“I want to tell you a story,” he says, smiling at us. The scar on his cheek disappears when he moves his mouth. People in front of me sit forward eagerly. Someone in the back says, “All right, Reverend!” My head snaps around. They’re allowed to talk during Sunday service?
“There was once a boy named Zachary who had a terrible kidney disease,” says the preacher. “It was so bad that if he did not get a transplant, he would die. His parents were frantic. Neither of them were a match, and when they asked their younger daughter, Josie, if she would get tested, Josie started to cry. She had a terrible fear of needles. But after a while she gathered her courage and shut her eyes and went for the test. She was a perfect match. If Zachary was to be saved, he would need to be operated on the very next day. Her parents were overjoyed but a bit apprehensive. They told Josie that if she wanted to, she could give her older brother one of her kidneys—but only if she wanted to. She would have to undergo a painful operation that would involve many needles. It was her decision. Josie listened quietly and asked her parents if she could think about it for a while. An hour came and went and when Josie approached her parents, they held their breath. She would do it, she said. Zachary could have her kidney. The parents cried with joy and hugged Josie tight. ‘But,’ Josie said, ‘when I die tomorrow, will you promise not to forget me?’ “
I look around as the sound of sobbing fills the church. A woman behind me is weeping openly, nodding and swaying in her seat. Across from her, the woman in the purple robe is sitting in a pew. Her eyes are closed and she is nodding as the preacher continues to speak. His voice gains strength suddenly, causing me to look up.
“If a child can love in this way,” he says, pausing for a moment, “imagine what Jesus can do when we turn to him. All we have to do is ask. We don’t have to be perfect or pure.” He stands up. “Heck, we don’t even have to feel good about it!” A series of murmured amens sweeps throughout the church. “All we have to do is ask. Just show up and ask.” The man closes the Bible and presses it to the front of his chest. “Lord, here I am. Show me the way.” He bows his head. “Show me the way.”
A woman yells “Alleluia!” from the pew in front of us. She is wearing a pink dress and a matching pink hat, and she pumps her fist in the air. Honey giggles. Lillian pokes her in the shoulder.
“There is nothing greater than love,” the preacher says, his voice gaining power. “It is stronger than any evil, any darkness.” More shouts erupt from all over the church.
“Yes!”
“Show me the way, Jesus!”
“Love is the answer,” the preacher continues. “If we love one another, then we need not fear anything else. Love”—he raises the Bible in the air—“is everything.” His last word is spoken loudly, and as if that is the cue needed, the congregation rises as one and stamps and yells and claps. I glance nervously from side to side, only to see Honey, Nana Pete, Lillian, and Benny all on their feet. Benny is waving his good hand in the air and Lillian and Honey are howling and shouting along with everyone else. Nana Pete is standing there, grinning from ear to ear. I shake my head and press my lips together tightly. The woman in the pink hat stands up and points her finger at the preacher. “Ain’t nothin’ but the truth, Reverend!” she says, before sitting back down.
Finally the woman in purple comes back up to the altar, followed this time by the rest of the choir. They start off slowly, barely over a whisper, and then pick up speed, their voices rising to a crescendo over the shouting that is still coming from the rest of the church:
Walk together, children
Don’t you get weary
Walk together, children
Don’t you get weary
Oh talk together, children
Don’t you get weary
There’s a great camp meetin’ in the promised land.
Benny takes my hand just as the song is ending and squeezes it tightly.
A myriad of emotions floods through me as the service comes to a close and people start to move for the door. I feel confused and sad and scared and a little freaked out by the whole thing. But I feel happy, too, and I don’t know why.
As we are descending the steps, I notice the man in red at the very bottom, greeting and hugging people. The lady in the pink hat is standing next to him, doing the same thing.
“Come on, Nana Pete,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.” But it’s too late. As soon as we come into view, the lady in the pink hat swoops down on the four of us. She has a pair of tiny wire glasses balanced on the end of her nose and the largest breasts I have ever seen. When she presses herself against us, I worry for a moment that I might get smothered.
“Visitors!” She smiles hugely, exposing a single gold tooth along her upper gums. “Look, Reverend! We’ve got visitors today!” I stand rigidly under her embrace, watching as the reverend turns his attention in our direction.
“Welcome,” he says, shaking our hands one by one. “I hope you enjoyed the service.”