“Look at current reality. Can any discerning Christian in this congregation demonstrate how our country adheres to this principle? Our treatment of the poor among us disproves the proposition.
“We should celebrate our heroes who risked everything to establish and maintain our political independence, which doesn’t reflect the primary issue. Rather we must, at the risk of our souls, understand and profess our primary allegiance to the supreme authority who governs our lives.”
Some congregants did not stop to shake Eric’s hand after the service; several would not look him in the eye, and many left by the rear of the church. Jackson, Miz Lizbeth, Allison, and Joseph were among the last to exit through the front door to the sanctuary. Miz Lizbeth said, “Stop right here, Jackson. I want as many people as possible to see me thank Reverend Jameson for an excellent sermon.” She reached up with one strong hand to pull his face down to her level and kissed him on the forehead. “Well done, well said, greatly needed.” She smiled, “Keep the faith despite the unjust criticism you undoubtedly will receive.”
“Thank you. I will.”
“Illegitimi non carborundum,” Miz Lizbeth used the mock Latin phrase for Don’t let the bastards grind you down. “Let’s go, Jackson.”
Allison asked Eric, “Same time, same place tomorrow?”
“Indeed,” he affirmed.
“We’ll talk then.”
Joseph shook hands with Eric. “I liked your sermon, Reverend Jameson.”
“Thank you, Joseph. You’re a good listener. Let me know if you want to talk about the sermons.”
“I will.” Joseph left to catch up with Allison, Miz Lizbeth and Jackson.
CHAPTER 6
Monday, 07 July
Eric, disappointed not to find Allison in the coffee shop as she had been every weekday since their first meeting, finished his second cup of coffee and started to leave when she walked in the front door.
“Sorry I’m late,” Allison said, sitting opposite Eric.
Jean placed a plain donut and coffee in front of Allison. “More coffee for you, Reverend Jameson?”
“Yes. Thank you.” When Jean left, Eric asked Allison, “Any problems this morning?”
“At breakfast, Joseph told me about some older boys attempting to bully him. He’s uncertain what to do; he doesn’t want to fight the bullies but he prefers not to back down. We spent a long time discussing our options for dealing with the situation.”
“Better to face problems straight on.”
“So says Joseph. It’s a question of timing, according to him.”
“He has a plan?” Eric asked.
“Oh, yes. He always has a plan.”
“What’s in his mind?”
“Martial arts training. Joseph figures he can better confront the bullies once he learns how to fight, or as he insists, to defend himself.”
“Good play,” Eric said, “if he has the time to master the rudiments of self-defense. Are the bullies bigger than Joseph?”
“Bigger and, like I said, older.”
“I suspect Joseph is smarter?”
“Than most of the other students at the high school.”
“Will you let him undergo martial arts training?” Eric asked.
“He’s willing to let me try the lawyerly thing first.”
“Which is?”
“I’m not exactly sure. The situation demands some delicacy. The bullies are black.”
“You don’t want to spark a racial incident?”
“Not unless I have to. I’ll speak directly to the parents, if I can arrange meetings with them. A reminder of the legal consequences and a veiled threat to sue might do the trick.”
“What does Joseph think about your plan?”
“He’s not optimistic. Joseph says the legal system and his mother can’t protect him all the time.”
“He may have a good point,” Eric said. “If you and he would like a supplementary approach, I’ll be glad to give Joseph a few pointers on self-defense—ways to use opponents’ strength and size against them.”
“I understand where you’re coming from, and I’m confident Joseph would like to learn self-defense from you. Let’s give the legal approach a try first.”
“It’s your call.”
“I recently bought Joseph a used car. When the academic year starts in August, he can drive to and from school rather than taking the bus. That should decrease some of the opportunities for the bullies. I’ll instruct him to go straight home after school.”
“Call me if you or Joseph need help, like when you’re tied up in court. I exercise a lot of control over my schedule, except on Sunday mornings, and when I’m called to other pastoral duties.”
“I’ll keep your offer in mind.” She grinned before changing the subject. “Speaking of the legal system and Sunday mornings, we lawyers have a term for what you did yesterday with your sermon.”
“Suicide?”
Allison laughed loudly enough for Jean and the other customers to look at her. “You inflamed the jury. Some members of the congregation want to give you a fair trial and then hang you.”
“In the ecclesiastical sense?”
“I doubt they even know the meaning of the term ecclesiastical.”
“Did I upset you?” Eric asked
“Not at all. Several times I wanted to shout Amen!”
“I need all the Amens I can get.”
“You’ll have them from Miz Lizbeth and from me.”
“You’ll be good allies. I hope we can recruit more like you.”
“In one of our conversations last week, you more or less confirmed you were sent here to shake up things at Aldersgate.”
“I remember. Unfortunately, I felt it necessary to begin the process much sooner than I’d have liked.”
