Extras
ETHNOGRAPHY
StrongWoman Ministries
One thing’s for sure, it’s not church as usual.
From an observer’s point of view, I couldn’t tell if I was at a party, some type of Christian festival, or what. I started “in the beginning” at the point of entry to one our Friday night services. In the narrow, well-lit hallway leading to the worship place, I was met with a line of people, mostly women; white, black, fat, skinny, tall, short; and children removing their shoes and aligning them against the wall while they wait anxiously for prayer. Prior to entry into the sanctuary, everyone received prayer. Generally there is one ministry team member is assigned this task, her name is Alice. She’s an eighty-year-young dynamo, anointing people with oil, praying and prophesying the heavens down on people before they join the others inside.
The closer I get in the line to Alice, the clearer the focus of the large poster which reads “StrongWoman Ministries Vision and Mission”. On the other wall is the StrongWoman Creed. As I pass through the line I notice that the clock on the wall in the kitchen reads 9:00 p.m., a time that most people would be leaving any church service. I assumed that no one in the line that night would think it strange that I was in the line because everyone has to go through this passage, although they might question why I am just now arriving.
Approaching the door to the worship room, the sound of the music is at a decibel that would make most little grandma’s cringe. Track lights, cranberry colored Berber carpet and drywall equals our worship place. The door trembled; the doorknob rattled. I opened the door to dim lights, loud music, and oddly ecstatic people all barefoot. Flags are flowing to a song which is probably not as well known as others in the Christian genre of music, “Full of Pride”, by Jason Upton. Those without flags are walking the floor in prayer, some with hands lifted, others not. The rest are laying prostrate on the carpeted floor in prayer or worship, or just seated on the floor. Charlotte is snoring. Don’t think she’s praying right now. She’s allowed. She had a nervous breakdown after the death of one of her children and now has mental and psychological challenges. She is generally left alone because we learned that this is a place where she could rest. But seriously, who could sleep with all of this going on?
Songs changed, but the genre of music, which was prophetic music, didn’t change. It went from slower music to faster songs. Everyone participated in the experience for at least three more hours, then the music quieted; and a woman preached for over an hour. No one seemed restless, but all sat on the floor deliberately engaged through what is called the “call and response”; a way of responding to a message in some traditional churches.
MG, overseer and founder of StrongWoman Ministries, said the common goal of SWM is “for women to find their place in ministry, grow up spiritually, be fruitful and multiply”. I pointed to the mission and vision statement and asked how that meshed with what she just said. Her reply was “it’s very simple Theresa, and you should know this, because you wrote them; it takes a strong woman to bind the strong man. We are not reproducing church women, we are reproducing spiritual power brokers, to put into layman’s terms.”
“Men?” I asked.
“Men, what?” She responded.
“Men at StrongWoman? But then I guess it wouldn’t be Strong Woman anymore, it would be strong people?”
“I’m doing what God has called me to do, and that is raise up women in ministry. Will I turn men away? Absolutely not. This is not a gender bias thing here. It’s a matter of obeying God completely regardless of how weird it may look to someone else.”
“Well, female ministers are still not accepted in many churches.”
“And? This is not seminary, Theresa. We are not preparing women to find an acceptable place in some man’s pulpit or within an institutional church. We are preparing them to know what God has called them to do and become well able to accomplish that mission – and we give them permission to do that and to think expansively! The world is your pulpit you know?”
I didn’t want to let the window of opportunity close on the word “weird” so I went right out there. “Speaking of weird, we meet on Friday nights, sometimes all night long, barefoot, loud music, communion, you know…” MG interrupted, “…and what’s weird about that? Is it because ‘they don’t do it like that at your church’”? She leaned forward and looked over her black Versace-rimmed glasses, down her finely sloped nose and said “We’re not your church, in fact, it’s not a church at all; it’s a ministry. And the institution church, as I will call it, has so cleverly put us in a place where they can be comfortable with our existence. They call us a para-church ministry. Whatever.”
It was clear. StrongWoman Ministries is an anomaly, and that I shouldn’t care. Truthfully, I don’t, but for the sake of the ethnography, I asked what denomination the ministry was affiliated with, and Michelle replied, “None. We are not affiliated with any denomination, yet because our women come from many different denominations, you could say that we are interdenominational, but once again, we are freer than that?”
“Freer than that” meant that StrongWoman is not hindered by any decisions made by a religious denominational hierarchy. Internally, the ministry team who represent the leadership of the ministry maintain an open door policy for any grievances within the organization. We also have a strong biblically based accountability code and a written set of bi-laws to address issues of error. However, StrongWoman Ministries is often referred to as an organism rather than an organization because of its free flowing spirit.
The person who didn’t know any better would assume that her spirit was a little bitter; and they wouldn’t be too far off. I call it bitter-sweet. Her tough skin comes from years of rejection, sexism, racism, and from having the call of ministry on her life at a time when it really wasn’t cool for women. For example, I recall an event that I was directly influenced by was a letter that I received addressed to her from another pastor, and member of a prominent minister’s affiliation which denounced StrongWoman Ministries as a “lesbian cult”. Although one of the women from StrongWoman was also a member of his church, I am not sure what sparked such terrible statements about us.
So you learn to be a strong woman behind clowns like Rev. Joe Donought. Another thing that you learn is the new language. Beyond the heavenly language that is afforded to the believer as was in the Book of the Acts of the Apostles, in our genre of non-denominationalism and inter-denominationalism, was the Apostolic Reformation. That is what we more closely identify with. We acknowledge the five-fold ministry according to Ephesians 4:11. Those within the apostolic reformation, which simply means the restoring of the apostles and prophets to the church, is words like “apostolic, prophetic, anointing, kingdom, signs, wonders, miracles, etc.” Not that these terms are not used within the church, but they are not used within most traditional and even non-denominational churches.
Behaviors like near all night worship experiences, totally free style worship, prayer upon demand, are indigenous to our community. Also, there are no chairs, no worship leader, and no set time that service starts or ends. That could spell rebellion and confusion in many churches, but for us it means: worship is not a spectator’s sport and service, if you want to call it that, starts when you get here, and ends when the Holy Spirit releases us.
Commitment to the ministry is adhered to by those who are in leadership, as well as required giving in support of the ministry. However, women who transient through the ministry are under no obligation to continue with us or financially support us, although most do. For those who wish to become a StrongWoman, emerging as apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastor or teachers will be engaged by us at a different level for ministry equipping purposes. One of the first things they receive to commit to is the StrongWoman Creed.
We renounce the hidden things of darkness.
We reject sin reigning in our mortal bodies.
We cast down all imaginations and every high and lofty thing that exhalts itself against the knowledge of God.
We proclaim liberty to the captives.
We bring every thought to the obedience of God.
We cast the whole of our cares on to God because He cares for us.
We take shelter under the shadow of the Almighty.
We walk by faith and not by sight.
We hid God’s Word in our hearts to prevent sin.
We trust in the Lord with all of our hearts.
We do not lean to our own understanding, but we acknowledge God in all of our ways.
We embrace the all encompassing love of Jesus Christ who has healed us from all past hurst.
We worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness.
We serve the Lord with gladness.
We love the Lord with all of our hearts and our neighbors as ourselves.
We walk in line with the Word of God as it relates to our relationships.
We believe in the restoration of the apostles and prophets to the church.
We believe the Holy Spirit is given to those who ask for it according to Acts 1:8
We believe in the sanctifying power of the Holy Spirit by whose indwelling the Christian is enabled to live a holy life.
We believe the gifts of the Spirit are available to us are to be used to edify the body of Christ.
Anyone who has to ask what this means is not ready to be a StrongWoman, but is always welcomed to join us every Friday night. Doors open at 7:00 p.m., but the worship starts when you get there!
Analysis When examined against the criteria to establish whether a given social group is a discourse community as set forth by John Swales I have concluded that SWM and other groups like it are indeed discourse communities.
