Pastor Landris nodded as he scanned over the overflow of congregants. “Paul, who lets us know in the beginning of Titus that he is a servant of God and an apostle of Jesus Christ, is writing a letter to Titus, whom he calls his own son after the common faith. He’s telling Titus that he left him in Crete, which is a large island southeast of Greece in the southern part of the Aegean Sea. Crete is mentioned in the historical analysis in the New Testament three times. The first time is on the Day of Pentecost, where Jews from Crete were in Jerusalem and witnessed those powerful Pentecostal events. The second time is when Paul was being sent to Rome for a trial and his ship passed by Crete. And the third time was after Paul was imprisoned, and he visited Crete, leaving Titus to establish churches there to ordain elders in every city as Paul appointed him to do.
“In Paul’s letter to Titus, he gives him the qualifications of elders or bishops, with Titus 1:9 stating, ‘Holding fast the faithful word as he hath been taught, that he may be able by sound doctrine both to exhort and to convince the gainsayers.’ Gainsayers are folks who contradict, so when you see the word ‘convince’ in this scripture, it means to convict those folks who contradict. Most of you know those kinds of folks: folks who try to use scripture for their own gain. So in this letter to Titus, Paul was warning against false teachers. In fact, he told Titus when you find these false teachers to ‘rebuke them sharply, that they may be sound in the faith.’ That’s in verse thirteen. Paul goes on to say in verse sixteen that they profess that they know God.”
Pastor Landris took a few steps to his right. “If I was to ask right now how many of you know God, I’m sure almost every hand in this building would go up. But, if I were to ask how many of you do your works deny that as truth, then we’ll be dealing with a whole other matter. Did you know that your mouth can say one thing and that your works . . . your actions can totally deny what your mouth is saying? Well, that’s how you can tell false folks. They can talk a good game, but when you look at their actions, when you check out their working record, their works are screaming an entirely different thing. How many of you have heard, ‘don’t tell me you love me; show me you love me’?” Pastor Landris raised his own hand as he looked out among the congregation.
“Some of you may or may not know this, but my beautiful wife . . . the bride of my affection, Johnnie Mae Landris, was once a big-time author.”
There was chattering in the audience as people said things to each other.
“Yes, that’s right. Johnnie Mae Taylor is the name you’ll find her books listed under. And she was a really good writer, too. Of course, she hasn’t written anything new in a long time. She says it’s because she’s too busy enjoying the best job in town: being my wife, a mother to our two children, and being the rib that was taken from my side as she walks beside me in this ministry.” Pastor Landris smiled.
“See . . . some of y’all missed that. I said beside me. I know some of you don’t like hearing that. I’m talking about those men who run around spouting off ‘I’m the head, and my wife had better get behind me.’ Well, God created woman using the rib from Adam. I take that to mean, number one, my wife is a part of me. She wasn’t taken from my head to go ahead of me. Not to be behind me as she wasn’t taken from my back. Not to be stepped on because she wasn’t taken from my foot. But to be beside me, as she was taken from my side.” Pastor Landris smiled as he shook his head.
“I don’t know why I went there. There must be somebody in here who needed to hear that word today. Men, stop treating your wives as though they are second-class citizens. Recognize who she is, and start treating her the way God’s Word admonishes a real man to treat his bride. Love her, the way Christ loves the church. Okay, let me get back to what I was trying to say.” He shook his head again.
“Glory!” Pastor Landris did a little shout and dance. “Somebody better hear what I’m saying. There’s a husband in here, you’re not doing right by your wife. You’re not treating her the way you’re supposed to be treating her. You need to get right before you find yourself left. God is speaking to me right now. For some reason, He won’t let me move on to what I was trying to say. Okay, I’m going to say it again, Mr. It’s-My-Thing-and-I’ll-Do-What-I-Want-To-Do. You need to do what God’s Word is telling you to do. Obey God. Get right or you’re going to get left.” Pastor Landris raised his right hand toward the ceiling.
“Okay, okay. I’m through with that. Glory to God. I’m through. But I feel something happening right now. I feel hearts being changed right now. I see some men stepping up into the role God is calling you to. I see some marriages being restored right now. I see healing taking place right now.”
Pockets of people in the congregation began to stand and clap.
“I feel God moving right now. I was trying to tell you what my wife, the author, says about the rule of writing called Show, Don’t Tell. But God is doing something right now in this place. He’s touching hearts. He’s healing broken hearts. Oh, I feel the power of God moving in the place today. The rule of Show, Don’t Tell means instead of telling me what happened, show it to me. Let me see it for myself. Hallelujah, I feel the anointing falling all over this place.”
Everyone was standing on their feet now, praising God.
“Show, don’t tell. Show, don’t tell. God is showing us His power right now. I’m up here trying to tell you, but God is showing you. He’s showing His love for you, right now. He’s touching hearts, right now. He’s taking away pain, right now.”
Pastor Landris fell to his knees and lifted up holy hands toward Heaven. “Receive! Receive! Receive God’s healing, right now. Let God wrap His loving arms around you.” Pastor Landris hugged himself. “Let God lift you up from where you are and set your feet on a higher plain. What kind of works are speaking for you? What are your actions telling people? Show, don’t tell! Show . . . don’t tell!”
