Pastor’s Blog II.II

I went to church on Sunday and they do things different down here in Louisiana.  We just picked a church randomly and walked in.  There were 11 of us on a MDS (Mennonite Disaster Relief) project looking for a church to worship in.  Once we entered we knew we were in the minority.  Now there were 11 white visitors in an all black church service.  We took the back few rows but there would be no hiding on this particular Sunday.  When I am not at the church I pastor I love just being one of the crowd.  Today that would not happen.

In their enthusiasm for visitors they greeted us warmly and one of my crew decided to surrender the information that I was the Lead Pastor of Cornerstone Church.  An abundantly warm African American woman came over (from this point on when I refer to a conversation think strong southern accent) and said to me, “I hear you are Pastor Wilson!”  I wanted to lie but I agreed she was correct with the information she had received.  She proceeded to grab me and say, “Come on you must meet our pastor.”  I had already noticed that their pastor had a Dr. before his name.  She marched me into the back part of the church at which point in time I shared with her that I didn’t want to make a fuss.  “It’s no fuss at all, you must meet our pastor.”  We get to his office door, it is closed so she knocks and opens it.  She closed it quickly and said, “He’s with someone.”  I told her I would return to my seat and meet him later as I didn’t want to make a fuss.  Her reply was, “I told you it ain’t no fuss and if you say fuss again I will make a fuss and you don’t want to see that.”  I wanted to be in Saskatoon

She had a way about her that made me stay put.  We passed the time with her introducing me to the choir, the deacons and anyone else who happened to pass by.  Finally the door opened, a generous African American woman exited and we entered.  I need to give you a bit more information.  I am dressed in blue jeans, sandals, and an open collared short sleeve shirt.  Everyone else I have seen have been adorned in three piece suits, dresses and hats…lots of hats.  The pastor is wearing an expensive looking three piece suit and he asks me this question: “You are a pastor?”  He asked it like he wasn’t sure he had heard right.  I assured him he was right so he asked me to write down all my information.  As I was doing this I told him we were down here to help rebuild homes destroyed by the hurricanes.  He smiled and said, “You aren’t dressed for church, you are dressed for work.  I like that!”  (remember the accent)

He then asked if I wanted to address the congregation to which I replied, “Oh no I don’t want to make a fuss (Out of the corner of my eye I saw my new friend give me a look when I said the word “Fuss” once again and it sent a shiver up my spine)I am just here to worship God with you.”  He reviewed my information and I was dismissed from the Principal’s office wait, no I mean the Pastor’s office.  My new friend guided me back out into the congregation at which point I saw my crew grinning from ear to ear.  I didn’t like any of them at that moment.  Before I go any further I need to let you know the service was two and a half hours long.

At about the three quarters point there was an altar call.  A woman with a baby went forward and we waited for a while but she was the only candidate that morning.  The pastor asked her what she needed.  She said her baby was sick and she wanted prayer.  He interviewed her for us.  Her baby was sick but no matter how many doctors she had seen no one could help her.  The pastor talked for a while about the power of God to heal and there were a lot of amens at that point.  He decided to ask others to come forward to pray with as well as for this lady.  (At this point you may have an inclination of where this is going.)  After a bit the pastor asked more people to come forward.  After that the pastor asked the white folk to come as well.  Now the whole church is at the front with the white crowd at the back of the black crowd.  I am at the back of the white group so I am as far away from the action as I can be.  There is some singing, praying, lots of amens with a smattering of hallelujahs. 

The pastor takes this moment to announce that a pastor from Canada is here.  He then asks me to come forward as I was going to pray for the healing of the baby.  The Red Sea parts as the white folk and the black folk make way for the blue jean, sandal wearing pastor from Canada to come to the front.  I want to be in Saskatoon.  I will not go into the details of my prayer but I did generate a significant number of amens and hallelujahs.  The prayer ended with everyone going back to their pews.

The offering is next.  The pastor preached for fifty-five minutes before all this other action took place.  For the offering everyone goes forward.  I made sure I was putting cash in the box however the guy guarding the box seemed to watch me quite carefully as I dropped my cash into the offering box.  I went the wrong way at that point so one of the deacons corrected me.  I was glad to sit down.  Announcements were being made but the pastor was looking at me with a “come hither” look which I ignored three times.  He then called me by name to come forward.  I wanted to be in Saskatoon.  He introduced me royally to the assembled group to a smattering of applause and amens.  He then said I was going to share with the congregation.  I assumed my words to him in the office before the service had been misunderstood due to my accent because I was sure I told him I didn’t want to address the congregation.

I shared our mission to rebuild houses based on Matthew 25 when Jesus said that whatever you do unto the least of these you did unto me.  I shared that we were also helping out in Haiti which inspired another chorus of amens.  I kept my comments to a mininum but the pastor (A very large African American man who had been sweating profusely during his preaching) decided we should hug.  On a good day I may hug someone who is not a blood relative of mine but I am not a hugger by nature.  I was embraced by the pastor who was now quite wet.  I would have been happy with a hearty handshake.

The service was now over and I made a beeline for my rental car.  It was all to no avail.  The rest of the group save one other guy in the car with me were visiting with the church people for about another thirty minutes.  During this time I had several women come over to my driver’s side window to shake my hand and bless me.  Just as I thought it was done another woman came and handed me her phone number.  I have been married for over thirty years so I am not used to women handing me their phone numbers in parking lots.  She told me she wanted to bless us with making sweet potato pie or other sweet things for us.  She then asked for my phone number which I reluctantly gave to her.  She said just to call her when I wanted the pie or she would call me.  I suspect my phone will ring before the week is over and I will recognize the voice on the other end.

Church is a little bit different here.  I am really looking forward to getting back to Saskatoon but I will not forget the Sunday I worshipped in Louisiana.