The common public goal for SWM is training for ministry, as MG, founder of StrongWoman Ministries so adroitly pointed out in the interview “is for women to find their place in ministry, grow up spiritually, be fruitful and multiply” said Graves.
The discursive forum that Swales says must be accessible to all participants would be the Holy Bible, informally referred to within the group as “the Sword” or “your Sword”, “the Word”. Also the Holy Spirit who is given to believers as a compass:
“But the Comforter, [which is] the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.” John 14:26 KJV.
The ministry uses and relies on this forum to accomplish its work within the hearts and minds of the women. Its teachings are the foundation that SWM builds upon.
In addition to the various ways of communicating within the services, the camaraderie amongst the women, etc., feedback is also established in the various forms of ministry. Some women preach, teach, counsel, etc.
This group does share a specific genre of the Christian community known as the Apostolic Reformation. While we do not formally subscribe to any denominational theory, the Apostolic Reformation is what we identify with the most. Many times, we refer to ourselves as being “the remnant”. What that means is that we have identified an even narrower identity among the group. The term remnant, is difficult to describe without sounding elitist; but it is the most sold out (positive) of the born again believers, whether or not they are engaged in any form of ministry. Then add to that “the remnant within the remnant” which cuts deeper into commitment to the mission of God.
We don’t like to refer to anyone of us as experts; leaders would be as close as we will go with that. However, within the organization, there are ministry team leaders who jointly hold organization power within the group. These 3 other individuals were selected by myself and the founder, MG because of their level of spiritual maturity. This is important because often the women who join the organization are often being re-oriented into a more intense and challenging dynamic spiritual environment.
There is no power struggle within the leadership; the team flows together very well staying true to one another’s place in ministry and SWM. We are a very open group and address challenges as a team, rather than individually. However, there have been challenges amongst those who attend who are not team members who try to usurp the delegated authority of the team. We’ve dealt with them forthrightly in a group setting explaining our position and reinforcing our mission and vision, and staying true to Christian character, which is love.
CREATIVE WRITING - SHORT STORY
First Lady
The first Sunday in June of 2000 started off so quiet at Height Temple Church of the Most High, that you could hear a rat pee on cotton until Dr. Deborah Height, PhD, the estranged daughter of the pastor, the Rev. Dr. T.H. Height, Sr., had come to church that Sunday and that caused a near cataclysmic atmospheric change there. For the members there that day that had history, Deborah’s sudden appearance was like a tsunami that escaped the radar. They didn’t have time to react or to even think. They just had to brace themselves for the manifestation of their worst nightmare. Some of the loyal worshippers of “the highest Height” as the pastor was known, quipped to themselves when they saw her, “what is she doing here?” Others were secretly glad to see “Lil Debbie”, ask they called her, but they kept a poker face throughout the service.
Deborah had a commanding presence just like her father, so it was no surprise that with all the other people pouring into the church at the same time she did, that she was noticed. “My Lawd, ‘lizabeth, she look jes lak ‘em,” an aged Mother Jenkins nudged another lady who sat next to her referring to Deborah Height. She knew they’d be looking so she wanted to be sure to represent well in the house, you know? Arrayed in a fashionably, tailored, white linen suit, in respect to first Sunday being communion Sunday; Deborah glided by in her acrylic Cinderella-type mule-style slippers past the small patch of old ladies in white, a.k.a. the mother board of the church. She acknowledged each one with a smile, a nod, or an occasional Queen of England-type wave; especially those who hid behind the poker face. She landed on the first bench on the left, where the other church elders and ministers sat. The moment she sat down, the man there next to her got up and moved to the other side of the church. Not surprised, Deborah sat her Bible and purse in his place, crossed her legs and nodded to her father who was seated in the seat with the highest backboard in the pulpit. He didn’t respond.
During the acknowledgment of the visitors, some in the congregation braced themselves when Rev. Height got up from his seat to address the congregation thinking about what the storm just blew in. He said, “Brothers and sisters, I am honored today to have my daughter here with me today, Dr. Deborah Height, PhD. She recently graduated from the University with a doctorate in psychology. Let’s give her a hand for her excellent academic accomplishments.” Realizing the shock of her presence, he reaffirmed her and said “You know she’s one of us, and we should always encourage and acknowledge our own, amen?” The poker faced people were so relieved, and after their exhale appeared 20 lbs lighter. The congregation burst into a series of roaring claps and shouts and amens. They hadn’t been that happy since Deborah left. Her leaving some nearly 20 years ago just quieted things there behind the church scandal that sent her mother to the insane asylum, and Deborah to the streets. Rev. Height continues, “Deborah, is here in town today for her ordination and installation service. She will be serving at ‘The Church of What’s Happening Today’, as Pastor of Counseling. Regretfully, I will not be the one to ordain her into ministry, but I want to say publically to my daughter in the presence of my congregation right now, that I am deeply sorry, from the bottom of my heart, for all of the mess that I caused and having my own precious daughter Deborah, to leave home so young.” On cue the organ faded in the song Amazing Grace, and the congregation wept: some loudly, some uncontrollably because of the emotionally charged events that was taking place and seeing the brokenness of their beloved pastor. “People of God”, Rev. Height interjects, “the Bible says, ‘that if we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness’ I John 1:9. We know it, but I don’t know about you today, but I think I need to confess some things, publically. I need forgiveness. I need it from my daughter, and I need it from God.” He nods at Deborah who is sitting still, with her legs crossed, relatively calm, as if she doesn’t know what to do next. Rev. Height extended his right hand and beckoned her to come to him, and said, “Deborah, my daughter, please join me in the pulpit.” Each step of faith Deborah took toward her father systematically blotted out 20 years of agony, pain, disappointment, hatred, and even violence that she felt towards her father for his rejection of her. As Deborah ascended the pulpit where her father was flanked by several distinguished looking men, her eyes fell on a familiar face. It was Mark Hightower; a childhood church friend, and one who mentored in ministry under her father. He married one of her sorority sisters from Alpha Omega Psi at the University. Rev. Height often referred to the now “Pastor Mark Hightower” as one of his sons in the ministry. He was scheduled speaker that day.
She motioned for the microphone and in old school Pentecostal style she took the church by storm and cried with a loud voice, “Rejoice! C’mon people of God Rejoice! God has worked a miracle in your midst right now and you need to praise Him!” Mother Jenkins said, “she preaches like Rev. too. My Lord! Listen at her!” The atmosphere was now electric with joy. There was dancing, hand clapping, and pure elation at the reconciliation of father and daughter. “Yes, I’ve got a Ph.D now, from one of the finest schools in the world,” Deborah shouted, “and they call me doctor now! That’s big!” Deborah managed to breath out. “But more importantly than that, saints, I’m a son of God!” She raised her bible in her right hand and declared “I got paper to back up whose I am. How ‘bout you? How about you church? Anybody else in here got paper?” Then she slowed the cadence and lowered her voice to draw attention to her next declaration. She turned and looked directly at her father and said “…and yes daddy, I forgive you.” That testimony ignited another fire in the service which continued for about 30 minutes when Co-Pastor Beatrice Height, the 2nd First Lady of the church slipped Rev. Height a note, through an usher, for him to meet her in his study immediately. Co-Pastor Beatrice, a.k.a. “Queen Bea” always made a point of making sure everybody acknowledged her self-proclaimed 2nd in command status she forced Rev. Meakes out of. Rev. James Meakes was the co-pastor when Rev. & Beatrice got married. Rev. James Meakes was sort of a discerning, yet diminutive guy; and meek just like his name. He was a “plain James” in every sense of the word. He wore plain well pressed shirts, in cool colors like his favorite powder blue shirt, which it seemed he wore often; and simple khaki pants with a neutral color sports jacket. It was so out of character to see him outside in front of the church walking back and forth with a sign that said “Rev. Height! Repent! Today is the day of salvation!” the day of Rev. Height & Beatrice’s wedding. That type of protestation of course, bought him a one-way ticket out of the church, compliments of the soon-to-be co-pastor Beatrice Height.
