Soon After (5 page)
Authors: Sherryle Kiser Jackson
Chapter 4
The Preacher's New Robe
Abe looked at his reflection in his dresser mirror as he toyed with imaginary cufflinks. He hunched his shoulders to shift his imaginary suit jacket and delicately tapped the lapel right over his heart to emphasize the sincerity of the point he just finished reciting.
“That's why I'm asking you to plant a seed into this ministry so that uncommon favor will flourish in your life,” said a voice that came from just over his shoulder.
“Plant a seed and uncommon favor will flourish in your life,” he parroted.
Abe watched a veteran televangelist through the reflection in his mirror. The man, known as much for his fancy clothes as his fancy rhetoric, had abandoned the Bible and pulpit altogether. He unbuttoned his suit jacket to place one hand in his pants pocket and point with the other. “This is your now moment. Get ready, prosperity is on its way.”
“I know it may not seem like it, but prosperity is on its way. This is your moment,” Abe embellished.
Abe knew the man had concluded his sermon and that the remaining ten minutes of the program would be used to solicit seed offerings and gifts into the televangelist's ministry. This wasn't worth the tape to record it, he thought. He was not going to pull out a sixty-minute sermon from this broadcast.
“Give Him His due, give Him your best. Give the Lord the first fruits of your increase. If the truth be told, you should be giving to the Lord even before you give to your landlord,” the country preacher continued.
Oh that's good
, Abe thought as he sat down on the corner of his bed to scribble the quote verbatim into his tablet.
, Abe thought as he sat down on the corner of his bed to scribble the quote verbatim into his tablet.
Abe alternated between two remotes to halt the VHS tape and set the television back for regular viewing. His entertainment center was packed tight with audio and video tapes, DVD's, and several decades' worth of electronic equipment. He still put to good use his top loading Beta-Max machine, transistor and CB radios. A twelve-inch screen set inside a 62-inch floor model TV panel served as a coffee table of sorts piled with books. His home was his museum. These were his relics, and he was both curator and guest.
Despite the new sign out in front of his building that claimed luxury condo and studio rentals available, Abe lived in an efficiency. His was a spacious corner unit. He was awakened every morning by a crew of workers erecting dry wall partitions in other units to bring truth to their advertising. To Abe, they were all still efficiencies made suitable for the new chic and trendy district residents.
Abe stumbled upon this space in the now diverse neighborhood when he went back to school after leaving the ministry the first time. At the time he didn't believe his calling had been a mistake, but falling in bed with a married woman from his Sunday School class had. After being dismissed from his ministerial duties at Philippians Baptist Church for his impropriety, he took a two year sabbatical from the Lord and the Lord's work and became a student of life. At forty-five, he found himself taking as many non-credit courses as he could stand, trying to pick up a new cause. During the day he shelled out cash for desperation at one of the original pawn shops his parents owned and he operated, which became the source of his junk collection.
So when his Uncle Charley called him with the proposition to lead a small congregation that had recently been abandoned by their former pastor, he heard choruses of, âyou can do it.' It gave him a reason to come out of hiding. He wanted to be restored. He just didn't know how. He took over the pastorate of the Harvest Baptist Church for three months. There he had a transient congregation that was often off to the next religious experience before he got to know their names and/ or their needs. Every Sunday there were more new faces and less of the familiar. Faces oddly like the patrons he serviced at Capitol Town Pawn; grim, shamefaced, and conflicted. Ones he could tell had traded all that was precious for life's addictions. They showed up at Harvest on Sunday mornings pleading for their souls back. Try as he might, he wasn't helping them. He couldn't.
Abe was having a hard time hearing God's voice. He felt sure that it was because he had forsaken God, so now God was forsaking him. The spring that once flowed with God's anointing had dried up and no longer flourished in his life. So he trusted his Uncle Charley, a man that he had always viewed as a servant of God, to be his guiding light back to the fold. And he obliged Mother Shempy who didn't want to have to take the city bus to find another church outside her community, and Greg Johnson, the chief musician, who depended on what they paid him to play the rusty organ as a supplement to his income. They sang in his chorus even when the, âyou can do it,' sounded more like, âyou have nothing better to do.' Abe wanted to keep the lifeline going for these people. He wanted the consigners that visited Harvest from week to week to get back a portion, if not all of what they had lost in the world. He wanted nothing more than to be an honor guard for the Lord, but he felt more like a ringleader in the biggest charade imaginable.