“You said you had your orders from the bishop and district superintendent?”
“Correct.”
“If you’re at liberty to tell me, what precisely were your orders?”
Eric removed his jogging billfold from the strap on his ankle. He took out a dollar bill, which he handed to Allison. “If you’re my lawyer, I can reveal some confidences to you.”
Allison gravely took the bill. “Agreed.”
“My specific orders from Bishop Lyon were to preach the Gospel at Aldersgate and not to continue retrograde religious doctrines or antediluvian politics within the church.”
“You’re off to a good start.”
“Carrying out my orders may be the only way to save Aldersgate and bring it fully into the 21st century, like I said in my first sermon.”
“I’m sure you’ll also encounter opportunities to comfort the afflicted. We have many elderly congregants, some with bad health.”
“I’m here for the whole megillah.”
“Eric, be careful. Some of the congregants you’ve already incensed might be dangerous.”
“The job description often includes danger.”
“I’d hate to see you martyred, physically or ecclesiastically.”
“As would I.”
Allison reached for Eric’s hands on the table. “Again, be extremely careful. These people probably won’t come at you directly. They prefer an ambush.”
“Thanks.” He gently squeezed her hands. “Forewarned and forearmed. And I have a great lawyer.”
They left the coffee shop together, oblivious of the looks and comments from the other customers. On the sidewalk, Allison asked, “Will you be in your office today?”
“No, I intend to take Mondays off from ministerial duties, unless there’s an emergency. This afternoon I’ll be buying furniture.”
“See you tomorrow?”
“Sounds like a plan to me.” Eric resisted the great temptation to give Allison a goodbye kiss.
CHAPTER 7
Tuesday, 08 July
Eric checked his email and the snail mail Mary Johnson had placed on his church office desk. The church secretary, a retired elementary school teacher, was a
trim, gray-haired, middle-aged black woman about a foot shorter than Eric. She had a grandmotherly, calming personality. Because nothing in either source of correspondence required his immediate attention, he began personalizing his church office by filling the empty shelves with many of his books, pictures, and other items with significance. He heard a loud and harsh voice from Mary’s office.
“I’m here to see Jameson, and I don’t need an appointment!” Ralph Whitfield barged into Eric’s office without giving Mary a chance to alert Eric. “You preached a sorry sermon Sunday, Jameson. You’re a poor excuse for a preacher and a damned unpatriotic American.”
Eric motioned to the empty chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Mr. Whitfield, and we’ll talk about your problems.”
“I don’t have any problems except for your being assigned to this church. You don’t belong here.” Whitfield remained standing, fists clinched at his side, his face red.
“What precisely upset you about the sermon? Did it make you think?”
“You committed an act of treason, you damn liberal.”
“You mean I advocated the violent overthrow of our government?”
“You might as well have. You insulted our brave men and women in uniform, you said we shouldn’t pledge allegiance to this great country, and you denied the Christian principles forming the basis of our Constitution.”
“Do you believe the U.S. was founded as a Christian nation?”
“Of course I do, like every right-thinking American.”
Eric swiveled in his chair so he could reach an unpacked box of books on the floor. He rummaged through the box until he found his copy of The Myth of a Christian Nation by Gregory A. Boyd. Eric offered the book to Whitfield. “You might find this book interesting, if you can keep an open mind.”
Whitfield took the book and quickly read the cover. He slammed the book hard on Eric’s desk. “I don’t need another damn liberal telling me what to think.”
Eric wondered if Whitfield considered “damn-liberal” as one word much like some people applied the same formula to “damn-Yankees.” “Tell me, Mr. Whitfield, do you revere the U.S. Constitution?”
“Certainly I do, in contrast to you.”
“Are you a strict or a loose Constitutional constructionist?”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“For instance, do you believe federal judges, especially those on the Supreme Court, should simply interpret the Constitution rather than making new laws by twisting what the plain words of the Constitution say?”
“You’re damn right! What’s the relevance to your sorry excuse for a sermon?”
“A lot. So you’re a strict Constitutional constructionist, based upon what you’ve said. Can you show me where the Constitution defines the U.S. as a Christian nation—in the plain words of the document?”
“You’re insufferable. You don’t even belong in the ministry, much less in the United States.”
“Even so, I await your answer.”
“The people who wrote the Constitution and fought for our country’s independence were Christians.”
“Those historical facts make the Constitution a Christian document and the U.S. a Christian nation?”
“Why can’t you get that truth through your damn liberal excuse for a brain?”
“I’ve searched the Constitution for any mention of Jesus Christ. Haven’t found a single instance. Perhaps you can locate the citation?” Eric went quickly through another box of unpacked books and extracted his copy of the Constitution, which he placed on the desk in front of Whitfield.
“Why should I show you something obvious?”
“You’re familiar with the Establishment Clause?” When Whitfield hesitated, Eric pressed on, “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion.”
