Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [86]
Bishop Jennings stopped talking because waiters had arrived to serve their dinner. Essie was hungry, so she was disappointed to find that, at this out-of-the-ordinary banquet, the food was the standard fare—baked chicken, string beans, small red potatoes, salad with too much iceberg lettuce and not enough tomatoes, rolls that needed heating, sweet potato pie, iced tea, and coffee. Then there was the long-winded prayer that went on and on and on and on while everybody was waiting to eat, a solo by the most revered soprano at the most prestigious Gospel United Church in the city, comments (mini-sermons for a few) by prominent pastors in the audience, and the soft gospel music played by the Minister of Music at the soloist's church. Everything, as far as Essie was concerned, had that universal church-folk-banquet quality to it. The only thing that distinguished this banquet from any other was the reason they were here—to find out who the bishops wanted to join them in the ranks of the episcopacy.
When the last tables served were finishing dessert, the current senior bishop walked onto the stage. He adjusted the starched white collar of his purple clerical shirt, pulled at the lapels of his black tuxedo, and coughed loudly into the microphone before he hit it and asked the audio man if it were turned on. It didn't seem to matter to him that his coughing blasted across the hall just moments ago.
"Lord, this has been such a blessed evening," he began. "How many of you sitting out there looking all dressed up and pretty would agree with me? Raise your hands if you do."
Everybody raised their hands.
"And you know something, church? There ain't nothing prettier than these lovely little ladies sitting before us all perfumed and silked and satined in their pure white for us tonight. How many of you men out there agree with me? Raise your hands if you do."
The men in the audience obediently raised their hands.
"Well then, now that we know we all looking pretty, let's get down to some real church business. Because, you good people know we're not here just to eat and look pretty, right? You know why we here, don't you? Raise your hands if you do."
Essie said, "If he asks me to raise my hand one more time, I'm throwing my purse at the stage."
Bishop Jennings laughed and said, "No you won't, Miss Lady, because I'm throwing it up there for you."
"Now, the first order of business is to introduce the men sitting in this audience who have, to date, acquired enough votes to convince us that they can win that blessed seat of bishop."
He got quiet and raised his right hand up as a gesture of thanksgiving to God. "Ohhh! What a glorious day it is when a preacher becomes a bishop. Yes, Lord! All the bishops in the audience raise your hands if you agree with me."
All the bishops, with the exception of Bishop Jennings, obediently raised their hands. It never ceased to amaze him how some bishops abused the power of their position. It was as if they wanted to make sure no one ever forgot that they were one of the few men chosen to serve at this high a level in the church. And all of that posturing wasn't even necessary because the men distinguished by those purple clerical shirts and the purple adornments on their robes had incredible power in the denomination—unharnessed and at times even illicit power. Some folks in the church believed that the President of the United States had nothing going for him when compared to the power, privilege, and influence of Negro bishops.
"Now, people," the Senior Bishop announced. "I am going to call out the names of the men sitting in this audience who have the most votes for bishop. As you know, we have a total of sixty men, all stalwart and good pastors, running for the four open seats. And I just want you to know that there would have been only two available seats if God had not called Bishop Walker home and then turned