Since that time, the neighborhood had gone through a total transformation. Back when the church had originally been built, Georgetown was largely black and mostly poor. Then had come the gentrification of the sixties and seventies, when the housing prices of that area had shot up to the moon.
The result was that the parishioners sold and moved and lost all connection with neighborhoods and friends and a way of life that was no more. All that survived was the church. It had been the church of their fathers, and remained a magnet for the children today. It was a gathering point for families who traveled from as far away as Maryland and Virginia, all coming together once a week to worship their Lord in the house their fathers had built.
All the windows right the way around the church were stained glass. Each was a story of a family’s scrimping and saving to beautify their church and glorify their God. TJ knew without asking that the windows had at first been plain glass. One by one, they had been taken by families and re-designed around a favorite Bible passage. And at the base of each was a dedication to a dearly departed, in memory of someone who had raised them and helped them and taught them to respect their Lord.
“We got our littlest granddaughter stayin’ with us right now,” Reverend Wilkins began his sermon. “Beautiful little thing, apple of her daddy’s eye. Can I have me an Amen?”
There was a feeble response, the sound of a congregation warming itself up gradually. There was no rush. They had a long way to go. It was the way they wanted it, a day truly given to the worship of their Lord.
“Well, sir, yesterday mornin’ I was right tired. Night before I’d sat the deathwatch with old Mrs. Simpkins. Y’all remember Granny Simpkins. Got seven of her offspring out here today. Yeah, she’s gone on to higher ground. Lemme hear a Praise God for the departed woman.”
The chorus was stronger now, the people touched by the nearness of their own passing, their own judgment.
“Granny Simpkins’ last prayer was for her boy Julius. Y’all see Julius out there on the streets today, tell him his own sweet mother saw him standin’ at the gates of hell, and with her last dyin’ breath prayed that her boy’d have the sense to turn around.” The fiery eyes glared out over the congregation, and the voice rumbled, “Yeah. Praise God. Old Julius thinks he’s okay, man on the street, playin’ ‘round with drugs and sex and such. His momma saw where he was headed. So did I.”
“Say it, brother!” cried a woman’s voice.
“I’ll say it,” the preacher said, the sound carrying the power of an approaching summer storm. “Say it long as the Lord gives me strength, loud as I can. You people gotta turn around. Turn! Turn! That’s what Isaiah says. Turn from your wicked ways!”
“Amen!” came the chorused reply.
“Yessir, had my little granddaughter stayin’ with us,” he said, his voice softer. “When my wife told her yesterday that her granddaddy was goin’ to lie in for a spell, girl decided to come up and keep me company. I heard her comin’, decided to play possum. So when the door opened I shut my eyes up real tight, lay there all still, and heard those little feet come paddin’ up to the side of the bed. Opened my eyes just a bit so’s I could see that cute face peerin’ right up close to mine. Well, she stood there kinda inspectin’ me for a while; then she went over and crawled into my rockin’ chair. She loves that chair, yessir. Never known a chile who didn’t love to be rocked, but that girl just adores to crawl up in her granddaddy’s lap. Stay there all day if I let her.”
Appreciative murmurs flowed toward him, and his tone gentled further.
“Right ‘bout then, the sun peeks up over the house next door. Comes streamin’ in through my window every mornin’, just lettin’ me know the Lord’s given me one more chance to go out and do His will. I could hear the rocker creakin’ kinda funny like, so I turned over quiet as I could and opened my eyes just a crack.
“Well, my granddaughter was standin’ up in the rocker, leanin’ on the back of the seat and stretchin’ out one hand toward the sun. She was kinda hummin’ this little tune; then she says, ‘Good mornin’, God.’ “Preacher Wilkins’ gaze out over the congregation held the moment silently. “Don’t you know, I’d give anything to be able to see God like that again. Simple and happy as a little child watchin’ the risin’ sun.”
“Praise God!” came a voice from the back.
“It’d be possible, don’t you know. Yessir, it really would. Fact is, when our Lord walked this earth that’s just exactly what He said. Gotta see the world like we was lookin’ through the eyes of the little ones. But it’s so difficult, Lord, oh my God, it’s hard. How on earth’s we supposed to do such a thing?”
