here preachers, this here chutch, you wouldn't be sittin' here. You'd be all dressed up with nowhere to go. 'Cause the colored chutch is just 'bout everythin' to colored peepes. So whin I sit here and watch you posin' in yo' fine clothes, talkin' durin' service, walkin' in and out of chutch in the middle of the sermon—"
Rev. Alexander stopped suddenly, having spotted a man trying to slip back in church. "See what I'm talkin' 'bout. This here man missed the first part of what I sayed. Son, don't you walk out of chutch no mo' like that—especially durin' one of my sermons.
"Now," he said and fumbled some more with his papers. "Now, you peepes is blessed and don't even know it. I 'member times back when I had to hold chutch out of my car. Yes, Lawd, I sayed out of my car. Peepes just gathered 'round the car and we had chutch.
"And the missus, Lawd bless her sweet departed soul, the missus sold dranks and sandmidges out of the cooler in the trunk after service. Didn't hear nobody complainin' and everybody left our car happy, sanctified, and full of the Holy Ghost. But y'all? Y'ALL," he yelled. "Y'all ain't satisfied and full of nothin'. You ain't happy 'less you sittin' up in a fancy, fine building you think oughta be good as the ones for the white folks. And some of you won't even come to chutch in the summertime 'less yo' pastor has an air conditioner contraption. That's right, 'less yo' pastor has an air conditioner contraption. You more worried about sweatin' and makin' yo' hair go back up under them wigs and big hats than you are 'bout the Lawd and yo' chutch. Now tell me, peepes. I must ask the answer to the question."
Rev. Alexander paused, gave the people sitting on the front row pews a mean, penetrating stare. "What kinda feeble, cain'ttake-the-heat, ungrateful, so-called Christian colored peepes is you anyway?"
He banged on the podium and then stumped around in the pulpit, taking care to add a rickety-rocking-sounding rhythm to the next part of his sermon. "I sayed, what kinda Christian colored peepes is you anyway? Haah. I'll tell you what kind you is. Haah. You is the kind that don't 'preciate yo' chutch. Haah. You hear me, chutch? Haah. You is the kind that don't 'preciate yo' chutch. Haah. And God has made me come here—haah—just to tell you that. That's why I'm here."
He raised his hands, looked up at the ceiling. "Yes, Lawd, that's why I'm here.
"And chutch, you know what the main message the Lawd want you to hear? Chutch, the main message the Lawd want you to hear is that you don't 'preciate yo' chutch and it's TIME TO STOP!" He screamed into the microphone. "TIME TO STOP!
"Time to stop complainin' about the heat when it's hot outside and the cold when it's winter. Haah. Time to stop sassin' and back-talkin' yo' pastor. Haah. Time to stop buyin' fake-haired wigs and cheap corn liquor with yo' tithe money. Haah. Time to 'preciate yo' chutch. Haah. It's your'en and you got to suppote it. Haah. You got to pay yo' pastors and go to chutch wherever and however it may be. You hear me, chutch? 'Cause I don't hear you. And, if I don't hear ya', I just think you lettin' Satan take over your mind and stoppin' you from hearin' the truth. I . . . I .