Beatrice roared back “Don’t you think picketing out front of the church is a bit extreme Rev. Meakes?” Beatrice was the opposite of Rev. Meakes. She was just loud. She talked loud. She dressed in loud colors. At exactly 6’, Lady Beatrice stood head and shoulders above most people and looked eye to eye with the rest in the church. You couldn’t tell it by looking at her, but she was pushing 70. How she managed to pull off her own style of form-fitting dresses that “accentuated the positives” as Lady Beatrice would say, surprised many and left others questioning her religion. Those positives, by the way were her oversized balloon-shaped girls and her rotund round yonder.
Rev. Height snatched the note from the usher and went to his study in a fury, yet no one seemed to notice amidst all of the excitement. As Deborah sat down in the chair on the right hand of her father’s seat, Assistant Pastor T.H. Height, Jr., they called Rev. T.J., the son from their father’s second marriage with Co-Pastor & First Lady Beatrice, continued the service in the offertory. T.J. was known to be both a ladies’ man and a man’s man. He tried to kept his down low, down low so he could straddle the fence undetected, but that all blew up one Friday night during service when baby mama testified during testimony service.
“I want to ask the church to forgive me”, a timid young girl of about age 17 stood up, great with child, and told the congregation. “I’m pregnant, she stated.” Upon the revelation, that the baby’s daddy was Rev. T.J, the organist Bailey went into a hissy and whirled off the organ seat and huffed out of the sanctuary in a flurry like a jilted woman who just found out her husband was having an affair. At the end of the service, there was a wet place on Rev. T.J.’s suit pants; but it was hidden pretty much by his long-waisted suit jacket.
With a quick twist of his right hand Rev. Height slams the door to his study behind him, and it locked. Surprisingly, the trimmer also went unnoticed to the congregation. Their wedding picture which hung on the oak paneled wall nearest the door crashed to the brown asbestos tiled floor and was shattered into pieces, but neither of them noticed. “What is it Bea?” he said sharply leaning forward on his high back burgundy tufted leather chair which was neatly aligned against his mahogany wood desk. “If it’s about Deborah, I’m not listening...” Beatrice interrupts, and leans forward onto his desk pushing over every neatly aligned book; pictures on the desk fall over in the calamity of her fit and she said, “When were you going to tell me about Deborah coming home, huh? You knew about her graduating and being ordained. What else do you know about her, huh? – who she’s f--king?”
Through eyes crimson red from the anger and the pain he was starting to feel in his chest, Rev. Height raises up from leaning on his chair and yells out to Beatrice raising his right arthritic hand in preacher fashion, pointed at her, and through his labored breathing said, “Ugh, you old foul demon! You go to the pit!” He walked around from his desk looking toward the door but standing approximately 5 feet from Beatrice, he said “Don’t you say another word to me about any of my children, including the little faggot we raised!” his voice got louder, but weaker. “Deborah is my daughter and I can’t be any more sorry than I am today for all the hell I put my girls through because of you! All you have ever done is be a terror to my girls and my church – and I let it be Beatrice, because…I was so guilty,” he added. “That’s not what you expected me to say now is it Beatrice?” He walks two steps toward the door; Beatrice is huffing and puffing, mute with anger, and looking dead at him with piercing through those hazel colored contact lenses. “You expected me to be going along with you just ‘cause, like I have done all of these years. But hear me Beatrice, and hear me well, I am not going to let you come between me and Deborah this time! Do you hear me woman? That will be the end of the road for us – you and I, that is.” When he finished he started to walk toward the door, when Beatrice tight lipped and swollen with rage Beatrice sailed an old worn hymnal at him that hit him dead in his temple. Rev. Height dropped to the ground like the Goliath that David slew in the Bible.
“Call the life squad Beatrice, I’m having a heart attack. Oh, God, the pain...” Rev. Height said as he grabbed his chest with one hand and tried to reach up to Beatrice for help with the other hand from the floor.
“You old fool. Don’t you ever think about leaving me, ever!” she exclaimed.
“If I live through this Beatrice, I am divorcing you.” He reiterated.
“If you live through it, Theo!” She replied glaring down at him as to kill him by looking at him.
It had been over fifteen minutes since Rev. Height left the sanctuary. The congregation was settling down. The choir had sung all they had rehearsed already, and Rev. T.J. was running out of things to say. “Ain’t God good?” Rev. T.J. said attempting to rev up the crowd again hoping his father would return to the pulpit soon. No response. Taking advantage of this awkward moment, Deborah excused herself to go to the restroom/go to see what was taking her father so long to come back to the pulpit. She leaned to her left to whisper to Pastor Mark, where she was going. He smiled as if giving permission.
“Lawd, I hope they don’t git to fighting in thar Mother Johnson?” questioned Mother Jenkins.
“I don’t know Mother Jenkins. It seems odd. Look lak Rev.’s dawter go out like she’s going afta her daddy.” Mother Johnson replied. Just then Mother Jenkins raised her first finger on her right hand as she got up from the bench. Raising the first finger is the traditional church signal to be excused from their seat; but it didn’t make her invisible, it just drew more attention to her leaving.
“Where you going Mother Jenkins?” Mother Johnson asked noticing Mother Jenkins anxiety.
“To the bathroom, nosey. You wanna know anything else? C’mon and go with me. Old T.J. don’t know what he’s doin’ in the pulpit anyway. C’mon.” said Mother Jenkins.
Those two old mothers of the church walked sheepishly up the aisle with their canes, gaining momentum with every step. When they passed through the double doors and landed in the vestibule, Mother Johnson asked “I know you ain’t just going to the bathroom, Mother Jenkins now are you?”
“Why, of course not! Why waste a trip when it’s so hard to get up?” Mother Jenkins answered.
Never missing a step the old mothers strode past the nursery and then the children’s church, and the church business office, allegedly headed toward the other women’s restroom near the pastor’s study.
“Praise the Lord mother,” a man said in respect, as they passed him by.
“Praise the Lord,” they cackled, nodding at the man, but keeping an eagle eye focus on getting to Rev. Height’s office.
They walked straight into the aroma of fried chicken but passed by the kitchen like two private detectives on a mission. Mother Johnson said jokingly, “You’d rather snoop than eat when you’re hungry Mother Jenkins.”
“Awl, you wanna know what’s going on just as bad as me.” Mother Jenkins said to Mother Johnson. They were within approximately 3 yards of the pastor’s study when they saw Deborah pushing hard against the door with her whole body as if she would bust it wide open. The two scurry to Deborah’s aide.
“Daddy? Are you in there? It’s me Deborah, open up please.” Deborah anxiously paced back and forth between her dad’s office and the hallway leading to the church praying the paramedics would hurry.
“Beatrice, it’s Mother Jenkins, dawling. Is everything ok in there with my pastah? Dat’s all I wants to know. Is he ok?” Mother Jenkins asked.
“…lisa, help me…” Rev. Height whispers.
“Daddy,” Deborah cried, “don’t worry help is on the way. I just called the life squad and the police.”
“He down’t sound good to me. Now Beatrice, you open this door now. We’re here to help you, but we can’t git in.” Mother Johnson said.
Beatrice didn’t open the door; instead she stood in a power position over Rev. Height questioning herself where she should go for vacation after his funeral. Beatrice yells back, “Oh he’s ok. He’ll be alright in a minute…” Deborah yelled for Beatrice to open the door and pulled on the door. Beatrice repeated “he’s ok, I told you. He’ll be alright in a minute.”
