Blake remembered thinking years before of how he would have made the church bigger, more fancy, if he had been consulted on the design. Even then he wasn’t really religious. He never really “got it” and felt that people went to church because they were supposed to. Because they lived in a small community and, if they didn’t, others would look down on them. So they went for the ham and egg suppers, for the potluck dinners, tried to stay awake for the sermons and wasted a good day each week, Blake thought. Some had even more time to waste as they went both Sunday morning and evening, and then again Wednesday night!
But they had something that money couldn’t buy, Blake had begun to realize. They had each other and were there to comfort one another in times of need. Blake knew that this was his time of need. He also knew he had no right to ask for help, for forgiveness. He had given nothing to the community. Had shunned it, in fact, as he pursued his own dreams selfishly. He was always too busy, he had told Angelica with a straight face, because it was largely true. But the larger truth was that he wanted nothing to do with this or any church. Sitting there made him feel uncomfortable. Angelica led him to the second row on the right side and saved a spot for the girls for when they were dismissed. Blake sat next to the aisle.
He turned to his right and looked behind, recognizing most of the faces he had grown up among. Faces both familiar and strange to him at the same time. They nodded at him in a welcoming manner, inviting him to stay and visit often with their peaceful smiles. Blake returned the nods, returned the smiles as he took in the faces, in search of comfort and reassurance. Making eye contact with friendly faces allowed Blake to feel more at ease. He stood a little taller and turned left to look for faces on the other side. Memories flooded back to him from faces that had known him all along. Faces that he had abandoned, had forgotten. A calm swept over him as he welcomed them all, feeling like a security blanket that comforted him. His eyes finished their sweep when they met the preacher, seated with his Bible in his lap with an empty chair on one side of him and the pulpit on the other.
The music began playing asking for all to rise and sing to begin the worship. Blake stood and took Angelica’s hand. As he did, the door opened from the Sunday School. The children walked out and found their parents or guardians. Walking behind the children, dressed in his clean and pressed sheriff’s uniform, was Lonnie Jacobs. Blake inhaled and held his breath as his body tensed. Shit! he said silently, his mind forgetting where his vulgar mouth was.
The sheriff walked to the front and took the empty chair next to the pastor.
What in God’s name is he doing here? Blake thought to himself, realizing the irony of his question given the setting. And then Blake remembered. Sheriff Lonnie Jacobs was also Pastor Lonnie Jacobs of the Bull Creek Baptist Church. Blake had completely forgotten, only vaguely recalling the fact that Lonnie had become a pastor before being elected sheriff.
Lonnie had made the highly publicized decision to run for sheriff when Blake was in junior high, saying that ministers were in the world to make a positive difference, and what better way than to use his understanding of God’s word to take on societal problems and enforce the law. “The Lord has me here in this moment and this is how he wants to use me,” Lonnie had said in his campaign interview for the Clayton Tribune. The Atlanta Journal Constitution also covered those words and the campaign, much to the amusement of the educated masses to the south. The message would have fallen on deaf ears in most parts of the country, and certainly in Atlanta for that matter. But in the rural belly of the Bible Belt the chords of Lonnie’s calling rang true. He was elected by forty-seven votes, a landslide.
Lonnie’s eyes surveyed the room with both compassion and righteousness. His eyes met Blake’s, held them for a moment, and continued around the room. The pastor invited the congregation to be seated and began by saying what the others had already known. That they were honored to have a guest pastor that day from the other side of Rainey Mountain, who was here to spread the word of God and to deliver a special sermon. Lonnie thanked the pastor and stood before the pulpit. Blake didn’t take his eyes off him, outwardly appearing to be supremely interested in what he was saying. Inside Blake’s mind was another story as his worst fears zoomed and crashed into one another, occasionally interrupted by a poignant word or phrase from the sheriff.
Looming tall from the pulpit, Lonnie overlooked the congregation as he opened his Bible. “Can there be anything worse than isolation?” Lonnie asked the congregation as he began his sermon. “The feeling of helplessness, of being alone when confronted with crisis. With tragedy. No one that knows how you feel, if you’re sick, if you’ve lost a close friend.” He surveyed the room and parked his eyes on Blake before continuing. “No one you can confess to. Can tell the truth about what you’ve done.”
Shit! A lump formed in Blake’s throat, he was sure it was a massive, visible lump that parched his throat and suffocated his breath. Thoughts raced through Blake’s mind of isolation, the feeling of loneliness he had. It was as if the sheriff...the pastor was speaking directly to him, about him. How could he know anything about what I’ve done? What I’m feeling?
“For each of you,” Lonnie continued, “for all of us, we are not alone. We have the Lord to hear us.” The men of the congregation spoke up. “Amen brother. Amen.”
“We have each other to comfort us, to be there and share in the times of despair, whether they be of a singular and personal nature, as in the case of a grave illness.” Lonnie’s eyes fell to the loving family of an ailing elderly man seated on the front row, clearly attending one of his last sermons.
“Or in the case of a natural calamity that unites us in despair, such as Hurricane Katrina, or the horrible tornadoes that tore through the South in recent years, killing so many innocent children of God.”
Angelica squeezed Blake’s hand in a reassuring way.
“Imagine how much worse those times could be. Would be, if you had to endure them alone.” Lonnie said. Heads nodded throughout the congregation. Blake’s head dropped, his eyes falling from Lonnie. He realized this and popped his head back up, fighting against the burdensome weight he felt levied on his mind and his shoulders.
“Today, we live in a world of greed,” Lonnie said. As he began the main thesis of his sermon, Blake felt connected via a tunnel directly to Lonnie, the people on each side fading as the message was channeled through a conduit directly from God through the pastor to Blake. Or is the message from the sheriff himself, Blake thought?
“Sometimes the greed is far away. On places like Wall Street, where unscrupulous souls worship and pursue material wealth at any and all costs.” All heads nodded knowingly to a chorus of “amens.”
“But the temptation isn’t always far away. It’s sometimes among us, my friends, luring us away from the Lord, away from Jesus,” Lonnie said looking at Blake. “Away from the law.”
“The book of Timothy is very clear about this temptation,” Lonnie continued as he read Timothy 6:10. For the love of money is a root of all eviclass="underline" which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows. “Pierced themselves, my brothers and sisters. Not the way these teenagers pierce their ears and body parts these days.” Lonnie said with a affable smile. Eyes looked around the room as a couple of shaggy-haired teens on the back row hung their heads, waiting for the disproving attention to pass.