I also figured that, like most evangelists, Brother Hog tended to favor the New Testament, at least for evangelistic purposes. I wondered what he might do with a passage that wasn't quite so familiar. The text wouldn't be highlighted in red, but it might be worth a try.
* * *
Ruby, Meg and I got to the tent a little earlier than the night before, but we didn't get better seats. The music for the evening was being provided by the Melody Mountain Singers—a family gospel group consisting of a grandmother singing lead, her three daughters backing her up, the husband of one playing a keyboard, and a couple of grandsons playing guitar and string bass. When we walked in, they were in the middle of their signature tune, I Wanna Be A Jesus Cowboy in the Holy Ghost Corral.
The Indians of Satan were comin' at us fast,
To spiritually scalp us, don't you see;
Well, we just stood there prayin'
and we were saved at last
By the cavalry from Calvary!
"Nice lyrics," I said to Meg. "Not exactly politically correct. The 'Indians of Satan?'"
"Would you please keep your voice down? At least they didn't try to rhyme 'Jesus' with 'cheeses,'" said Meg, referring to one of my more colorful choral compositions. The Melody Mountain Singers launched into the chorus.
I wanna be a Jesus cowboy in the Holy Ghost Corral,
I wanna rope them little doggies, by and by,
I'm gonna brand them wayward cattle,
if you'll only show me how,
I wanna be there for that round-up in the sky!
The gospel group performed four more songs before Brother Hog took the stage. I had to hand it to him. He had it down to an art form. We began with prayers, a couple of choruses led by the Gospel group, before finally coming to the moment that the crowd had gathered to see.
Brother Hog lifted Binny Hen into the air and held her aloft for all to see. "This is Binny Hen the Scripture Chicken," said Brother Hog, repeating, almost exactly, the introduction we had heard the night before. "Binny will choose the scripture that I will preach on this evening, but remember, the Holy Ghost can work through any instrument of faith, and it's God's Holy Word that will be proclaimed this night."
Again, Brother Hog placed Binny on the table behind the Bible. I looked around the tent. Everyone was studying the chicken intently. The people that were in the back were standing on their chairs. Brother Hog opened the Bible and stepped back to let Binny Hen perform her consecrated task.
The chicken jumped up onto the pages of the enormous book and began her scratching. Page after page flipped while the congregation looked on in wonder. Five minutes passed. Then six. Then seven. I looked at Brother Hog. He wasn't anxious. This was just part of the show. He stood back, a smile spreading across his ample face. His spray-tamed hair swooped majestically around his head like a salt-and-pepper halo. His bright white suit was luminescent in the spotlights and he almost seemed to glow like a great, round Chinese lantern. Eight minutes. Nine. The crowd was starting to murmur and, for the first time, Brother Hog was starting to look uncomfortable. Then it happened. Binny Hen stopped scratching, cocked her head first one way and then the other, flapped her wings mightily and made a huge clucking sound. Then she started pecking furiously.
"Binny Hen has chosen the scripture," Brother Hog cried with obvious relief. "Let the Word of God be read!"
* * *
I wondered if Brother Hog might choose a woman to read the scripture, since the night before it had been a man. He didn't. The reader was Nelson Kendrick. I knew Nelson. Nelson was the minister of education at Martin Street Baptist Church and the organizer of the Iron Mike Men's Retreat. I thought that he might have a seminary degree. I also thought he might need one.
"What's the scripture this evening?" whispered Meg. "I know that you know." I just shrugged and tried to look pious.
"He might be expecting John 3:16."
"He might?"
Nelson moved confidently to the table. Brother Hog walked beside him, lifted Binny Hen off the table, stepped back, and bowed his head for the reading of God's word. We all waited expectantly as Nelson scanned the page. He looked confused and shot a glance over to Brother Hog.
"Read it brother," said Brother Hog softly, but loud enough for us to hear him.
"I don't know where to start," said Nelson under his breath and near panic.
"Just start reading. The Holy Ghost will direct you."
"But where?" Nelson's voice was starting to rise.
"Start at the beginning of the chapter." Brother Hog's voice was still calm and quiet, but I suspected that he was regretting his choice scripture readers. Nelson was over-thinking the whole thing. "Go ahead, brother. Don't be ashamed of God's word."
"I'm not ashamed of God's word," Nelson said, his anger rising.
"Of course you're not. Just read it," said Brother Hog, his impatience now evident and his voice rising in pitch as well as volume. "And don't stop till you're finished," he bellowed. "Just keep reading the word!"
"Fine. I will." Nelson raised his voice as well. "Genesis 14," he called out. "Hear the word of the Lord."
I flashed a quick look over to Brother Hog. He was still holding the chicken, but all the blood had drained from his face. His eyes had narrowed and his lips were moving as if trying to remember the passage from Genesis.
"And it came to pass," Nelson read, looking over toward Brother Hog with raised eyebrows and a you-asked-for-it look on his face, "in the days of Amraphel king of Shinar, Arioch king of Ellasar, Chedorlaomer king of Elam, and Tidal king of nations; that these made war with Bera king of Sodom, and with Birsha king of Gomorrah, Shinab king of Admah, and Shemeber king of Zeboiim, and the king of Bela, which is Zoar."