The only thing louder than that church service that day, was the life squad, fire and police sirens that came for Rev. Height. Pastor Mark heard a faint sound of a siren while he was preaching. His first thought was, Deborah: “Oh my God! What did she do?” Before he could move to his next thought, firemen, life squad, and the police broke through the church doors like they were the S.WA.T. Team looking for someone on “America’s Most Wanted”. “Which way?” A fireman asked. When Deborah yelled out to the train of paramedics, firemen and police “this way” to the pastor’s study, Pastor Mark attempted to calm and reassure the crowd that became unnerved.
The paramedics opened the door with no struggle and found Rev. Height on the floor and Beatrice tuning up her face to perform her rehearsed crying scene that she prepared while Rev. Height was dying.
“Officers, I’m so glad you finally got here! I just didn’t know what to do. My husband was dying in here; and I’m an old woman. I don’t have no medical training you know, and I…I just didn’t know what to do.” A policeman stood looking puzzled outside of the door taking notes and talking on his walkie-talkie. The coroner who arrived after the paramedics almost 10 minutes later, pronounced the Rev. Dr. Theophilus Howard Height, Sr. dead at high noon.
Deborah let out a blood curdling screech as the stretcher that carried her father passed by her on its way out, and she wilted down to the floor like a deflated plastic punch toy that had just received a deadly blow. Like an abrupt intrusion, Rev. T.J. switched his hips in fast pace pass Deborah, and the two old church mothers, as he came to escort his wailing mother Beatrice from his father’s office, and the mother and her son followed the stretcher with Rev. Height’s body covered in a white sheet, out to the ambulance. The members of the congregation watched in disbelief when the stretcher passed by them on the way out to the ambulance.
“She killed my father! She killed my father! She wouldn’t let him get help” Deborah lamented, screaming. Each time she tried to get up, and the mothers would try to help her, she fell back into a clump on the floor wailing uncontrollably. She tried to snatch Beatrice as she passed by her. “You old witch!” Deborah yelled towards Beatrice. Beatrice turns toward Deborah momentarily as she passed by and smirked and resumed crying to maintain her image.
When the ambulance doors closed with Rev. Height in it, for the congregation, it was like the day the earth stood still. First Lady Beatrice was questioned by the police after the ambulance left to carry the body to the morgue. That was the only exception, otherwise each one returned to the seats that they left before this fiasco started, and sat down in shock. Pastor Mark walked Deborah into the sanctuary and sat her down on the nearest bench; Mother Jenkins and Mother Johnson made their way into the sanctuary and sat on either side of her, in a futile attempt to console Deborah. No one moved for over an hour.
“Deborah, ok. C’mon let me get you home. Where are you staying?” asked Pastor Mark.
“It’s ok? That’s what she said while she was killing my father Mark! It’s ok that she killed my father? Tell me – how is that ok? Mother Jenkins” Deborah complained looking at Mother Johnson and Mother Jenkins, she stumbled to her feet and looks at all of them in disbelief.
“Deborah, let me take you home with me and Traci. She’s been a little under the weather lately, but I know she will be glad to see her favorite soro sister,” Pastor Mark suggested in an assumptive way.
“Baby, this is no time for you to be alone. I’ve got a place for you at my house. You can stay as long as you need dawlin,’” Mother Johnson offered. Deborah picks up her purse, her bible and a program from the service to cherish like a souvenir and makes a move towards the center aisle where not less than 3 hours ago she trod in expectation of she didn’t know what. The church members still sit in shock and barely notice her leaving. Mark followed behind her and Mother Jenkins and Mother Johnson behind him, but in a much more somber pace then their earlier expedition.
That Friday afternoon, the hearse carrying the body of Rev. Height, pulls away having deposited the body in the church in its appropriate place directly under the pulpit in the front of the church. Thirty minutes later Deborah, and her sister Alicia pull up in her best friend’s car, behind the family car, but it wasn’t planned like that. Deborah and Alicia, and Pastor Beatrice, her son Rev. T.J., her sister Eloise who is plastered to her husband Roy Wright, all get out simultaneously; but that wasn’t planned either. Rev. Height’s brothers and sisters file out of another limousine that also was not a part of the funeral procession. There was his older sister Mary Jane Height-Bright and her husband William a.k.a “Bulb”; owners of “Bulb’s Bar B Q”; Jessie Mae Height-Lowry, his youngest sister, retired professor of English from Florida A&M in Tallahassee, Florida; and his “onliest” brother Curtis along with his wife Bernice, owners of Height Waste Collection.
Meanwhile, scores of cars poured into the parking lot and soon there was a line outside and around the corner of people waiting to get in to view the body and or attend the funeral.
At 7:00 p.m., the chiming of the hour; the instant Bailey struck a chord on the Hammond B3 organ, Deborah’s heart descended into her gut like a 100 lb. weight that dropped on a barefoot. That sound signified to her the beginning of the end, and reminded her that in a few minutes that she would no longer see her father alive or dead. Pastor Mark and his wife Traci slid in beside her on the bench, in support of their old friends Deborah and Alicia who were at one time known at the church as the “highest twins”. Their aunts and uncles sat near them, and steered clear of the woman they called “that old Jezebel” – none other than their sister in-law Beatrice Height.
“Deborah? Is that you honey?” her aunt Mary inquired.
“Yeah it’s her Mary. Who else would it be sitting next to that same boy, what’s his name?” Bub blurted out.
“He’s not a boy any more Bub. Now hush. I’m trying to talk to my niece.”
“Aw shoots, Mary. It’s Deborah ok. It’s Deborah!”
“What is your problem Bub? I know you better not pull that bottle out in this church. Do you hear me? Do it and there will be another funeral – yours!”
Mary was Rev. Height’s match to his overbearing wife, Beatrice. His sister May-rie (Rev. Height’s old southern annunciation) and Beatrice could never see eye to eye about anything from day one. After their last argument nearly turned into a cat fight, Bulb demanded they pull away from Rev. Height, for Beatrice’s safety.
Despite her heavy heart, overhearing the drama between Aunt Mary and Uncle Bub, Deborah couldn’t help but laugh. She got up and went to each of her aunts and uncles and hugged them. Alicia followed behind her. While it wasn’t a reunion, it was a reconnection.
“Girls, here’s my card with my home phone number on it. Please, stay in touch. We’ve missed you girls so much.”
The master of ceremonies beckoned the family for the parting view. A loud and eerie howl bellied out of Beatrice as she passed the casket of her husband. “That’s ‘ok’ killa!” Deborah blurted out under her breath, but not low enough. Beatrice stops, turns and glares at Deborah. What Deborah saw was an evil, creepy-looking owl glaring back at her. She waited to see if her head would do a 360 like an owl or like the little demon-possessed girl from the Exorcist movie. All eyes were on Beatrice for the next move, but she only walked away. Pastor Mark bowed his head for lack of knowing what to do and said before he could think, “Deborah, stop it.” The funeral attendants closed the casket and sad, grieving, emotions flooded Height Temple at least momentarily. But it only took the stroke on the B3 and the atmosphere went from solemn to celebratory in less than 60 seconds. The people broke out the tambourines and started to dance all over the church in cadence with the congregational song “God’s not dead – He’s yet alive!” Three and a half hours later it was over. The next day, Rev. Height would be lowered into the earth like everyone else whom he eulogized before.
The next day, after the burial, Traci invited Deborah to their home for lunch, but doesn’t tell her the surprise. Traci invited a few of her sorority sisters to help Deborah take her mind off her father’s death. The plan was that it was going to be just the girls. “Mark’s going to be out playing golf or something. I told him to get with some of his buddies and do something fun, because I’m going to need time with my girl Deborah” Traci told Deborah when she informed her about her luncheon. Deborah smiled and graciously accepted the invitation, feeling so grateful to be accepted anywhere in her own hometown. “Girl, I will be there. Just give me directions to your house. I know you live in one of those fabulous estates in the center of who’s whozitville” Deborah managed to joke through all of her pain. Traci scribbled 777 Integrity Place, and said, “you can’t miss it Deborah. It’s right off…. of Height Blvd. Anyway, see ya in a few!”