Clarence Walker began to play the keyboard and sing, “May the Works I’ve Done Speak for Me.”
The entire congregation was shouting now and in a place of total praise.
Chapter 15
Which in time past was to thee unprofitable, but now profitable to thee and to me.
—Philemon 11
Darius and Paris sat in William’s office waiting for him to come back. It was Monday—their first day of work—and William was doing his version of orientation.
“Did you go to church yesterday?” Paris asked Darius while waiting on William to return.
“Of course.”
“Me, too, for what it was worth.”
“So it wasn’t good?”
Paris shrugged. “It was okay. But once you’ve had a taste of the real thing prepared and seasoned just right, it’s sort of hard to go back to eating cardboard.”
Darius laughed. “I got that. There is a difference in something that’s good and something that’s a ‘that’ll do.’”
“Absolutely.” Paris turned her body more toward him. “So what did Pastor Landris preach about?”
“Oh, it was about people who talk a good game, but their works don’t line up with their words. ‘Show, don’t tell’ was his subject. Then he got over into talking about his wife and how much he loved her, how great of an author she used to be.”
“His wife is an author?”
“Yeah. I think they say she used to write fiction. But she’s not doing that anymore, probably because she couldn’t make much money at it. Everybody knows that black folks don’t read. And if she’s writing for Christians, she can forget them, because they only want to read the Bible and the big-name folks putting out books.”
“That’s not true. Black folks do read.”
“Oh, then I stand corrected. Maybe what I should have said is that they don’t buy the books. One person will buy the book and pass it around to everybody and their momma.” Darius laughed. “You know how we do.”
“Yeah. And then when that author is no longer doing it, people wonder what happened to them.” Paris raised her hand. “I�
�m guilty. I’ve done that. Maybe that’s what happened to one of the authors I used to enjoy reading. I never thought about it or her, until now.”
“You and I know it’s all about the Benjamins. If the man ain’t making no money off of it, the man don’t want to do it.” Darius puckered his lips and smacked them. “That’s the only reason I’m sitting here in this chair right now.”
Paris nodded, then grinned. “Is that right? So you mean to tell me you’re not here because you really believe in Lawrence Simmons and you want to be sure he gets reelected?”
“Oh, you’re slick. You’re trying to set me up.” He nodded a few times. “I see who you really are. So, Miss Lady, why are you here? I mean, I can’t see you really needing the money. Your Daddy gets paid. Your husband gets paid.”
“Don’t count out that I don’t need the money.”
“So you’re trying to tell me that you do?” Darius readjusted his body, turning even more to Paris as he leaned in.
“Andrew refuses to help me get Jasmine from Gabrielle. So I have to pay for a lawyer on my own. And I don’t know if you know this or not, but lawyers aren’t cheap by any means.”
“I heard that,” Darius said. “So you don’t have any rainy-day funds stashed away somewhere that you can tap into? A trust fund maybe?”
“You really do watch entirely too much television. Because that kind of stuff you see mainly on TV. I buy clothes and shoes with almost every dime I can get my hands on. So, no: I don’t have any money squirreled away somewhere that I can tap into. Not the kind of money I’ll need in a hurry. Besides, how hard can this job be?”
William closed the door loudly, which had to be on purpose. “Good question. And I’m just the man to answer it for you.” He handed Paris, then Darius each a folder. “This is your instruction guide of your duties and what we’re expecting from you.”
“So Daddy’s not coming for this?” Paris asked.
“No. Your Daddy won’t be a part of this. I’m his campaign director and right-hand man, as you well know, Paris.”
“And don’t forget best friend in the whole wide world,” Paris said more to be mockingly sarcastic.
William didn’t crack a smile. “You two have been hired as co-chairs to work on getting the youth registered, if they’re not already registered to vote, and out to the polls on voting day if they are. Our research has shown that young people respond more favorably to young people. We call it the sheep theory.”
Darius snickered. “The sheep theory.”
“Yes,” William said. “Sheep beget sheep. If we want to bring young people over to our side, then who does it better than other young people? Sheep bring in other sheep.”
Darius readjusted his body, pressing his pants straight after placing his foot on the floor. “I heard some preacher say once that the reason people are referred to in the Bible as sheep is because sheep are dumb.”
William stared at Darius for a few seconds. Darius sat up even taller.
“This job is not a joke. Okay? And we’re paying you both very well, so we’re expecting you to take this position seriously. You both are receiving the exact same salary.”
Paris raised her hand.
“Yes, Paris?” William said.
“How do we know we’re getting paid the same salary?”
“Because I just told you that you were.”
“Yeah, no offense to you, but just because you say it doesn’t mean you’re telling the truth or that it’s so.”
Darius almost laughed out loud but swallowed it before it came out all the way. His patted his chest to ensure it had gone all the way down.
“Paris,” William said, “I have no reason to lie.”
“You’re in politics,” Paris said. “Need I say more?”