“Tell us, Preacher,” called a voice.
“All right, I’ll tell you. It’s possible, you know it is, our Lord’s not gonna tell us to do somethin’ we can’t. All we gotta do to hear His voice is release ourselves from the chains of guilt and sin.”
“Free us, Lawd, free us!” came the reply.
“Be cleansed by the blood of the Lamb,” sang out the preacher.
“Lawd God Almighty,” called a deep baritone, “cleansed forever more!”
Reverend Wilkins reached into his pocket, drew out a handkerchief, mopped his face, said, “Ain’t nobody ever wants to be ruined. ‘Course not. Nobody wants to be lost. We’s surrounded by friends and family, every blessed one of us, all wantin’ to be saved. Yessir. Good people. And you ask ’em, yessir, every one of ’em’ll tell you, why ‘course they believes in God. Problem is, they don’t do nothin’ about it. Nossir. They’s worn out. They’s lazy. They gots so much to do, family needs this and that, why, life’s just too hard to have time for the Lord.”
“Time, Lawd, Lawd, gotta take time for God!” came the response.
“They don’t look to the things that really matter. Don’t think ‘bout what really concerns them. Lotta these people, they don’t sin, not really. Not in the beginnin’. They just don’t do anythin’. They just sit there, lettin’ life pull ’em every way but loose. And sooner or later, they start to wander.”
“Help us, Lawd,” called a woman. “We’s weak, so weak, stay with us.”
“From that point, the next step is a sure thing. Y’all hear ‘bout sure things every day of your life. This here is the surest thing of all. Don’t matter when or where, but there’ll come a day when your eyes and your heart, they’re gonna deceive you.”
The congregation groaned a denial.
“Yes, it will. The thought of sin is there in all of us. All the time. And the step from doin’ nothin’ to doin’ sin is so tiny you can’t even feel you’ve taken it.” The preacher paused, wiped his face, looked out and rumbled, “Can’t see it, nossir, not ’til it’s too late.”
“No, no, don’t let it happen,” pleaded a older man. “God, don’t let it happen again.”
“When we start to sin, we never think of how far it’s goin’ to go. But one step leads to another, yessir, we all know that, don’t we?” Reverend Wilkins chuckled without humor, his eyes raking the gathering. “Yes, ain’t one of us who’s not been fooled. Or tried to fool ourselves ‘bout sin.
“The ol’ sin just keeps on mountin’, and right there beside it rises that first cousin to sin, guilt. The burden just keeps gettin’ heavier, don’t it? More sin, more guilt, and before we know it, we’re lost. We get so caught up in the burden we forget what it’s like to walk like free men. So we start lookin’ for some way to hide. Drugs, alcohol, sex, anythin’ at all, yessir, anythin’ to make that burden easier to bear.”
Here and there faces among the congregation showed the agony of unbearable burdens, of mistakes made, of people they knew who had been lost to the darkness. The sounds they made were not words so much as cries of raw emotion.
Reverend Wilkins wiped his face once more, paused long enough to let the congregation quiet itself, then went on, “All seems so easy at first. So fine. Yessir, we just don’t want to face up to where it is we’re headed. Y’all get out your pencils, now, I g
ot somethin’ I want you to write down. Want you to put this up somewhere so’s you’ll look at it and read it every time you start thinkin’ on that first little step. Yeah. Next time you want to walk off the narrow path, next time you think ain’t nobody’s gonna know when you play around, I want you to remember this.”
The preacher fumbled in a pocket, brought out a pair of reading glasses, slipped them on his nose, said, “This here’s what I call the Twelve Stages of Sin. Y’all ready to write? Okay. First comes pleasing, then easy, then delightful. That first big turnin’ from the path comes with the next step, frequent.” He repeated the four words as paper rustled and pencils recorded them.