Attendance that had been steadily declining had reached an all time low by Easter Sunday morning, a day when sinners of every variety usually came out of the woodwork looking for redemption. The church catching fire on the holiest of all holy days was all the sign he needed. The gig was up. He was both thankful and relieved.
Then he got two phone calls this week. One was from his uncle telling him that the daycare owner across the street from the church was willing to open her doors to his members to hold service in the interim. The other call came from a reporter that wanted to chronicle the resurrection of the Harvest Baptist Church from the ashes.
I could be that televangelist with the flashy suit,
Abe thought,
or better yet, I could wear my new robe.
He stared at the garment hanging in a clear plastic bag just outside the closet door. It was another community donation from the local drycleaner. The friendly Asian man had seen the broadcast about the church fire and was looking to clear inventory that hadn't been picked up, while being charitable in the process.
Abe thought,
or better yet, I could wear my new robe.
He stared at the garment hanging in a clear plastic bag just outside the closet door. It was another community donation from the local drycleaner. The friendly Asian man had seen the broadcast about the church fire and was looking to clear inventory that hadn't been picked up, while being charitable in the process.
Abe peeled back the covering and tried on the garment for the first time. It was like nothing he had ever seen before with its flowing ivory satin fabric, and a staunch gold collar with a deep crimson cross in the center of the front and back panel. He was a man of average height, but the robe was obviously made for someone much taller. Abe had to shrug his shoulders to shift the extra material to the back, which created a train behind him as he walked. It was ridiculous in its grandeur.
Once again, Abe heard the chorus. He toyed with the idea that his return to ministry after his fall would be televised. Maybe Marion Butler, the woman with whom he had the adulterous affair, would be watching. He often thought of her and how he was minutes away from proposing to the already married woman when God pulled back the covers on her plot to get back at her husband. He could still hear her insincere apology and remember how he lived in fear of her husband ever finding him with his own revenge in mind. He still questioned whether the sweet words and warm caresses were all an act. Through the pain and regret he wondered did she still think about him.
I'll show her,
he thought. In this robe he would make his comeback. But first he had to have a sermon
.
He dropped to his knees after replacing the robe on its hanger and opened his bedside Bible. He felt a nudging as he flipped through the book of Isaiah and allowed the book to open to chapter fifty-five. It was a familiar passage of scripture. It declared that,
âHis thoughts are not our thoughts, neither are His ways like our ways.
' It also demanded that we seek the Lord while He may be found.
But where, God?
he thought. In this robe he would make his comeback. But first he had to have a sermon
.
He dropped to his knees after replacing the robe on its hanger and opened his bedside Bible. He felt a nudging as he flipped through the book of Isaiah and allowed the book to open to chapter fifty-five. It was a familiar passage of scripture. It declared that,
âHis thoughts are not our thoughts, neither are His ways like our ways.
' It also demanded that we seek the Lord while He may be found.
But where, God?
Tears began to escape his eyes seemingly without cause. He knew he should meditate, but he had no time to tarry with this passageâno time to study. He had less than twelve hours before show time. Holding on to those words and trying to build upon them was like trying to build a sandcastle with dry sand. Abe knew the people in his church wanted to be impacted emotionally, not taught. They wanted to sing their song, tell their life's story through testimonials, and have the pastor give them a catalyst for a good cry come sermon time. He didn't have it to give. So he had come to rely on the words of others to give him something he could relay to God's people.
His entire collection of audio and VHS tapes, CD's, and DVDs were of God's Word through different messengers, most of which he had used before. He scanned his row of tapes and stopped at a cassette of a message by Pastor Willie Green when he was asked to preach for the pastor's anniversary at Abe's home church.
