Mississippi Native Writes!!

The little church that I attended when I was a child was a very different kind of place. Most of the members there were either related to each other or were the children of people who grew up with their parents. The pews were old and creaked when you sat on them. The walls were in serious need of a good paint job, and the floor had a huge crack that stretched from the back door to the pulpit.

One might think that there was nothing unusual about a church building in need of repair. Especially a building that was more than fifty years old, but the much need repairs were not what was odd. It was the fact that the building’s physical appearance seemed to match the members’ attitudes. The more the church members argued and fought, the worse the building’s condition deteriorated.

The worst part about it was that it was easy to tell which members were the constant sources of trouble in the church because every Sunday morning, no matter how carefully they walked into that church building, they always managed to trip on some part of that crack.

Many might say that it was just a coincidence, but I knew better. Being an observer of human nature, even at the tender age of eight, I could tell that that crack was out to get them. After all, the pews were in ill repair from being knocked over during the fights that often took place during business meetings. The paint was chipping off the walls because of Bibles that had been thrown across the room missing their intended targets and hitting the wall. That little church was out to get them.

All my life I have been told that I have to go to church. That’s supposed to be where my blessings are to be found. I agree that that is where I can go to praise the Lord, but if you ever get a chance to go to my church, even the most devout of Christians will have their doubts.

I am a member of the Mount Galilee Missionary Baptist church in Zion, Mississippi. The church motto is: The church where every body is somebody. Just thinking about that makes me want to laugh. I’ve been an active member there since I was about six years old, and I have yet to begin to feel like I’m somebody in that place.

There have been problems in there forever, and they all seem to focus around my family. Now I don’t know who is right and who is wrong. It really is not my place to say. I just attend and go home. I used to sing in the choir, but there is no choir for me to sing in anymore.

Maybe I should go back and give you a little history of how I remember things. Then you can get a feel of how I came to the conclusions that I came to.

It was a beautiful August Sunday, and the Shelton house was getting ready to go to go to their weekly church service. Mama (Masie) Shelton, Dad (Peter) Shelton, their daughter Angel (that‘s me), and their son Peter, Jr. were all gathering up Sunday school books and Bibles to head out. The Mama and Dad were having their regular before-service argument, and the children were sitting back rolling their eyes as usual. There was not a Sunday that went by when Mama and Dad were not fussing about something.

Last Sunday, it had been something about the other deacons at the church not treating Dad like he was a deacon there, and Mama was telling him that he was being paranoid. This Sunday, it was something just as petty. Mom was the president of the choir, and she was complaining that the choir members were all after her job. My dad was trying to tell her that nobody wanted her job, and believe me, he was right. They both had something to gripe about every single Sunday.

It seemed that no matter if we were going to regular worship service or to a special afternoon program, they were always going on about something that was going on in that church. At this particular time, I was about four years old. I remember everything so well because I am now in my thirties and all this is still going on. Nothing has changed.

By the time we finally got to church, my parents had quieted down. They always had to make sure they portrayed the perfect Christian family whenever we were in public. They were smiling and grinning at all of the people that had been talking trash about all morning. The sight of it just made me want to vomit. I didn’t understand then, and I really don’t understand now, why they couldn’t just tell everyone how they really felt.

Anyway, service started with a long devotion. The congregation sang hymns, and then Dad got down on his knees to say his five minute long prayer. That prayer was so dull and practiced that in my later years, I entertained my friends by praying long with him word for word. Then, it was time for the choir to sing. My mom got up and led the first song. She sang as if she were appointed by God to serenade Him personally. You would never know that the two of them had spent the entire morning fussing, cursing, and talking about people.

The pastor at that time was Reverend Morgan. He was an old man of about sixty or seventy. He was nice, though. Between Sunday school and morning worship service, he always took the time to speak to each of his members personally. Of course, you can probably guess that there was something said if he spoke to one of the other deacons before the spoke to my dad. It was a crazy time.