StrongWoman Ministries
One thing’s for sure, it’s not church as usual.
From an observer’s point of view, I couldn’t tell if I was at a party, some type of Christian festival, or what. I started “in the beginning” at the point of entry to one our Friday night services. In the narrow, well-lit hallway leading to the worship place, I was met with a line of people, mostly women; white, black, fat, skinny, tall, short; and children removing their shoes and aligning them against the wall while they wait anxiously for prayer. Prior to entry into the sanctuary, everyone received prayer. Generally there is one ministry team member is assigned this task, her name is Alice. She’s an eighty-year-young dynamo, anointing people with oil, praying and prophesying the heavens down on people before they join the others inside.
The closer I get in the line to Alice, the clearer the focus of the large poster which reads “StrongWoman Ministries Vision and Mission”. On the other wall is the StrongWoman Creed. As I pass through the line I notice that the clock on the wall in the kitchen reads 9:00 p.m., a time that most people would be leaving any church service. I assumed that no one in the line that night would think it strange that I was in the line because everyone has to go through this passage, although they might question why I am just now arriving.
Approaching the door to the worship room, the sound of the music is at a decibel that would make most little grandma’s cringe. Track lights, cranberry colored Berber carpet and drywall equals our worship place. The door trembled; the doorknob rattled. I opened the door to dim lights, loud music, and oddly ecstatic people all barefoot. Flags are flowing to a song which is probably not as well known as others in the Christian genre of music, “Full of Pride”, by Jason Upton. Those without flags are walking the floor in prayer, some with hands lifted, others not. The rest are laying prostrate on the carpeted floor in prayer or worship, or just seated on the floor. Charlotte is snoring. Don’t think she’s praying right now. She’s allowed. She had a nervous breakdown after the death of one of her children and now has mental and psychological challenges. She is generally left alone because we learned that this is a place where she could rest. But seriously, who could sleep with all of this going on?
Songs changed, but the genre of music, which was prophetic music, didn’t change. It went from slower music to faster songs. Everyone participated in the experience for at least three more hours, then the music quieted; and a woman preached for over an hour. No one seemed restless, but all sat on the floor deliberately engaged through what is called the “call and response”; a way of responding to a message in some traditional churches.
MG, overseer and founder of StrongWoman Ministries, said the common goal of SWM is “for women to find their place in ministry, grow up spiritually, be fruitful and multiply”. I pointed to the mission and vision statement and asked how that meshed with what she just said. Her reply was “it’s very simple Theresa, and you should know this, because you wrote them; it takes a strong woman to bind the strong man. We are not reproducing church women, we are reproducing spiritual power brokers, to put into layman’s terms.”
“Men?” I asked.
“Men, what?” She responded.
“Men at StrongWoman? But then I guess it wouldn’t be Strong Woman anymore, it would be strong people?”
“I’m doing what God has called me to do, and that is raise up women in ministry. Will I turn men away? Absolutely not. This is not a gender bias thing here. It’s a matter of obeying God completely regardless of how weird it may look to someone else.”
“Well, female ministers are still not accepted in many churches.”
“And? This is not seminary, Theresa. We are not preparing women to find an acceptable place in some man’s pulpit or within an institutional church. We are preparing them to know what God has called them to do and become well able to accomplish that mission – and we give them permission to do that and to think expansively! The world is your pulpit you know?”
I didn’t want to let the window of opportunity close on the word “weird” so I went right out there. “Speaking of weird, we meet on Friday nights, sometimes all night long, barefoot, loud music, communion, you know…” MG interrupted, “…and what’s weird about that? Is it because ‘they don’t do it like that at your church’”? She leaned forward and looked over her black Versace-rimmed glasses, down her finely sloped nose and said “We’re not your church, in fact, it’s not a church at all; it’s a ministry. And the institution church, as I will call it, has so cleverly put us in a place where they can be comfortable with our existence. They call us a para-church ministry. Whatever.”
It was clear. StrongWoman Ministries is an anomaly, and that I shouldn’t care. Truthfully, I don’t, but for the sake of the ethnography, I asked what denomination the ministry was affiliated with, and Michelle replied, “None. We are not affiliated with any denomination, yet because our women come from many different denominations, you could say that we are interdenominational, but once again, we are freer than that?”
“Freer than that” meant that StrongWoman is not hindered by any decisions made by a religious denominational hierarchy. Internally, the ministry team who represent the leadership of the ministry maintain an open door policy for any grievances within the organization. We also have a strong biblically based accountability code and a written set of bi-laws to address issues of error. However, StrongWoman Ministries is often referred to as an organism rather than an organization because of its free flowing spirit.
The person who didn’t know any better would assume that her spirit was a little bitter; and they wouldn’t be too far off. I call it bitter-sweet. Her tough skin comes from years of rejection, sexism, racism, and from having the call of ministry on her life at a time when it really wasn’t cool for women. For example, I recall an event that I was directly influenced by was a letter that I received addressed to her from another pastor, and member of a prominent minister’s affiliation which denounced StrongWoman Ministries as a “lesbian cult”. Although one of the women from StrongWoman was also a member of his church, I am not sure what sparked such terrible statements about us.
So you learn to be a strong woman behind clowns like Rev. Joe Donought. Another thing that you learn is the new language. Beyond the heavenly language that is afforded to the believer as was in the Book of the Acts of the Apostles, in our genre of non-denominationalism and inter-denominationalism, was the Apostolic Reformation. That is what we more closely identify with. We acknowledge the five-fold ministry according to Ephesians 4:11. Those within the apostolic reformation, which simply means the restoring of the apostles and prophets to the church, is words like “apostolic, prophetic, anointing, kingdom, signs, wonders, miracles, etc.” Not that these terms are not used within the church, but they are not used within most traditional and even non-denominational churches.
Behaviors like near all night worship experiences, totally free style worship, prayer upon demand, are indigenous to our community. Also, there are no chairs, no worship leader, and no set time that service starts or ends. That could spell rebellion and confusion in many churches, but for us it means: worship is not a spectator’s sport and service, if you want to call it that, starts when you get here, and ends when the Holy Spirit releases us.
Commitment to the ministry is adhered to by those who are in leadership, as well as required giving in support of the ministry. However, women who transient through the ministry are under no obligation to continue with us or financially support us, although most do. For those who wish to become a StrongWoman, emerging as apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastor or teachers will be engaged by us at a different level for ministry equipping purposes. One of the first things they receive to commit to is the StrongWoman Creed.
We renounce the hidden things of darkness.
We reject sin reigning in our mortal bodies.
We cast down all imaginations and every high and lofty thing that exhalts itself against the knowledge of God.
We proclaim liberty to the captives.
We bring every thought to the obedience of God.
We cast the whole of our cares on to God because He cares for us.
We take shelter under the shadow of the Almighty.
We walk by faith and not by sight.
We hid God’s Word in our hearts to prevent sin.
We trust in the Lord with all of our hearts.
We do not lean to our own understanding, but we acknowledge God in all of our ways.
We embrace the all encompassing love of Jesus Christ who has healed us from all past hurst.
We worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness.
We serve the Lord with gladness.
We love the Lord with all of our hearts and our neighbors as ourselves.
We walk in line with the Word of God as it relates to our relationships.
We believe in the restoration of the apostles and prophets to the church.
We believe the Holy Spirit is given to those who ask for it according to Acts 1:8
We believe in the sanctifying power of the Holy Spirit by whose indwelling the Christian is enabled to live a holy life.
We believe the gifts of the Spirit are available to us are to be used to edify the body of Christ.
Anyone who has to ask what this means is not ready to be a StrongWoman, but is always welcomed to join us every Friday night. Doors open at 7:00 p.m., but the worship starts when you get there!
Analysis When examined against the criteria to establish whether a given social group is a discourse community as set forth by John Swales I have concluded that SWM and other groups like it are indeed discourse communities.