I felt a smile creeping into the corners of my mouth. Nelson didn't stumble over any of the kings. I looked around. The crowd was still listening intently.
"All these were joined together in the vale of Siddim, which is the salt sea. Twelve years they served Chedorlaomer, and in the thirteenth year they rebelled. And in the fourteenth year came Chedorlaomer, and the kings that were with him, and smote the Rephaims in Ashteroth Karnaim, and the Zuzims in Ham, and the Emins in Shaveh Kiriathaim, and the Horites in their mount Seir, unto Elparan, which is by the wilderness."
"Zuzims?" said Meg. "Zuzims?"
"In Ham," I added. "Zuzims in Ham. Throw in the Chedor and it sounds like a lunch special at the Ginger Cat."
"What the hell is that stupid son-of-a-bitch talking about?" The outburst came from the row in front of us. It was Skeeter and Skeeter Donalson wasn't known for his gentility and quiet manner. He was, as everyone in town knew, a few limpets short of a chowder and although he was harmless, when he got upset, he got pretty vocal. However, the question that Skeeter had posed had the effect of causing the people within hearing distance of his off-color query to snap out of their scripturally-induced daze. They reacted as if they had just awakened from trance.
"And they returned, and came to Enmishpat, which is Kadesh, and smote all the country of the Amalekites, and also the Amorites, that dwelt in…" Nelson paused. "Haz-ez-on-ta-mar," he sounded out. It was the first time that Nelson had stumbled. But I couldn't blame him. Hazezontamar was a heck of a name to have to pronounce, even for a bunch of Amorites.
"What the hell are you readin' anyway?" hollered Skeeter, standing up. "You'd better shut up!" An audible buzz started going through the crowd. Nelson might have been tempted to stop, but with Brother Hog's admonition still ringing in his ears, he decided to kick it up a notch.
"And there went out the king of Sodom, and the king of Gomorrah, and the king of Admah, and the king of Zeboiim, and the king of Bela, the same is Zoar; and they joined battle with them in the vale of Siddim; with Chedorlaomer the king of Elam, and with Tidal king of nations, and Amraphel king of Shinar, and Arioch king of Ellasar; four kings with five."
The congregation was loud and getting louder. Some folks were on their feet. I'd never seen the reading
of scripture have such an effect although the crowd was probably reacting to Skeeter who was, for his own unfathomable reason, incensed. In any case, I hoped they would calm down. I definitely wasn't prepared for a riot. Nelson raised his voice to a yell. Even with his microphone, he was having trouble being heard above the rising din.
"And the vale of Siddim was full of slime-pits," he bellowed. "And the kings of Sodom and Gomorrah fled, and fell there; and they that remained fled to the mountain."
"Slime-pits?" asked Meg. "There are slime-pits in the Bible?"
"It was full of slime-pits," I said nodding toward Nelson. "You heard him."
* * *
Brother Hogmanay McTavish walked slowly to the pulpit and raised his arms for quiet. The crowd hushed and took their seats although many of them were still visibly upset.
"The Holy Ghost has given us this scripture, and it is my delight to preach upon it. I think we can all agree that it is a difficult passage, but it surely has a message for us tonight."
"That's a good start," I whispered, looking over at Skeeter. He seemed to have calmed down.
"We've heard about kings. Kings in trouble with the Lord," sang out Brother Hog, his comb-over all a-quiver. "The kings of Sodom and Gemorrah!" He spat out the names of the cities like he was expelling a wayward fly out of his mouth. It was a nice effect.
"Amen!" came the choral response. The Melody Mountain Singers were apparently well-versed in sermon punctuation. The crowd had settled down and many people were nodding appreciably. They had heard of Sodom and Gemorrah.
"They were in sin. They did not know the Lord Jesus! And because of their sin, God destroyed their cities and all were cast into the eternal slime-pit."
"Amen! Yes! The slime-pit! Halleluia!" sang the choir.
"For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God."
"Nice transition," I said. "Well done. Almost there." Meg glared at me.
"We have fallen short of his glory the same as these heathen kings." Brother Hog was on a roll. "But we don't need to fear the slime-pit! There is redemption!"
"Redemption! Yes, Lord!" answered the choir.
"For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son…"
"Halleluia!"
"…that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life!" Brother Hog pulled out a big white handkerchief and wiped his face. He'd been perspiring pretty heavily, but he now had the sermon under control.
"And there we are," I said, smiling at Meg. "John 3:16. He did a pretty good job. Once he had Sodom and Gemorrah, it was a cakewalk. The slime-pit helped, too. It might have been trickier if he'd been stuck with the Zuzims."
"You are an evil man," said Meg. "And I'm glad he got out of your little trap."
"What trap? I'm innocent. You saw it. The chicken picked the scripture."
"I don't believe you. You know too much."
* * *
The rest of the service went as Brother Hog expected. He was a pretty fair evangelist. Once he got to his chosen scripture, the sermon moved right along. There were no more surprises and the crowd that moved forward during the invitation included Skeeter and Ruby. Since Ruby was heading to the front, Megan and I stayed till the end.