He peered over the tops of the lenses, said, “There must be at least a few of you out there who know what happens after that. Yeah. C’mon, all you sinners out there, what comes next? Or by the time you get to this point, are you so blind you can’t see anymore where you’re headed?” He leaned over the pulpit, rasped in a half whisper, “Or maybe you just don’t want to see. Yessir. Maybe that’s it.”
No one dared venture an answer, so Reverend Wilkins went on. “All right. After frequent comes confirmed. And then the next big turnin’ is made, when you slip into impenitent. Y’all know what that is. That’s just a big word for not bein’ sorry. Naw. Y’all don’t care it’s against God’s will. Y’all want to do it, don’t you? Yeah. That’s all that matters. Yessir. Ain’t nothin’ more important than doin’ that little sin just one more time.
“From there the sinner becomes obstinate, then resolute. And with the next turnin’ he just doesn’t bother to fight anymore—not with himself, not with others, not with Satan. He’s just resigned. And once he’s resigned to sin, well sir, it’s just a small step to the end. Ruined.”
The silence in the church was total.
The pastor slipped off the spectacles, his hands visibly shaking with emotion. “Ruined!” The word was a hoarse shout of pain. “Ruined! Lord God Almighty, there goes another sinner lost to Satan! How on earth did he ever get so far away from your path, Father? How could we let a loved one get so lost in darkness?”
He ignored the answering cries of his congregation, thrust a trembling finger out over their heads, called, “How many of you are gonna be layin’ there on your deathbed, prayin’ for a lost loved one? How many’ll look back to that first little step and wish, ‘Oh, Lord, how I wish I could’ve stopped it ‘fore it got too far’?”
Reverend Wilkins dropped his voice down to a dusky rumble, asked, “And how many of you’re gonna have to pray for your own poor souls? How many’re gonna be makin’ that final stand, knockin’ on the door of the heavenly kingdom, and quakin’ in your boots ‘cause you’ve got caught up in the path of sinnin’ against your God?”
The congregation followed his lead, quieted to the occasional moan, the occasional half-whispered prayer.
He let them sit and think on it for a long moment before finishing with the solemn words, “So far from where we sit back to that little girl raisin’ her hand and wishin’ God a blessed good mornin’.” His eyes closed. “So far, Lord, and yet so close. All it took was just one step. All it took was just settin’ you aside and gettin’ lost in the cares of the world. All it took was lettin’ ourselves forget what was important. All it took was openin’ our lives to sin. Just one step, Lord, all it takes is just one step.”
He opened his eyes to gaze once more over the group. “So when y’all see old Mrs. Simpkins’ son Julius out there dealin’ his drugs and sellin’ his women, you stop and say a prayer for that poor ruined child of God. Don’t you condemn him, nossir, don’t you even start to judge that poor man. You’re walkin’ the same path as him every time you give in to that first easy, pleasin’, delightful step of sinnin’. You’re walkin’ right there alongside him, temptin’ fate and close to losin’ your place in heaven. Y’all remember that. Let Julius be a livin’ example of what can happen if you don’t keep your eyes fastened on your Lord.”
****
It was not until they were almost on the little parsonage’s front porch that Jeremy said, “My, but that man can preach a sermon.”
“It’s certainly nice to know we’ve got this to look forward to on Sunday,” TJ agreed, hoping Catherine would feel the same.
“Yessir,” Jeremy said. “Sure is fine, knowin’ you’ve found a home.”
TJ hesitated before knocking on the door, said, “You don’t think you’d be more comfortable in a, well, a church farther uptown, Jem?”
Jeremy faced his friend, said, “You know, the only time you ever get uptight around me’s when you start goin’ on about color.”
“I just said—”
“I know exactly what you said and I know exactly what you meant. Now stop with your nonsense and knock on the man’s door.”
A very large, very black woman opened the door, gave them both a big smile. “Hello, I’m Rose Wilkins.”
“Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Wilkins. I’m Thomas Case, and this is my friend, Jeremy Hughes.”
“Mr. Case, Mr. Hughes. A pleasure to meet you both.”
“Thank you for having us in your home, ma’am.”
“Y’all come on in. The reverend’s in the den. Lunch’ll be ready in just a few minutes.”