“That’s what I was about to say, if you hadn’t interrupted me.”
“Some of the founders certainly were Christians; however, the Establishment Clause shows they didn’t produce a Christian constitution. In fact, no Constitutional reference to Jesus Christ or Christianity exists.”
“Christianity is embedded in the document.”
“Only if you’re a loose Constitutional constructionist who doesn’t accept the plain words or their absence.”
Whitfield changed to another line of attack. “What gives you the right to malign our brave men and women in uniform, like you did Sunday?”
“Exactly how did I malign them?”
“You might as well have told them their service and sacrifices were in vain.”
Eric pointed to the photographs he had hung on the wall behind his desk. “These photos should give you an idea of my military bona fides, why I’m entitled to talk about serving in the armed forces.” The first color photograph depicted Eric, as an Army colonel, in his dress blues with the Medal of Honor showing at his throat. Eric wondered if Whitfield even recognized the medal. The other pictures showed Eric in the company of men and women wearing full battle rattle in several areas of conflict, including Iraq and Afghanistan.
“You disgrace the uniform you wore.”
“Mr. Whitfield, what wars did you fight in?”
“I wasn’t in the armed forces.”
“You were in the Intelligence services?”
“No. I had a business to run so I could support my family.”
“You were like former Vice President Dick Cheney?”
“Again, I don’t know what you mean. Dick Cheney is a great man, a true patriot.”
“I suppose you, like Vice President Cheney, had other priorities than serving in the armed forces at the time of the Vietnam War? Did you dodge the draft like him?”
“I served in other ways. My taxes helped pay for the Vietnam War, as well as the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.”
“Those of us who risked our lives on battlefields in service to this country have a name for so-called patriots like you.”
“What?”
“Chicken hawk.”
Whitfield drew back his right fist as if to strike Eric from across the desk. “I’m of a good mind to thrash you right now.”
“People in better physical shape and much more ferocious than you have tried to harm me and my comrades. Shall I tell you where we left the bodies of the people who had our deaths in mind?”
“I won’t rest until you’re run out of this church and out of the ministry. I’m going to see the bishop and district superintendent tomorrow about you.”
“Start with our SPRC. The bishop and district superintendent won’t pay you any attention unless you go through the proper channels. Good luck.”
Whitfield turned on his heel and walked away from Eric. At the office door, he looked over his shoulder. “I’m dead serious. I’ll have you run out of this town. Me and my friends in the Southern Restoration Movement will do whatever it takes to get rid of you.”
“The Southern Restoration Movement sounds more like a bowel movement.”
“Damn you! Damn you to hell!”
“I’ll let God decide my ultimate fate, not you, Whitfield. Get out of my office and don’t come back without an apology.” Eric waved Whitfield out the door. “I’ll be ready for you, and for your friends.”
Mary came into Eric’s office after Whitfield stormed out of the church. “I’m sorry, Reverend Jameson. Mr. Whitfield didn’t give me time to alert you. I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.”
“Mary, we’re going to be working closely together. Why don’t we use our first names?”
The secretary considered the proposal for a few seconds. “We can when we’re alone in the church.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Do you know Mr. Whitfield?”
“He’s a bad man, and the Restorers are bad people. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Mary, I can only do what I think is right.”
“I understand. I like what you told Mr. Whitfield. He and his friends cause my people a lot of trouble
.”
“Mary, where do you go to church?”
“Ebenezer Methodist in Springfield Heights. The largest black community in Vickery lives in and around our church.”
“Reverend Aloysius Stockman pastors Ebenezer?”
“Big Al, as he’s usually called, preaches and lives the Gospel like nobody else around here. Have you met him?”
“Not yet. Before I came here, I used our Conference website to learn about other United Methodist churches in Alexander County.”
“I’m sure Big Al would like to meet you.”
“As would I him. Do you know what Aloysius means in Latin?”
“I guess you’ll tell me?”
“Famous Warrior.”
“The warrior part describes Big Al; he fights to get justice for Jesus’ black children. Also, he’s famous around here for what he does.”
“I’m glad to know you’re Methodist.”
“Black Methodist.”
“Mary, United Methodism includes predominantly black and predominantly white churches on an equal basis, but we shouldn’t be segregated. That time has passed.”
“Church integration may occur in places outside of Alexander County.”
“How about the Fifth Sunday Night services when your church worships and eats together with the other four downtown churches? Aren’t those services and fellowship examples of Vickery, if not Alexander County, moving toward integration?”
“Eric, you’ve really done your homework.”
“I like to know what I’m getting into.”
“The Fifth Sunday Night Services are good for Vickery.” Mary smiled. “But you remember what Brother Martin said about Sunday morning worship?”
“‘It is appalling that the most segregated hour of Christian America is eleven o’clock on Sunday morning.’”
Comfort and Affliction Page 6