This time Darius did laugh out. “I’m sorry. But she does have a point. You know nobody believes people who are in politics. Y’all always figure out a way to get around the truth. I think it’s called creative truth. You know: like creative nonfiction.”
“Okay, fine, then,” William said. “Darius, tell Paris how much you’re being paid.”
“You want me to tell her?”
“Yes.”
Darius placed his hand up to his mouth. Other than his wife, he’d never really told anyone how much he made. And even the other day when he told Tiffany what his salary was going to be, he hadn’t told her the whole truth.
“Darius, please tell Paris how much we promised you,” William said, taking his time to emphasize each word spoken.
“Five thousand dollars for seven months, which includes paying for the whole month of May and the whole month of November regardless of November’s outcome,” Darius said.
Paris nodded. “Okay.”
“So you’re satisfied?” William asked, his face set on Paris.
“I’m good. I just figure if we’re doing the same job, we should be getting the same pay. I know you and Daddy think I’m useless . . . that I’m not worth much—”
“That’s not true, Paris. In fact, if you must know: It was your father who suggested we hire you for this position.” William smiled. “So are there any more questions regarding the money aspect of this job?”
“Nope,” Paris said. “I’m good.”
“I’m good,” Darius said. “Unless you want to up the amount.”
William rolled his eyes at Darius. “All right, then, we’ll move on. As I was saying, you’re both receiving the same salary, so we expect to get the same effort. You will be working long and hard hours. The monies we’re paying you are from hardworking donors who expect us to be good stewards. Because you’re dealing with getting to the young folk, you’re going to have to go where they are. That means high schools—”
“High schools?” Paris said, pulling her body back in recoil. “People in high schools are too young to vote.”
William nodded. “High schools have high school seniors, many of whom are already eighteen, and others who will turn eighteen before the November election. We’d like to get them before the other candidate can get to them. Let’s get them registered and let them know that we respect them enough that we’ve taken time and effort to court their vote. People love to feel wanted.”
“Okay, so high schools,” Darius said. “Where else?”
“High schools, colleges, universities, churches, and nightclubs.”
“Nightclubs?” Paris said. “You want us to go to nightclubs?”
“I want you to go wherever young people congregate,” William said. “That includes the park and various church functions. Barack Obama got the young people out and you see how that worked out for him.”
“Do you have a Facebook and a Twitter account already for the campaign?” Darius asked.
“A face what and a twit who?” William asked.
Darius leaned in. “Social media. It’s the growing thing these days. We can send out tweets and start a Facebook fan page. That’s where a lot of young people hang out.”
“Well, you two know more about all of that stuff than I do. Get together and work it out. That’s what we’re paying you for,” William said. “And if either of you have jealous spouses, then you need to bring them on board about what’s expected of you. Because neither I nor Lawrence have the time to babysit or intervene with marriage counseling. And if you have other projects that are in need of you taking any time off, then you may as well put it on hold until after this election is over. I’m telling you: You’re about to enter the crazy work zone.”
“So you’re saying we won’t be getting any days or time off?” Paris asked. “We’re working seven days a week?”
William sat down for the first time since he’d entered the room. “Pretty much that’s what I’m saying. But look at it this way: You’re being paid thirty-five thousand dollars for seven months work. In fact, not even a full seven months, since you missed working at the beginning of this month and there won’t be anything much to do after the first part of November and the election
has been decided. Most folks don’t make that much in a year. You can rest and take care of personal business after you’re done. But this election is going to be a hard-fought one. Frank Johnson’s folks aren’t going to be taking off and letting up. Therefore, we need all hands on deck, every hand to the plow. So if either of you have changed your minds, then speak now.” William became quiet and looked first at Paris, then Darius. “Or forever hold your peace.”
“Or at least hold it for the next six months,” Darius said, looking over at Paris.
“Now . . . does anyone have any more questions?”
“Yes,” Darius said. “What about an expense account?”
“That packet I just gave you has instructions and forms that you’ll need to fill out and turn in to Mattie Stevens, Lawrence’s administrative assistant. She’ll process them and reimburse you for any legitimate monies spent on the campaign.”
Darius began to shake his head. “Oh, no. That won’t work for me. That’s too old school. I need operating funds upfront. I can’t be using my own money and waiting on a reimbursement. You need to get us a credit slash debit card with access to instant money. If you’re looking for us to be doing all this driving around town, using up gas as high as gas is, we need money upfront for that. Well, let me just speak for myself: I need money upfront.”
“You and Paris will likely be going to many of these places together,” William said.
“And—?”
“And that will cut down on the gas expense.”
“You still have to put gas in the car,” Darius said. “Trust me: Prayer does not fill up your tank. I know because I’ve tried it. Getting into clubs costs money, especially if you’re a guy. Trust me: I know that, too. And going to churches”—Darius shook his head—“those preachers be looking for you to put something in the collection plate and they hate money that makes noise. They like the quiet kind. I know because I’ve gone to some churches that actually have a credit card and an ATM machine in the place. I kid you not. So you need to talk to whomever and get us both a card with a balance of cash on it. Then we can fill out those forms, turn them in, and when the money comes back, whoever needs it, can be reimbursed.”
The Other Side of Dare Page 9