Their progress down the hall was slowed by nine screaming children who poured out of the back passage and raced around them. Mrs. Wilkins swiped the air over their heads, said sharply, “Quiet down and mind your manners!” Slightly subdued, they giggled their way out the door.
She gave an apologetic smile, said, “My two eldest daughters are here with their families.”
“Children are the same right the way ‘round the world,” Jeremy replied. “Quiet only when they’re asleep or stuffin’ their faces.”
She gave him a shrewd glance, said, “I don’t believe my husband mentioned what you did, Mr. Hughes.”
Jeremy decided those arms of hers could fell an ox. “I’m up here workin’ as Mr. Case’s servant, Mrs. Wilkins.”
Beside him TJ breathed a silent sigh and examined the carpet at his feet.
“I see,” she said, clearly not believing a word of it. “Well, y’all go say hello to the reverend. We’ll be callin’ you in just a few minutes.”
The lines on Reverend Wilkins’ face were etched more deeply than before the sermon. TJ remembered his grandfather had once said that the way to tell if a preacher had his heart in his message was by seeing if he aged ten years while he was up at the pulpit.
But the strength was still there, and the deeply centered determination. He accepted their compliments with a solemn nod, as though more intent on whether it had a useful effect than on whether they enjoyed it. TJ took the seat facing out the back window and onto the yard’s single tree, gazed out at its bare leafless limbs, and decided that here was a man he could trust.
“I have a problem I’d like to discuss with you,” TJ began. “It’s a personal one, and I know we don’t know each other very well, but I’d like to tell you about it anyway. That is, if you have the time.”
“Why don’t we go ahead and start,” Reverend Wilkins replied gravely, not seeming to be the least surprised by the request. “We can always finish up after lunch if need be.”
“You want me to wait outside?” Jeremy asked.
“No, no, it’s nothing you haven’t heard already.” TJ took a breath, hesitated, said, “I don’t even know how to start.”
“Try at the beginning,” the reverend suggested. “Just take your time, Mr. Case. Ain’t nobody in any hurry on a Sunday afternoon.”
So TJ began back at the lake, worked his way through the vision, described the letter and the conversation with Congressman Silverwood, and had just arrived in Washington when Mrs. Wilkins opened the door.
“I been callin’ and shoutin’ now for fifteen minutes,” she said, the massive body thrust forward with indignation. “What on earth are y’all up to so’s you can’t hear me say lunch is on the table? I got nine childrens that’r
e just about ready to drive me crazy.”
“Go ahead and start, darlin’,” Reverend Wilkins told her gently. “It looks like we may be here a while yet.”
She gave them an uncertain look, said, “I’ll put your plates in the oven, but don’t you be any longer than you have to,” and left.
The reverend turned back to TJ, said, “Just you go on right where you were, Mr. Case.”
“These have been some of the most confusing and frustrating weeks of my entire life,” TJ said. “Ever since I’ve arrived here I’ve felt like a cog that’s been plugged into the wrong machine. The people I’m supposed to work with are as far removed as they can be from what I’m used to. I don’t even have an idea what I’m supposed to be doing professionally, much less for the Lord.”
TJ weighed the air with his hand, searched for a way to make himself understood. “It’s not that I doubt the vision, or my call to come here. I just wish, well, I wish I had some kind of reassurance. I look back at what I’ve done, uprooting myself and my family, traveling to a strange place, taking on a job and responsibilities which quite frankly seem a little unreal, and I just wish I could be sure that I’ve done what’s right.
“I’m praying for some kind of confirmation, some indication that this is as it’s supposed to be, and all I hear is silence. Quite frankly, I’m worried. Very worried. It’s not that I doubt the Lord. I doubt myself.”
Reverend Wilkins was silent for a while. He swiveled his chair around so he could see out the back window, but his eyes did not focus on anything visible. TJ was content to sit and feel the release of getting it all off his chest. Jeremy waited in utter stillness.
When the reverend turned back around, it was to Jeremy that he spoke first. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re doin’ up here in Washington, Mr. Hughes.”
The Presence Page 14
