The prayer portion of the night seemed to drag on forever. After Deacon Edwards, Miss Doll prayed. Ma Pearl, of course, couldn’t let either of them outshine her. She prayed, it seemed, for nearly a half-hour. While she prayed, I—?rather than asking for my soul’s salvation—?asked that she’d choke on her spit, which was flying all over the front of the church.
After all prayers had been delivered on behalf of us sinners, Reverend Mims, a small man from a nearby farming community, approached the podium to deliver the message. We always had a guest preacher for revival, as it was a well-known fact that an educated preacher like Reverend Jenkins couldn’t save souls with his rhetoric. It took fire and brimstone for that. Reverend Mims, though small, was an imposing figure. His voice was loud and intimidating, making me feel as though it were the devil knocking at my heart, wishing to come in instead of Jesus. And he was as black as a witch’s hat, as Ma Pearl liked to say, with almond-shaped eyes as yellow as gold.
Since he never used a Bible, Reverend Mims simply began speaking. “Jesus said, ‘Behold, I stand at the do’ and knock. If any man open it, I’ll come in and have supper with him.’ How many y’all want the Lawd to come to yo’ table this evening and have supper with ya?” he asked, pointing at the six of us left on the mourners’ bench. He waved his hand toward the choir stand. “Look at all these folks who said yes when the Lawd knocked. Don’t you want to join them at the table?”
The room erupted in “amens.”
Now that he’d gotten the crowd stirred, Reverend Mims leaned back, cupped his right hand to the side of his mouth as if to shout his message to heaven, and said, “Praise ya, Lawd, for these souls that’s go’n one day join you at yo’ grand table in heaven. We all go’n feast on milk and honey. Come on taste and see that the Lawd is good.” He dropped his hand and danced a little jig around the pulpit as if he had said something remarkable.
The congregation, it appeared, agreed. Folks started dancing and shouting about milk and honey, wearing a long white robe, and sitting at the Lawd’s table, as if it would happen that night. When Fred Lee and I made eye contact, it took every ounce of resolve to keep myself from laughing. I knew I shouldn’t have been playing around during such a serious and sacred time, but I wanted to come to religion on my own terms, not Ma Pearl’s.
“Y’all young folks better be ready to meet the Lawd at any time,” Reverend Mims shouted over the shouting. “When death come to look for souls, he ain’t looking at nobody’s age. He’ll take ya at eighty-four, sixty-four, forty-four, twenty-four, fourteen, or even four. Yes, he take babies, too. He’ll take you whether you a man or a woman, boy or girl, white or black. He’ll take you whether you live in Mississippi or just visiting.”
Folks started shouting and falling all over the floor.
“Is you ready?” Reverend Mims shouted over the chaos. “Is you ready?” He stared straight at Fred Lee when he said those words. Throughout the week Fred Lee had only been playing around, like me. He said he wasn’t “stud’n no mourners’ bench.” Now he sat as still as stone as Reverend Mims pierced his soul with his words and his ugly yellow eyes.
“A fo’teen-year-old boy. Just a boy,” he said, his voice rising. “Visiting. Taking a vacation ’fore going back to school. Wanted to see Miss’sippi. Wanted to see how things is down here, like so many others who been up there in the North all they life.” He paused, closed his eyes, and moaned.
A few shouts of “amen” rose from the church.
Reverend Mims opened his eyes and set them on the mourners on the bench. “‘Time is filled with swift transition,’ the old song says. ‘Naught of earth unmoved can stand, Build yo’ hopes on things eternal. Hold to God’s unchanging hand.’”
It didn’t take long before the pianist struck up a note, and the church joined in with, “‘Everybody ought hold to his hand, to God’s unchanging hand. Hold to his hand, to God’s unchanging hand. Build yo’ hopes on things eter-r-r-r-nal. Hold to God’s unchanging hand.’”
“Behold, I stand at the do’ and knock,” Reverend Mims said over the singing, his hand cupped around his mouth, his golden eyes shining toward heaven. “If any man will just open up, I’ll come in.”