Dominion (105 page)

Nods and grunts of realization rippled through the congregation.

“The truth is, in this country black and white Christians operate in two separate worlds. Yes, they’re voluntarily separated, but separation is separation, and it hurts us and our Father who wants his children to know each other and love each other and enjoy each other’s company. It’s been said that eleven o’clock on Sunday morning is the most segregated hour in America. That’s not just a tragedy. It’s a sin. It’s a sin that my ancestors are largely responsible for, and I have to take responsibility for it—if I don’t, who will? It’s a sin for which I repent. I’m not going to flagellate myself with guilt, because that’s not going to help anybody. Just feeling guilty doesn’t solve any problem. I want to be part of the solution.

“Cairo and I have talked and dreamed of having church services together in the future. Maybe joint church dinners and retreats and youth group gatherings, maybe start a ball team together. I know you don’t need patrons, you need partners. So do we. Who knows, maybe our two churches will someday merge into one again. Now I know black churches aren’t waiting anxiously to get involved with whites, because usually blacks end up getting swallowed up. Well, I don’t want it to be that way. I don’t know if our churches could ever be one church, but I do know we can be one in the Spirit, and I’d sure like to build the kind of relationship where we could explore the possibilities together.”

“Hallelujah.”

“You said it, preacher.”

“Now, I also believe that true repentance involves more than saying you’re sorry. When Jacob wanted to reconcile with Esau after stealing his birthright, he knew he had to give his brother justice. He did an act of restitution that owned up to the original sin. Only then were he and his brother reconciled. Zaccheus said to Jesus he would repay four times over what he had stolen from people. That was restitution. I suppose some people think all the social programs and affirmative action are restitution, but it seems to me they haven’t worked very well. Maybe that’s because they were attempts to throw money at a problem and get rid of guilt feelings without personal involvement. I think there’s been half-hearted attempts to solve problems without true repentance. And Cairo reminds me that sometimes there’s been true repentance by whites, but some blacks have refused to forgive them.”

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s true, pastor.”

“Restitution should have come along with emancipation, but it never happened. And now in America we’re generations removed from slavery and thirty years past segregation. It’s hard to know how to do restitution or even who to do it to. It certainly can’t be paternalism or just handing out money to ease consciences. That doesn’t overcome bitterness, it just fosters it. Cairo and I really believe what we need to do is learn to work side by side as brothers and sisters in Christ to help each other deal with the problems we’re facing in our city.”

“Amen to that.”

“Maybe that’s going to stretch all our comfort zones, but it sure needs to happen. I heard a brother from India say that Hindus and Muslims in his country can duplicate every miracle, every sign and wonder produced by Christianity, except one—the miracle of unity between people of different races. I want to be part of that miracle. Maybe you noticed your pastor is wearing sandals this morning. We’ve got a basin up here because I’ve asked to do something. Frankly, it’s something I’ve never done before. And I can’t say I’m all that comfortable, but I know it’s right. I’m going to do a foot washing. I’m doing this because Cairo Clancy is my brother, I love him, and I want to be his servant. I hope and pray this will be a symbol of a newfound commitment to brotherhood between our two churches.”

Pastor Clancy sat in a chair in front of the basin. Pastor Schaffer got down on his knees and took off Clancy’s sandals. He picked up a nearby towel and soaked it in the basin. Then, as a breathless silence descended on the church, he began washing Clancy’s feet. Clarence heard sounds around him, sounds of purses opening and tissues being used. Sounds of crying. As Pastor Schaffer looked up at him, Pastor Clancy whispered words heard only by the two men and an audience invisible to the congregation.

After a few unforgettable minutes, Pastor Schaffer stood and addressed the church once again. “You’ve probably noticed some white faces up in the front row you’ve never seen before. Well, these are the members of our church board. We’ve met with your church board three times now, and our men have asked if they could come wash the feet of your board members.”

Seven black men and seven white men walked up from the front rows, while ushers lined up seven chairs on the platform and brought in seven more basins. The Ebenezer deacon board sat down. The seven deacons from First Church removed the shoes and socks of those from Ebenezer Church and washed and dried their feet. Some of the men sitting and some kneeling seemed to enjoy this, some seemed less comfortable, but all seemed determined and purposeful.

Clarence sensed something powerful in the congregation, something he’d never felt before. He heard around him moaning and weeping and cries of hallelujah. He saw in his father’s eyes that other-worldly look. Geneva squeezed Clarence’s hand, and he met her eyes. He saw her tears, then reached up to wipe his own. He thought about Jake.

The choir sang, “Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight, Jesus loves the little children of the world.” The people joined in, the words never having meant so much.