The common public goal for SWM is training for ministry, as MG, founder of StrongWoman Ministries so adroitly pointed out in the interview “is for women to find their place in ministry, grow up spiritually, be fruitful and multiply” said Graves.
The discursive forum that Swales says must be accessible to all participants would be the Holy Bible, informally referred to within the group as “the Sword” or “your Sword”, “the Word”. Also the Holy Spirit who is given to believers as a compass:
“But the Comforter, [which is] the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.” John 14:26 KJV.
The ministry uses and relies on this forum to accomplish its work within the hearts and minds of the women. Its teachings are the foundation that SWM builds upon.
In addition to the various ways of communicating within the services, the camaraderie amongst the women, etc., feedback is also established in the various forms of ministry. Some women preach, teach, counsel, etc.
This group does share a specific genre of the Christian community known as the Apostolic Reformation. While we do not formally subscribe to any denominational theory, the Apostolic Reformation is what we identify with the most. Many times, we refer to ourselves as being “the remnant”. What that means is that we have identified an even narrower identity among the group. The term remnant, is difficult to describe without sounding elitist; but it is the most sold out (positive) of the born again believers, whether or not they are engaged in any form of ministry. Then add to that “the remnant within the remnant” which cuts deeper into commitment to the mission of God.
We don’t like to refer to anyone of us as experts; leaders would be as close as we will go with that. However, within the organization, there are ministry team leaders who jointly hold organization power within the group. These 3 other individuals were selected by myself and the founder, MG because of their level of spiritual maturity. This is important because often the women who join the organization are often being re-oriented into a more intense and challenging dynamic spiritual environment.
There is no power struggle within the leadership; the team flows together very well staying true to one another’s place in ministry and SWM. We are a very open group and address challenges as a team, rather than individually. However, there have been challenges amongst those who attend who are not team members who try to usurp the delegated authority of the team. We’ve dealt with them forthrightly in a group setting explaining our position and reinforcing our mission and vision, and staying true to Christian character, which is love.
CREATIVE WRITING - SHORT STORY
First Lady
The first Sunday in June of 2000 started off so quiet at Height Temple Church of the Most High, that you could hear a rat pee on cotton until Dr. Deborah Height, PhD, the estranged daughter of the pastor, the Rev. Dr. T.H. Height, Sr., had come to church that Sunday and that caused a near cataclysmic atmospheric change there. For the members there that day that had history, Deborah’s sudden appearance was like a tsunami that escaped the radar. They didn’t have time to react or to even think. They just had to brace themselves for the manifestation of their worst nightmare. Some of the loyal worshippers of “the highest Height” as the pastor was known, quipped to themselves when they saw her, “what is she doing here?” Others were secretly glad to see “Lil Debbie”, ask they called her, but they kept a poker face throughout the service.
Deborah had a commanding presence just like her father, so it was no surprise that with all the other people pouring into the church at the same time she did, that she was noticed. “My Lawd, ‘lizabeth, she look jes lak ‘em,” an aged Mother Jenkins nudged another lady who sat next to her referring to Deborah Height. She knew they’d be looking so she wanted to be sure to represent well in the house, you know? Arrayed in a fashionably, tailored, white linen suit, in respect to first Sunday being communion Sunday; Deborah glided by in her acrylic Cinderella-type mule-style slippers past the small patch of old ladies in white, a.k.a. the mother board of the church. She acknowledged each one with a smile, a nod, or an occasional Queen of England-type wave; especially those who hid behind the poker face. She landed on the first bench on the left, where the other church elders and ministers sat. The moment she sat down, the man there next to her got up and moved to the other side of the church. Not surprised, Deborah sat her Bible and purse in his place, crossed her legs and nodded to her father who was seated in the seat with the highest backboard in the pulpit. He didn’t respond.
During the acknowledgment of the visitors, some in the congregation braced themselves when Rev. Height got up from his seat to address the congregation thinking about what the storm just blew in. He said, “Brothers and sisters, I am honored today to have my daughter here with me today, Dr. Deborah Height, PhD. She recently graduated from the University with a doctorate in psychology. Let’s give her a hand for her excellent academic accomplishments.” Realizing the shock of her presence, he reaffirmed her and said “You know she’s one of us, and we should always encourage and acknowledge our own, amen?” The poker faced people were so relieved, and after their exhale appeared 20 lbs lighter. The congregation burst into a series of roaring claps and shouts and amens. They hadn’t been that happy since Deborah left. Her leaving some nearly 20 years ago just quieted things there behind the church scandal that sent her mother to the insane asylum, and Deborah to the streets. Rev. Height continues, “Deborah, is here in town today for her ordination and installation service. She will be serving at ‘The Church of What’s Happening Today’, as Pastor of Counseling. Regretfully, I will not be the one to ordain her into ministry, but I want to say publically to my daughter in the presence of my congregation right now, that I am deeply sorry, from the bottom of my heart, for all of the mess that I caused and having my own precious daughter Deborah, to leave home so young.” On cue the organ faded in the song Amazing Grace, and the congregation wept: some loudly, some uncontrollably because of the emotionally charged events that was taking place and seeing the brokenness of their beloved pastor. “People of God”, Rev. Height interjects, “the Bible says, ‘that if we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness’ I John 1:9. We know it, but I don’t know about you today, but I think I need to confess some things, publically. I need forgiveness. I need it from my daughter, and I need it from God.” He nods at Deborah who is sitting still, with her legs crossed, relatively calm, as if she doesn’t know what to do next. Rev. Height extended his right hand and beckoned her to come to him, and said, “Deborah, my daughter, please join me in the pulpit.” Each step of faith Deborah took toward her father systematically blotted out 20 years of agony, pain, disappointment, hatred, and even violence that she felt towards her father for his rejection of her. As Deborah ascended the pulpit where her father was flanked by several distinguished looking men, her eyes fell on a familiar face. It was Mark Hightower; a childhood church friend, and one who mentored in ministry under her father. He married one of her sorority sisters from Alpha Omega Psi at the University. Rev. Height often referred to the now “Pastor Mark Hightower” as one of his sons in the ministry. He was scheduled speaker that day.
She motioned for the microphone and in old school Pentecostal style she took the church by storm and cried with a loud voice, “Rejoice! C’mon people of God Rejoice! God has worked a miracle in your midst right now and you need to praise Him!” Mother Jenkins said, “she preaches like Rev. too. My Lord! Listen at her!” The atmosphere was now electric with joy. There was dancing, hand clapping, and pure elation at the reconciliation of father and daughter. “Yes, I’ve got a Ph.D now, from one of the finest schools in the world,” Deborah shouted, “and they call me doctor now! That’s big!” Deborah managed to breath out. “But more importantly than that, saints, I’m a son of God!” She raised her bible in her right hand and declared “I got paper to back up whose I am. How ‘bout you? How about you church? Anybody else in here got paper?” Then she slowed the cadence and lowered her voice to draw attention to her next declaration. She turned and looked directly at her father and said “…and yes daddy, I forgive you.” That testimony ignited another fire in the service which continued for about 30 minutes when Co-Pastor Beatrice Height, the 2nd First Lady of the church slipped Rev. Height a note, through an usher, for him to meet her in his study immediately. Co-Pastor Beatrice, a.k.a. “Queen Bea” always made a point of making sure everybody acknowledged her self-proclaimed 2nd in command status she forced Rev. Meakes out of. Rev. James Meakes was the co-pastor when Rev. & Beatrice got married. Rev. James Meakes was sort of a discerning, yet diminutive guy; and meek just like his name. He was a “plain James” in every sense of the word. He wore plain well pressed shirts, in cool colors like his favorite powder blue shirt, which it seemed he wore often; and simple khaki pants with a neutral color sports jacket. It was so out of character to see him outside in front of the church walking back and forth with a sign that said “Rev. Height! Repent! Today is the day of salvation!” the day of Rev. Height & Beatrice’s wedding. That type of protestation of course, bought him a one-way ticket out of the church, compliments of the soon-to-be co-pastor Beatrice Height.