He fired up the Sanyo stereo system complete with a turntable and cassette deck that was on the shelf under his television. He took the tape from the case and pressed play. A selection from the choir prompted him to fast forward. He stopped in time to hear Willie take his sermon topic, âSeasons Change.'
“Some of you may or may not agree with me, but the seasons you find yourself in, in this lifetime, and how you fair during that particular season is based on the voice you decide to listen to and trust. Amen. The Bible says His sheep will know His voice.”
Abe didn't notice the tape had stopped. He was trying to grapple with his memory to figure out from what book, chapter, and verse that quote came. He felt his heart accelerate the way it did back when God's Word would strike a chord. He remembered being at that service when this tape was recorded and marveling at how Willie Green served up God's Word with no additives and no fillers. He didn't use fancy words or catch phrases, just the meat of God's Word. Everyone left full. That was the kind of preacher Abe had vowed to be. But he had gone Hollywood for so long, going under the surgeon's knife in an attempt to transplant everyone else's anointing. He didn't know if he could turn back.
He approached the tape deck with disbelief when he realized it had stopped playing. He was hungry for more of what Pastor Green had to say, as if he, himself was on the verge of a breakthrough. He pressed several buttons to get the tiny wheels inside the player from spinning in vain and to eject the tape altogether. A violent whack on the side of the machine released an explosion of thin cassette film exposed from its casing that he pulled until he felt it catch on a tiny spool inside. He let the mangled tape dangle and cursed his luck.
He couldn't go on like this. Abe felt sure that he would stand in front of that congregation and those cameras tomorrow and everyone would know he was a fraud. He stared at the ceiling, suspended in time between his past and his future. With his eyes set upon heaven, he waited temporarily on his help. He shook his head helplessly, then wildly, defiantly. He knew he needed to make a decision, to move from that spot. He searched within this time, for anything at this point. The words of Shakespeare, Socrates, or Confucius would be better than nothing .
If a tree falls in the middle of the forest . . .
He almost laughed . Then he thought about it.
And there is no one there to hear it.
How would anyone know?
If a tree falls in the middle of the forest . . .
He almost laughed . Then he thought about it.
And there is no one there to hear it.
How would anyone know?
Abe turned his attention back to the television and surfed the channels with his remote, hoping that his all-access channels would help him locate the Lord. He landed on the string of channels that broadcast mega-ministries twenty-four hours a day. He took down notes, cut and paste sermon points, and modeled timing and execution. All the while he was hoping that once again, no one would know his shame. Later, as he practiced in the mirror with his robe, he imagined that he wasn't any different from the pastors and bishops who he had borrowed from.
Sunday morning, Abe had to strip down to his undershirt and slacks under his robe. The unseasonably warm weather did not prevent The Kid Street Daycare from running their heat. The camera crew was in place after a short pre-service interview. The tiny playroom appeared to be filled to capacity with the rented adult-sized chairs. The members of his background chorus were poised with their praise. The key member, his Uncle Charley, was able to get the word out to the old and some of the new members. The presence of the news crew could have possibly brought out the rest.
Abe was pitch perfect as he delivered the amalgamation of adages and anecdotes he'd put together. He squelched the notion to deviate from his outline and impart what was on his heart once he felt the rhythm of his words. He reminded himself he was being taped and that the best television was scripted.
Abe shook hands and graciously thanked the reporter who said she would be in touch. His back was a pool of sweat and his robe was the perfect sponge. How long did he have to stay and greet the crowd? He felt himself judging the sincerity of everyone's commendation
.
He felt dizzy, but he held his mask in place.
.
He felt dizzy, but he held his mask in place.
A trustee approached with a sealed envelope addressed to him that was placed inside the offering basket. Abe broke the seal on the envelope as Mother Shempy and her teenaged granddaughter approached.
“Pastor Townsend,” Mother Shempy said, “I'm so, so glad that y'all decided to go on with service despite the circumstances. I started to get worried. Lord knows what I would have done if I had to try and find another church.”
“See, the Lord worked it out for ya.” Abe leaned in for a church hug, which was contact with the arms and the chest, but none of the rest of the body.
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