“One more thing I want to tell you today, my brothers and sisters,” Pastor Schaffer said. “Our board has talked a great deal in the past four months about our church name. Very frankly, we’ve grown uncomfortable with the name First Church. In many cities across the country there are churches of the same denomination named First Baptist and Second Baptist, First Presbyterian and Second Presbyterian, or whatever. Often the First Church is white, the Second Church black, and usually the reason for the Second Church forming was they weren’t welcome in the First. Well, we’ve come to think that our name might imply some sense of superiority that is untrue and unchristian. So we appointed a committee to come up with some alternative names. And in our hundredth anniversary celebration next month, we’ll be officially changing our name to Church of all Nations. Our prayer is that we will truly become that. We look forward to having Cairo Clancy, your pastor and my dear friend, bring God’s Word to our church next Sunday. Thank you for opening your hearts to me today.”

Rousing applause permeated the building; hallelujahs and amens rippled across the congregation. Many people stood to their feet and raised their hands in worship. Pastor Clancy hugged his friend on the platform and closed the service in prayer, his voice breaking repeatedly.

When church was dismissed, Clarence looked at his father and Harold Haddaway. He saw tears and wonder in both men’s eyes. They sat speechless, not moving.

“Now, wasn’t that somethin?” Obadiah finally said.

“Never seen nothin’ like that,” Harold said. “Never thought I’d live to see nothin’ like that.”

Clarence looked at Harold, suddenly noticing his burgundy tie. It was unique, covered with identical black-lined designs of various sizes, like irregular triangles, with the lines on the right side thicker than on the left, making it seem as though the tie was leaning off center.

“Harold, where’d did you get that tie?” Clarence asked.

“Well, you won’t believe it, but it was throwed away. Some of my nicest things come from them garbage cans I clean out. I find boxes of donuts they just toss, as if you can’t eat ’em after five o’clock. This tie’s good as new even though it was in Mr. Norcoast’s trash. Nobody’d know it even belonged to nobody else unless they read the lettering.”

“Lettering?”

Harold turned the tie so Clarence could see the back side. Sewn into it with white thread were the words, “From Leesa, With Love.”

“Harold,” Clarence said, “can I borrow this tie from you?”

“Well, sure.” Harold laughed. “I’d give you the shirt off my back. I reckon I can give you the tie off my neck!” Loosening his tie, Harold smiled at Obadiah, as if to say, “You never can tell what crazy things these young people are going to think of next.”

“Here,” Clarence said, taking off his blue-and-black Wembly tie and handing it to Harold. “This is for your trouble.”

“Well, I’ll be,” Harold said. “Never have swapped ties in church. I reckon this is a day for things that’s never happened in church before!”

Many warriors did battle in the North Portland church, as a great cloud of witnesses watched and interceded concerning the events they saw through the portal. Evil spirits whispered accusations to some at the service, brought up old grievances to others, and suggested to still others all this was unnecessary or token or meaningless. The fallen angels said to some the white pastor hadn’t gone nearly far enough and to others he’d gone too far. The foot washing was a cheap throwaway gesture, a slap in the face. How dare he act as though white offenses were forgivable? How dare he imply centuries of exploitation could be neutralized by a mere apology? To the whites at the service, the whispers were different—how dare he lay guilt at the feet of whites who’d done no wrong? Hundreds of attacks, each tailor-made to the prejudices of the individual, were launched during and after the church service. Some of them succeeded. Most did not.

Invisible forces of righteousness fought valiantly against the evil warriors, and they prevailed. The Spirit of the living God touched hearts. The warriors-on-leave in heaven and the graduated saints of God looked at the church service with awe and approval. At points during the service they burst into spontaneous applause. Near the end of the service when Ebenezer Church stood up and clapped, a deafening noise shook the far reaches of the cosmos, a sound so great that all heaven seemed to tremble. The sound came from the throne. It was the sound of two disfigured hands, omnipotent hands, meeting each other. For despite all the injustice and hatred on earth, at this moment, in this place, among these people gathered in the Shadowlands at a church called Ebenezer, injustice lay broken, hate trodden down, truth uplifted, and love celebrated. It was a foretaste of a day and place yet to come. The audience of One shook the cosmos with the applause of heaven.

“Hi, Harley.”

“Clarence?” Harley’s voice halted. “Is Daddy okay?”

“Sure. He’s fine.” Clarence felt embarrassed he called Harley so infrequently that his brother had assumed it must be an emergency.

“What’s happening, bro?”

“You remember the kente cloth you wore at the family get-together at your place a few months ago? The brown-and-yellow cloth?”

“Sure. What about it?”

“There was a design on it. It’s like a triangle with one side thicker than the others. Does that design mean anything?”

“Sure does. It’s an African symbol for masculinity.”

“Okay, thanks, Harley. That’s all I needed.”