One this particular day, there was a business meeting after service. My parents, Reverend Morgan, and the other two deacons, Deacon Davis and Deacon Jones, and their wives were in attendance. There was also Sister Ella, the church secretary, and Sister Violet, just a nosey woman who came to all the church meetings. All the children were taken into the fellowship hall for a snack while they met in the sanctuary. Everything seemed to be going fine, but about ten minutes in the ladies, and I use that term loosely, started to get loud. I crept away from my place at the snack table to go take a peek at what was going on in there. You would not believe what I saw!

My mother, who might have weighed a buck-o-five at the time, was standing toe-to-toe Sister Davis, and Sister Davis was a big woman. They were fussing and guess what else- cursing right there in the house of the Lord. Me, being the little girl that I was, laughed at the commotion, but there was really nothing funny about what those grown women were doing. They knew better. At least, that is what I would have been told if I was arguing with one of the other children at the church.

They went at it for a few minutes, and then the men started. Everyone was yelling and screaming. Everyone, except, Sister Violet. She was just sitting there with this odd little smirk on her face taking it all in. At least she was until Sister Jones pulled a little knife out of her purse and threatened to cut everybody. That should have shut everyone up, but it didn’t. No one hushed until Ella pulled a little handgun from her purse. It was an all out gang war in the church!

By this time, all the children were standing in the doorway peeking in, and poor Reverend Morgan looked as if he was about to cry. I can’t remember all that was said that day, but I do remember that Reverend Morgan never came back after that day.

 Chapter Three

A NEW LEADER

Not long after poor Reverend Morgan’s hasty departure, the members of Mount Galilee voted in a new shepherd to lead their flock. An unsuspecting young minister by the name of Reverend David Davis took the helm to captain this already sinking ship. Little did he know that he was in for a little more than any true man of God should have to muster.

Reverend Davis’ first order of business was to meet with all the deacons of the church to see exactly where the church stood. After all, it was their job to see to the upkeep of the church when no pastor was in command.

“Deacons, I want everything to go smoothly here. Why don’t you all go around the table and introduce yourselves to me. Then, we will get down to business.”

As per the new pastor’s instructions the four deacons stood one by one and introduced themselves. They each gave their names, ages, number of years in service at the church, their occupations, and the names of their wives and children.

While they talked, the young minister wrote down all the information given to him. He wanted to remember each man and know all he could find out about the congregation that he was now responsible for.

In order to get a better understanding of exactly what he was getting in to, the honorable Reverend Davis had a plan. Once he was acquainted with all the deacons, he asked each man to tell a little bit about what had been going on in the church over the past five years.

He started with the deacon that had been there the longest, Deacon Patterson.

“Well,” Deacon Patterson said. “I really don’t know what to say. We were going along just fine for awhile, but all of a sudden everything just went haywire. All the women started arguing over who was going to be charge of the choir and then the youth department and then , they all went to the pastor and when they couldn’t get the answers they wanted from him, they started fighting.”

The new reverend looked at the members of the church with disbelieving eyes. They one by one told him some of the horror stories about the congregation, but he did not flinch. At least not until my mother rose and told him the events that led up to his predecessor’s departure.

With a smile as fake as a cardboard car, he told the members not to be dismayed. All they needed was a good leader to guide them in the right direction.

Those words would have been nice if he had not walked out of the church in what looked to be cross between a walk and a run just after he said them. As he reached the door, he looked back and said, “When you find that leader, don’t be so honest with him until you’ve voted him in.”

That was the last we ever saw of him. The next Sunday, some strange man from somewhere up north came down and took over the pulpit. He was a nice enough guy, but his sermons were so boring that half the church was sleep by the time he took his text.

The members voted him in right after service, but no one said a word about what happened with poor Reverend Morgan. I guess they decided that they would put their best forward until they made sure that he took the job. They even made him sign a contract that said he could not resign for a whole year.

Later, I found out that the man’s name was Reverend Shilling’s. He had joined the ministry just a few months before moving to Mississippi and seeking a church to pastor.

I felt sorry for that man when I heard my dad tell my momma about how they tricked him into taking the job as pastor of our church. I hope Reverend Shilling own a bullet proof vest.

