Scratch Beginnings_ Me, $25, and the Search for the American Dream - Adam W. Shepard [32]
And they were absolutely right.
Of the two hundred or so people at the baptism, at least forty percent were, or had the appearance that they were, down and out, while the other sixty percent or so wore shirts inviting me to follow them to heaven. Six of us from the shelter had arrived together, and we spent a majority of the time in our own corner munching on meat fresh off the grill. A group of us were working on our third plate before we even realized that the baptism had begun.
This wasn’t just any baptism, though. Some big-shot professional baptizer was in town, so six churches had come together to invite members of the community—at their own inclination—to be baptized. The audience consisted of representatives from each of the six churches, there to lend their support, some singing, and a few “amens.” A stage with a huge tub of water was set up in front of rows and rows of chairs. The setup reminded me of an outdoor concert. Those who had been convinced to be baptized, a majority coming from the streets or the shelter, lined up behind a curtain that was set up behind the stage, which completed the outdoor baptistery. They were then introduced by first and last name as if they were being announced among the starters at an All-Star game.
“Ladies and gentleman, it gives me great pleasure to present to you…Miriam Andoluci!” the professional baptizer said. The crowd went wild and Miriam emerged from behind the curtain, timid at first, but then excited that the attention was all on her. She smiled and waved at the crowd as ushers directed her to the center of the stage where the miniature swimming pool was set up. This was her moment and nobody could take it from her. She stepped into the water, shivering with chills, as if she wasn’t prepared for it even though the ten people who had been baptized before her had reacted the same way. The crowd looked at each other and laughed, just as they had laughed along with the previous people that had set foot in the water. “Man, that must be some cold water!” A moment of silence was observed, and then the mass baptizer said a few words and dipped Miriam’s body back into the frigid water. The crowd went wild, again, with “amens” and “hallelujahs” as they accepted yet another one of God’s children. Someone—anyone—broke into hymn, and the rest of the crowd followed suit. Miriam continued to wave at the crowd as she was handed a towel and rushed off stage, the whole time smiling from ear to ear. People congratulated her and hugged her and told her how proud they were of her. For those couple of minutes, she was the Queen of Chucktown.
And then it was Rashid Carraway’s turn. And then Craig Wilson. And then Kara Norville. And then Vicky Gondola. And then and then and then. They would herd them on stage and off stage like cattle, their newfound assembly of God’s children.
But the generosity of the congregation did not diminish once Vicky and Rashid and Kara were led off-stage. Those who had been pegged as homeless were given additional special treatment. One guy, Joseph, who had been living on the streets since his time had run out at the shelter, was given a bag full of clothes, food vouchers, and the invitation to come live in a vacant room at one of the churchgoer’s houses. I couldn’t believe it! There were these people—strangers, homeless people—armed with who knows what kind of background, and members of these churches were reaching out to offer assistance. Not just a few dollars here and there or a pair of pants, but a place to live! I couldn’t believe it. You can call it God’s will or whatever you want, but I saw it as the most noble act of selflessness I had ever witnessed.
But did the men I met take advantage of the services that were offered to them by the church? Did