Birdelia didn’t bother to turn around to look. “They communing with the spirit.”
Several of the children sitting with them began to do the same thing, swaying back and forth with their eyes closed, humming in a low monotone. As the congregation continued to file in and the pews filled up, the noise in the church grew louder, not just from people talking among themselves but from people talking to themselves. Ibby turned to ask Birdelia what was happening, but Birdelia’s eyes were closed as she fanned herself. Every so often, a random shout rang out from somewhere behind them.
“So glad!” A woman near the back of the church rose from her seat and cried out, then closed her eyes and sat back down.
“Glory!” another woman shouted.
Near the front, a different woman hollered, “Sweet Jesus!”
“Amen!” another woman declared as she stood up, raised her hand in the air, then sat down again.
This continued on for a good half hour, gaining momentum. The longer it went on, the faster Ibby’s heart raced. She felt as if she’d been deposited in some foreign land where people were speaking a different language. She wondered if it would be all right if she waited outside until it was all over. She tapped Birdelia on the leg, but Birdelia was too wrapped up in the frenzy to pay her any mind.
A woman with a large fabric flower attached to the bun on the back of her head stood up and proclaimed, “So glad!” But instead of sitting down, as the other women had done, she proclaimed in a booming voice: “I’m here to give praise to God’s blessed name and to thank him for the gladness that’s a-working in my heart.” The woman grabbed her chest with both hands. “I’m here to tell about the peace that come to my soul, when Jesus took me from my sinful ways, and called me to stand with His Christian saints. . . . Amen! So glad!”
A heavyset woman who was perspiring heavily got up and held her fan in the air. “I seen the light leading my feet to the righteous path before it was too late,” she cried. “For many years, the only thing that held my mind was wickedness and condemnation. But the spirit spoke through and Jesus stooped down low and sanctified my soul. Amen! So glad!”
Men, women, and even some of the children stood and declared their trust in Him. At times they spoke in whispers. Some ranted incoherently, twitching as if possessed. Then unexpectedly, and to Ibby’s great relief, the hysteria subsided and the congregation lapsed into a sort of spent calmness, the only sound now a low humming.
Ibby fanned herself furiously, wondering what was going to happen next.
Reverend Jeremiah, who had remained stoic throughout, walked to the edge of the platform and raised his hands. “Thank you, brothers and sisters, for your praise of Him. Thank you, Sister Clementine, for your words. Thank you, Brother Joseph. Thank you all.”
He paused, as if waiting for something.
Then there were shouts from the audience.
“Amen!”
“Praise God!”
Reverend Jeremiah held out his hands, calling for quiet. “It pleases me to see so many Christians coming together, putting aside the sins of the world, to turn your mind on the kind of pleasure recommended by God himself. Blessed be His name! None of the people outside this church know what the feeling of gladness is until they done laid aside their worldly ways and let the religion commence to working in their heart. . . . Ain’t that true?” His voice was soothing, melodious.
“Amen!”
“Bless God!”
“Religion,” he continued, “is a mighty breastplate to help you overcome the wicked ways of the world. Why, just this week, we overcame bigotry and hatred from those so low as to be prejudiced against people of color when our mighty president saw the wisdom to sign into law a bill that gave civil rights to all people. All people, you understand what I’m saying? If you listen closely, you can hear the dying groans from the Old South as she bites the dust of ignominious defeat in its futile but furious fight against the onward march of civil rights!”
“Amen!”
“Praise God!”
Reverend Jeremiah’s voice was becoming louder with each passage. “Many of you sitting here can remember your parents talking about what it was like on the plantations when the wealthy plantation owner died. Brother Leroy, Brother Willie, you remember what they said? You remember?”
“I remember!” An elderly man near the front thumped his cane on the ground.
“Then you know, Brother Leroy, what a community-stirring occasion it was.” Reverend Jeremiah paused for effect. “The poor, they came and went, and nobody cared. But when a plantation master died, whites and colored folks alike went about the business of mourning. Even those who were glad to see the deceased take his flight mourned. You know what I’m talking about!”