Beatrice roared back “Don’t you think picketing out front of the church is a bit extreme Rev. Meakes?” Beatrice was the opposite of Rev. Meakes. She was just loud. She talked loud. She dressed in loud colors. At exactly 6’, Lady Beatrice stood head and shoulders above most people and looked eye to eye with the rest in the church. You couldn’t tell it by looking at her, but she was pushing 70. How she managed to pull off her own style of form-fitting dresses that “accentuated the positives” as Lady Beatrice would say, surprised many and left others questioning her religion. Those positives, by the way were her oversized balloon-shaped girls and her rotund round yonder.
Rev. Height snatched the note from the usher and went to his study in a fury, yet no one seemed to notice amidst all of the excitement. As Deborah sat down in the chair on the right hand of her father’s seat, Assistant Pastor T.H. Height, Jr., they called Rev. T.J., the son from their father’s second marriage with Co-Pastor & First Lady Beatrice, continued the service in the offertory. T.J. was known to be both a ladies’ man and a man’s man. He tried to kept his down low, down low so he could straddle the fence undetected, but that all blew up one Friday night during service when baby mama testified during testimony service.
“I want to ask the church to forgive me”, a timid young girl of about age 17 stood up, great with child, and told the congregation. “I’m pregnant, she stated.” Upon the revelation, that the baby’s daddy was Rev. T.J, the organist Bailey went into a hissy and whirled off the organ seat and huffed out of the sanctuary in a flurry like a jilted woman who just found out her husband was having an affair. At the end of the service, there was a wet place on Rev. T.J.’s suit pants; but it was hidden pretty much by his long-waisted suit jacket.
With a quick twist of his right hand Rev. Height slams the door to his study behind him, and it locked. Surprisingly, the trimmer also went unnoticed to the congregation. Their wedding picture which hung on the oak paneled wall nearest the door crashed to the brown asbestos tiled floor and was shattered into pieces, but neither of them noticed. “What is it Bea?” he said sharply leaning forward on his high back burgundy tufted leather chair which was neatly aligned against his mahogany wood desk. “If it’s about Deborah, I’m not listening...” Beatrice interrupts, and leans forward onto his desk pushing over every neatly aligned book; pictures on the desk fall over in the calamity of her fit and she said, “When were you going to tell me about Deborah coming home, huh? You knew about her graduating and being ordained. What else do you know about her, huh? – who she’s f--king?”
Through eyes crimson red from the anger and the pain he was starting to feel in his chest, Rev. Height raises up from leaning on his chair and yells out to Beatrice raising his right arthritic hand in preacher fashion, pointed at her, and through his labored breathing said, “Ugh, you old foul demon! You go to the pit!” He walked around from his desk looking toward the door but standing approximately 5 feet from Beatrice, he said “Don’t you say another word to me about any of my children, including the little faggot we raised!” his voice got louder, but weaker. “Deborah is my daughter and I can’t be any more sorry than I am today for all the hell I put my girls through because of you! All you have ever done is be a terror to my girls and my church – and I let it be Beatrice, because…I was so guilty,” he added. “That’s not what you expected me to say now is it Beatrice?” He walks two steps toward the door; Beatrice is huffing and puffing, mute with anger, and looking dead at him with piercing through those hazel colored contact lenses. “You expected me to be going along with you just ‘cause, like I have done all of these years. But hear me Beatrice, and hear me well, I am not going to let you come between me and Deborah this time! Do you hear me woman? That will be the end of the road for us – you and I, that is.” When he finished he started to walk toward the door, when Beatrice tight lipped and swollen with rage Beatrice sailed an old worn hymnal at him that hit him dead in his temple. Rev. Height dropped to the ground like the Goliath that David slew in the Bible.
“Call the life squad Beatrice, I’m having a heart attack. Oh, God, the pain...” Rev. Height said as he grabbed his chest with one hand and tried to reach up to Beatrice for help with the other hand from the floor.
“You old fool. Don’t you ever think about leaving me, ever!” she exclaimed.
“If I live through this Beatrice, I am divorcing you.” He reiterated.
“If you live through it, Theo!” She replied glaring down at him as to kill him by looking at him.
It had been over fifteen minutes since Rev. Height left the sanctuary. The congregation was settling down. The choir had sung all they had rehearsed already, and Rev. T.J. was running out of things to say. “Ain’t God good?” Rev. T.J. said attempting to rev up the crowd again hoping his father would return to the pulpit soon. No response. Taking advantage of this awkward moment, Deborah excused herself to go to the restroom/go to see what was taking her father so long to come back to the pulpit. She leaned to her left to whisper to Pastor Mark, where she was going. He smiled as if giving permission.
“Lawd, I hope they don’t git to fighting in thar Mother Johnson?” questioned Mother Jenkins.
“I don’t know Mother Jenkins. It seems odd. Look lak Rev.’s dawter go out like she’s going afta her daddy.” Mother Johnson replied. Just then Mother Jenkins raised her first finger on her right hand as she got up from the bench. Raising the first finger is the traditional church signal to be excused from their seat; but it didn’t make her invisible, it just drew more attention to her leaving.
“Where you going Mother Jenkins?” Mother Johnson asked noticing Mother Jenkins anxiety.
“To the bathroom, nosey. You wanna know anything else? C’mon and go with me. Old T.J. don’t know what he’s doin’ in the pulpit anyway. C’mon.” said Mother Jenkins.
Those two old mothers of the church walked sheepishly up the aisle with their canes, gaining momentum with every step. When they passed through the double doors and landed in the vestibule, Mother Johnson asked “I know you ain’t just going to the bathroom, Mother Jenkins now are you?”
“Why, of course not! Why waste a trip when it’s so hard to get up?” Mother Jenkins answered.
Never missing a step the old mothers strode past the nursery and then the children’s church, and the church business office, allegedly headed toward the other women’s restroom near the pastor’s study.
“Praise the Lord mother,” a man said in respect, as they passed him by.
“Praise the Lord,” they cackled, nodding at the man, but keeping an eagle eye focus on getting to Rev. Height’s office.
They walked straight into the aroma of fried chicken but passed by the kitchen like two private detectives on a mission. Mother Johnson said jokingly, “You’d rather snoop than eat when you’re hungry Mother Jenkins.”
“Awl, you wanna know what’s going on just as bad as me.” Mother Jenkins said to Mother Johnson. They were within approximately 3 yards of the pastor’s study when they saw Deborah pushing hard against the door with her whole body as if she would bust it wide open. The two scurry to Deborah’s aide.
“Daddy? Are you in there? It’s me Deborah, open up please.” Deborah anxiously paced back and forth between her dad’s office and the hallway leading to the church praying the paramedics would hurry.
“Beatrice, it’s Mother Jenkins, dawling. Is everything ok in there with my pastah? Dat’s all I wants to know. Is he ok?” Mother Jenkins asked.
“…lisa, help me…” Rev. Height whispers.
“Daddy,” Deborah cried, “don’t worry help is on the way. I just called the life squad and the police.”
“He down’t sound good to me. Now Beatrice, you open this door now. We’re here to help you, but we can’t git in.” Mother Johnson said.
Beatrice didn’t open the door; instead she stood in a power position over Rev. Height questioning herself where she should go for vacation after his funeral. Beatrice yells back, “Oh he’s ok. He’ll be alright in a minute…” Deborah yelled for Beatrice to open the door and pulled on the door. Beatrice repeated “he’s ok, I told you. He’ll be alright in a minute.”