 Chapter Four

One Heck of a Sermon

It didn’t take Reverend Shilling long to figure out what was going on in the church. He could see hints of it here and there, but the members tried their best to present themselves in the most favorable light to their new leader. Instead of arguing and fussing in the monthly church meetings, they would sit quietly until service was over and then call each other when they got home.

My mom was the ring leader in the phone tag operation that the women of the church had going. She and Sister Violet would call each other every Sunday as soon as they got home. They would talk about the other church members, the pastor, and anything else they could think of.

I remember one Sunday in particular when they were talking. The pastor had preached a sermon called “The Hell-a-phone”. It was about gossiping and starting mess over the phone. My mom and Sister Violet were made as all get out about this. They felt that the pastor was talking about them. They discussed that sermon for almost two hours. I remember thinking that that was ironic because the sermon was only thirty minutes long.

I thought that when their conversation was over, the topic would drop, but as soon as Mom and Sister Violet hung up the phone, it rang again. This time it was Sister Ella. She wanted to talk about the sermon.

My mom spent the rest of the day talking to the ladies of the church, and then the next morning, she was talking to members from other churches.

Somehow all the phone chatter got back to Reverend Shilling’s wife, Sister Della.

Sister Della was a quiet woman who never really had much to say about anything. She sat there on the same pew every Sunday- the second from the front on the right side of the sanctuary. She never spoke any thing negative about any body. Which was okay because she never spoke any thing positive either, but when we got to church that next Sunday, she was all mouth?

All the members were seated and waiting for Reverend Shilling to come in to start service. Since he started every service with prayer, this was the usual practice, but not this day. Sister Shilling came out from the pastor’s study with a strange look on her face. She went directly to the podium and stood there looking out across the congregation. Just as she was about to open her mouth to speak, her cell phone rang. She politely answered it, and began to talk.

Every woman in the church sat there opened mouthed as Sister Shilling relayed every word of what had been said the previous Sunday on the seven and a half hour phone rant that the ladies of the church had gone on after the last service. All the kids giggled at the day’s commentary, but the adults did not think that any thing was funny. They were mad!

“Oh, yes. Revered Shilling was definitely talking about Sister Ella. She is always on the phone talking about people. She gossips entirely too much. No! Not Sister Masie! She doesn’t seem like the type to talk about people,” she said looking more and more serious as she listened to what was being said on the other end of the phone line.

“Surely not! Why would be telling people that this church will never grow under Reverend Shilling? She did not say that he was not qualified to polish shoes on the side of the freeway! NO!” she said with exaggerated expressions of disbelief.

“Sister Violet did not call the pastor a little hot-headed bull-frog.”

The conversation went on for almost an hour. No one else in the church said a word. The men all looked on with barely contained amusement, but the women looked about ready to jump up and gang rush Sister Shilling. When it was all over, Pastor Shilling came out with his cell phone in hand. He thanked his wife for her help and then took his seat behind the pulpit.

Still no one said a word. A few minutes later, he started service. That Sunday he preached about “Those Back-stabbing Church Folk.” The sermon was short and to the point.

When we returned home that Sunday, the phone did not ring. No phone calls were made. My mother quietly prepared Sunday dinner, helped us kids get our things ready for school the next day, and got us ready for bed. She did not say a word to any one about church- not even to my father.

I remember thinking that it was odd to have the house so quiet on a Sunday. Reverend Shilling deserved an award or something because that day, he preached one heck of a sermon.

Chapter Five

Respecting the First Lady

The silence in the church continued for about another three or four months. Then the ladies started to ease back into old ways. This time they were careful about who talked to. They kept their grievances with the new pastor within the confines of their close-knit circle.

This went on for years. They would go to church sitting quietly while Reverend Shilling preached. They never said “Amen” or tried to encourage or agree with anything the pastor was saying. They would just sit there rolling their eyes.