"Mom always likes to rededicate herself during these revivals," Meg said.
"Nothing wrong with that," I said. "We don't have anywhere else to go. And I'm beginning to appreciate the charms of the family gospel quartet."
"Where did you find that scripture?" Meg asked innocently.
I shrugged modestly, but I was always happy to show off in front of my gal. "It's pretty famous among Old Testament scholars. If Nelson had read another few verses, he'd have gotten to the part where Melchizedek the priest brings the first offering of bread and wine. That's the reason it's still in the lectionary. It's the first time the elements of communion are mentioned in the Bible."
"Aha! I knew that you did it!" Meg crowed. "You are hoisted on your own petard."
"Oh, man..."
Chapter 14
"Okay, Piggy. On your feet." I grabbed Piggy by his lapels and gave a heave. My lapel-yank could get most men up out of their chairs quicker than a floozy carrying loaded mousetraps in her undies, but yanking on Piggy left me with nothing but two fistfuls of lapel-shaped seersucker and a stupid look on my face.
"You ruined my suit," he managed to oink while stuffing an entire apple into his mouth. "I'm gonna fix you good!"
"Hang on, Piggy. It'll take you twenty minutes to peel yourself out of that chair and by then I'll be long gone. Besides, your suit looks pretty good like that. Very contemporary. Nehru-like."
"Yeah? You think?"
"Absolutely." I looked across the table. "Right, boys?" Piggy's henchmen nodded agreeably and put their faces back into their troughs.
"Now listen, Piggy," I said, wiping his mouth with one of his lapels. "I need to find Jimmy Leggs. It's pretty clear that Candy Blather's murder was a warning to you to lay off the hymnal-fix."
"Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't." Piggy hoofed a slab of limburger up to his snout. "I generally don't take no warnings."
"But you'll take it if it was from Jimmy Leggs?"
Piggy grunted in the affirmative and flapped his jowls up and down. "It ain't a good career move to go against Jimmy Leggs."
"Where can I find him, Piggy?"
"You don't find him. He finds you."
"How were you and Candy cooking the hymnal?" I waved a protein-bar under his snout, and he was on it like a piranha on a corndog.
"It was easy money. All we had to do was make sure that people's favorites appeared in the new hymnal. One grand a pop. Candy had the connections. I provided the muscle."
"So, if I wanted to include 'Jesus, Friend Of Thronging Pilgrims? '"
"Cost you a grand."
"'Love Grew Where The Blood Fell?'"
"A grand."
"'Onward Christian Soldiers?'"
"Heh, heh. That one would probably cost you two grand," giggled Piggy. "There's a lot of hostility goin' around about that one." He snorked up a handful of jellybeans. "We could also rig some 'inclusive' language if you wanted," he said in-between chomps. "You know, like 'All Creatures of our God and Pal' and 'Sponge of Ages'".
"'Sponge of Ages?'"
"Yeah. Candy said that some minister thought that 'Rock' was too masculine and aggressive. It sent the wrong message. 'Sponge' is nurturing and more in keeping with today's theology."
"So you changed it?"
Piggy grunted gleefully. "We been doing it for years! Not bad, eh? Any hymn you wanted. Cost you a grand. Me and Candy could work it in."
"What're you going to do now?"
"Guess I'll go back to hustling green grocers."
"There much slop in that?"
"Beats workin'."
* * *
"Not bad. I like Piggy. He's a good character."
"Yeah, thanks."
"And you seem to actually have a plot."
"I think so," I answered. "Although it's hard to tell sometimes."
"Yeah. I used to feel that way, too." He pulled his fedora down over his eyes, adjusted his glasses and lit his pipe. I watched the smoke curl up around his head. "I'd work for two weeks straight on what I thought was a pretty good story and end up tossing the whole lot. How's your murder case coming?"
"Murder case?" I asked.
"The body you found in the church."
"It's not really a case," I said, as I clicked off the light and stacked the one-page chapters to my serial mystery neatly beside the typewriter. "He's been dead for years. The killer's dead by now, too."
"It has been said that nobody cares about the corpse. This is nonsense, of course. You're a writer, aren't you? Writers don't throw away a valuable element to their story. It's like saying that this man means no more to you than the murder of an unknown man in a city you never heard of."
"Hmmm. You're right."
"I could help you with your story.
I've got a lot of plots left over. Poodle Springs. I never finished that one."
"I think someone finished it for you," I said.
"Really? Any good?"
"Yeah. Yeah, it was."
* * *
"Hayden," said Father George, taking off his cassock in the sacristy, "that was quite a nice service. Do you have just a second to chat?"
"Absolutely. What's up?"
"Remember when I told you that we were going to be looking for a parish administrator?"
"Sure. Have you found someone? I didn't even know we had advertised the position."
"I was talking with Rob Brannon…have you two met?"
"Yep."
"And he indicated that since he doesn't really have his law practice up and running, he'd be happy to do it until we found a full-time person."
"Uh huh. And when would that full-time person start?"
"Maybe sometime next summer."
"Well, George, I think that would be an extremely bad idea."
The Tenor Wore Tapshoes (The Liturgical Mysteries) Page 10