The only thing louder than that church service that day, was the life squad, fire and police sirens that came for Rev. Height. Pastor Mark heard a faint sound of a siren while he was preaching. His first thought was, Deborah: “Oh my God! What did she do?” Before he could move to his next thought, firemen, life squad, and the police broke through the church doors like they were the S.WA.T. Team looking for someone on “America’s Most Wanted”. “Which way?” A fireman asked. When Deborah yelled out to the train of paramedics, firemen and police “this way” to the pastor’s study, Pastor Mark attempted to calm and reassure the crowd that became unnerved.
The paramedics opened the door with no struggle and found Rev. Height on the floor and Beatrice tuning up her face to perform her rehearsed crying scene that she prepared while Rev. Height was dying.
“Officers, I’m so glad you finally got here! I just didn’t know what to do. My husband was dying in here; and I’m an old woman. I don’t have no medical training you know, and I…I just didn’t know what to do.” A policeman stood looking puzzled outside of the door taking notes and talking on his walkie-talkie. The coroner who arrived after the paramedics almost 10 minutes later, pronounced the Rev. Dr. Theophilus Howard Height, Sr. dead at high noon.
Deborah let out a blood curdling screech as the stretcher that carried her father passed by her on its way out, and she wilted down to the floor like a deflated plastic punch toy that had just received a deadly blow. Like an abrupt intrusion, Rev. T.J. switched his hips in fast pace pass Deborah, and the two old church mothers, as he came to escort his wailing mother Beatrice from his father’s office, and the mother and her son followed the stretcher with Rev. Height’s body covered in a white sheet, out to the ambulance. The members of the congregation watched in disbelief when the stretcher passed by them on the way out to the ambulance.
“She killed my father! She killed my father! She wouldn’t let him get help” Deborah lamented, screaming. Each time she tried to get up, and the mothers would try to help her, she fell back into a clump on the floor wailing uncontrollably. She tried to snatch Beatrice as she passed by her. “You old witch!” Deborah yelled towards Beatrice. Beatrice turns toward Deborah momentarily as she passed by and smirked and resumed crying to maintain her image.
When the ambulance doors closed with Rev. Height in it, for the congregation, it was like the day the earth stood still. First Lady Beatrice was questioned by the police after the ambulance left to carry the body to the morgue. That was the only exception, otherwise each one returned to the seats that they left before this fiasco started, and sat down in shock. Pastor Mark walked Deborah into the sanctuary and sat her down on the nearest bench; Mother Jenkins and Mother Johnson made their way into the sanctuary and sat on either side of her, in a futile attempt to console Deborah. No one moved for over an hour.
“Deborah, ok. C’mon let me get you home. Where are you staying?” asked Pastor Mark.
“It’s ok? That’s what she said while she was killing my father Mark! It’s ok that she killed my father? Tell me – how is that ok? Mother Jenkins” Deborah complained looking at Mother Johnson and Mother Jenkins, she stumbled to her feet and looks at all of them in disbelief.
“Deborah, let me take you home with me and Traci. She’s been a little under the weather lately, but I know she will be glad to see her favorite soro sister,” Pastor Mark suggested in an assumptive way.
“Baby, this is no time for you to be alone. I’ve got a place for you at my house. You can stay as long as you need dawlin,’” Mother Johnson offered. Deborah picks up her purse, her bible and a program from the service to cherish like a souvenir and makes a move towards the center aisle where not less than 3 hours ago she trod in expectation of she didn’t know what. The church members still sit in shock and barely notice her leaving. Mark followed behind her and Mother Jenkins and Mother Johnson behind him, but in a much more somber pace then their earlier expedition.
That Friday afternoon, the hearse carrying the body of Rev. Height, pulls away having deposited the body in the church in its appropriate place directly under the pulpit in the front of the church. Thirty minutes later Deborah, and her sister Alicia pull up in her best friend’s car, behind the family car, but it wasn’t planned like that. Deborah and Alicia, and Pastor Beatrice, her son Rev. T.J., her sister Eloise who is plastered to her husband Roy Wright, all get out simultaneously; but that wasn’t planned either. Rev. Height’s brothers and sisters file out of another limousine that also was not a part of the funeral procession. There was his older sister Mary Jane Height-Bright and her husband William a.k.a “Bulb”; owners of “Bulb’s Bar B Q”; Jessie Mae Height-Lowry, his youngest sister, retired professor of English from Florida A&M in Tallahassee, Florida; and his “onliest” brother Curtis along with his wife Bernice, owners of Height Waste Collection.
Meanwhile, scores of cars poured into the parking lot and soon there was a line outside and around the corner of people waiting to get in to view the body and or attend the funeral.
At 7:00 p.m., the chiming of the hour; the instant Bailey struck a chord on the Hammond B3 organ, Deborah’s heart descended into her gut like a 100 lb. weight that dropped on a barefoot. That sound signified to her the beginning of the end, and reminded her that in a few minutes that she would no longer see her father alive or dead. Pastor Mark and his wife Traci slid in beside her on the bench, in support of their old friends Deborah and Alicia who were at one time known at the church as the “highest twins”. Their aunts and uncles sat near them, and steered clear of the woman they called “that old Jezebel” – none other than their sister in-law Beatrice Height.
“Deborah? Is that you honey?” her aunt Mary inquired.
“Yeah it’s her Mary. Who else would it be sitting next to that same boy, what’s his name?” Bub blurted out.
“He’s not a boy any more Bub. Now hush. I’m trying to talk to my niece.”
“Aw shoots, Mary. It’s Deborah ok. It’s Deborah!”
“What is your problem Bub? I know you better not pull that bottle out in this church. Do you hear me? Do it and there will be another funeral – yours!”
Mary was Rev. Height’s match to his overbearing wife, Beatrice. His sister May-rie (Rev. Height’s old southern annunciation) and Beatrice could never see eye to eye about anything from day one. After their last argument nearly turned into a cat fight, Bulb demanded they pull away from Rev. Height, for Beatrice’s safety.
Despite her heavy heart, overhearing the drama between Aunt Mary and Uncle Bub, Deborah couldn’t help but laugh. She got up and went to each of her aunts and uncles and hugged them. Alicia followed behind her. While it wasn’t a reunion, it was a reconnection.
“Girls, here’s my card with my home phone number on it. Please, stay in touch. We’ve missed you girls so much.”
The master of ceremonies beckoned the family for the parting view. A loud and eerie howl bellied out of Beatrice as she passed the casket of her husband. “That’s ‘ok’ killa!” Deborah blurted out under her breath, but not low enough. Beatrice stops, turns and glares at Deborah. What Deborah saw was an evil, creepy-looking owl glaring back at her. She waited to see if her head would do a 360 like an owl or like the little demon-possessed girl from the Exorcist movie. All eyes were on Beatrice for the next move, but she only walked away. Pastor Mark bowed his head for lack of knowing what to do and said before he could think, “Deborah, stop it.” The funeral attendants closed the casket and sad, grieving, emotions flooded Height Temple at least momentarily. But it only took the stroke on the B3 and the atmosphere went from solemn to celebratory in less than 60 seconds. The people broke out the tambourines and started to dance all over the church in cadence with the congregational song “God’s not dead – He’s yet alive!” Three and a half hours later it was over. The next day, Rev. Height would be lowered into the earth like everyone else whom he eulogized before.
The next day, after the burial, Traci invited Deborah to their home for lunch, but doesn’t tell her the surprise. Traci invited a few of her sorority sisters to help Deborah take her mind off her father’s death. The plan was that it was going to be just the girls. “Mark’s going to be out playing golf or something. I told him to get with some of his buddies and do something fun, because I’m going to need time with my girl Deborah” Traci told Deborah when she informed her about her luncheon. Deborah smiled and graciously accepted the invitation, feeling so grateful to be accepted anywhere in her own hometown. “Girl, I will be there. Just give me directions to your house. I know you live in one of those fabulous estates in the center of who’s whozitville” Deborah managed to joke through all of her pain. Traci scribbled 777 Integrity Place, and said, “you can’t miss it Deborah. It’s right off…. of Height Blvd. Anyway, see ya in a few!”