I guess it was sometime around my senior year in high school when things started to liven back up in the church. Reverend Shilling was still there. He still preached every Sunday, and the women still rolled their eyes at him. Sister Shilling still sat on her same pew. The women still called each other after service and critiqued the sermon.

This Sunday was a little different. During service- right before the offering plate was passed around, Sister Ella got up to go to the rest room. As she sauntered down the middle isle of the sanctuary- something that just is not done once service has begun, she tripped on the crack in the floor. She cried out in pain, and some of the other ladies went running to her side, but just before reaching her, my mother tripped in the crack. She landed right on top of Sister Ella!

Sister Violet tripped as well, but she landed in a big heap just beside them. The same for Sister Davis. I remember laughing so hard that tears were running down my face.

Then out of no where, Sister Shilling stood up, looked at the ladies, and said, “Look, every one! The demons are trying to bust Hell wide open!”

I don’t know what she said that for! My mother was the first one to her feet. She went at Sister Shilling with both barrels blazing- so to speak. She yelled, screamed and cursed. Sister Shilling just laughed.

Then Sister Davis went at her. Sister Shilling still laughed. She kept laughing as all the women picked themselves up and went after her. Then without warning, Sister Ella pulled put her gun!

Deacon Davis quietly escorted all the kids out of the sanctuary. He sat back in the fellowship hall with us praying that she would not shoot any one. When he was done praying he came back and asked me and a few of the other teens to go back and watch the little ones.

I wanted to stay, but I really did not want to be in there if that gun just so happened to go off. I went on to the fellowship hall, but I stayed close to the door so that I could still take a gander at what was going on.

From the small crack that I kept in the door, I saw Sister Ella pointing her gun at Sister Della. Sister Della did not seem bothered. She just rose from her seat and asked Sister Ella if she planned on shooting her for laughing.

“I just might. Laugh now!” Sister Ella said.

All the other women were moving out of the line of fire as the two women looked at each other with wary eyes.

“Go ahead, you old devil,” Sister Della told her.

Revered Shilling had made his way from the pulpit to stand in front of his wife, but she pushed him out of the way saying that she did not need him to shield her from the devil. He reluctantly stood to the side and watched.

“You are a dumb B-” I will not repeat the long stint of curse words that Sister Ella called Sister Della. I will just say that there was nothing Christian-like about any of it. She used words that I had never heard before, and believe me I had heard them all.

“Wow!” Sister Della said. “I didn’t know that you knew that many words.”

“I could shoot you right now, and I would not feel the least bit bad about it.”

“Then shoot, and quit talking about it.”

Poor Reverend Shilling looked on in disbelief. He could not believe what he was seeing or hearing. There was a crazy lady pointing a gun at his wife, and she was egging her on! Sister Della did not look the least bit afraid though.

“You’re not worth it,” Sister Ella said tucking the gun back into her purse.

You will not believe what happened next!

Sister Della- who might have weighed about a buck fifty soak and wet, jump across the pew at the three hundred pound Sister Ella! She beat that old lady until her arms got tired- and no one stopped her.

As a matter of fact, the other ladies were cheering the fight on and the men were easing out the back door- even Reverend Shilling.

A little while later, I walked out leading the children out the back door. As we tipped down the side of the sanctuary opposite the side where the two ladies now sat on opposing ends of the front pew looking like two boxers taking a break between rounds, I stifled a little giggle. Sister Ella was sitting there with her hair all mussed up heaving heavily while patting lightly at a black eye while Sister Della sat on the other end of the bench with a funny little smirk spread across her lips.

Later on as I sat in the living room at home, I listened in on a phone call that my mother was making from the phone in her bedroom. She was talking to Sister Violet about the fight.

“Did you see how that little woman jumped that bench and whipped Sister Ella down?”

“I saw it. The poor woman didn’t stand a chance against that little witch,” my mother said laughingly.

I realized then that something at Mount Galilee was about to change, and I was right.

The following Sunday, all the ladies of the church- except Sister Ella sat close around Sister Della. That little had woman had fought Sister Ella like Daniel against the giant and won the respect that she should have given all along as the first lady of the church.