CHAPTER ONE
Black clouds settled over the stark white columns, which stood as sentinels in front of the entrance. Arched windows with stained glass refracted the sunlight into multi-colored glimmers that bounced off the back of the black man pacing along the length of the pulpit. He paused. Pastor Breedlove was a burly box of a man who had pastored Main Street Community Church for some seventeen years, assuming the position after his predecessor who died of sickness. The broad shoulders hunched over handwritten notes while he adjusted spectacles to gain a clearer glimpse of his notes. His expression mimicked the images of the angry God who appeared in the biblical commentaries he had devoured during seminary. He earned his BA from Lincoln University in Jefferson City. After saving money working on his grandfather's farm, he was admitted to and graduated from Eden Theological Seminary, located outside of St. Louis. Enjoying some unexpected good fortune, he was called to pastor Main Street Community Church, a predominantly white congregation with a smattering of black folk. Pastor Breedlove preached a legalistic gospel with concrete repercussions for disregarding biblical mandates.
His great-grandparents were former slaves who escaped from Mississippi to Kansas via the underground railroad. They settled in Missouri after the state abolished slavery. Pastor Breedlove's father was a sharecropper who eventually purchased his own farm where he raised bird-dogs and also farmed the land. He cultivated corn while also working odd jobs that inevitably ended when a white man called him nigger. He would curse the foreman, cold-cock him, or both. His grandmother always knew when the exchange had taken place. Frederick Earl would amble through the front lawn at noon, grab his shotgun, and mumble "I'm goin' hunting." Pastor Breedlove memorized his sermons, including all scriptural references. Committing God's words to memory was a Christian's duty along with loving one's neighbor. For over forty years, he had plotted the perfect sermons constructed from scripture and historical background, defined Greek and Hebrew words, hermeneutically sound analysis, and life application. Saturday afternoon was the time to perfect delivery, adapting his tone and modulation to adequately provoke the proper emotional responses from the congregation. Clearing his throat, he began the sixth run-through.
"This morning, my beloved, I will talk to you about the coming wrath of God. Not a comfortable topic, I know, but a necessary one I assure you. For while God is a loving God, he is also a just God. In Ezekiel 25 and verse 17, the prophet declares that God will execute great vengeance upon the sinner. Amen."
Pastor Breedlove, whose white hair matched the color of the church's pillars, took a breath as he continued to pace. His rhythm was off, but he smiled anyway because his favorite part had arrived. For most preachers, it would be the end with its crescendo and flourishes but for Pastor Breedlove, it was showing off his understanding of the sacred languages.
"Naqam in the Aramaic Hebrew, the language of God's chosen people, means avengement, whether of the act or the passion. It also means revenge. You heard it right, oh yes, you did! God is passionate about justice, passionate about visiting the iniquity of the fathers unto the second and even third generations. Yes, sir, God is passionate about it. Passion implies heat or the motivation of a lover toward his beloved. The word invokes emotion and purpose, dynamic energy in bringing something to fruition. That's right, God is a passionate God."
Pastor Breedlove stopped and looked over the sanctuary, envisioning the crowd of white and black faces looking to him for guidance. The pews, red and newly cushioned, mimicked the colors shining through the windows. He had begun to sweat, and his voice modulated louder and deeper. The climax was upon him and like any jazz singer worth his salt, he adjusted his diaphragm to support the final chorus.
"For God demands justice and will answer the call of the righteous. God is passionate about avenging the wrongs in this world. Sin and sinful people are in his sights and on his radar. Defying God will bring upon you the whirlwind of his vengeance, liars and fornicators, the rich who abuse and rob the wages of the poor, adulterers, drunkards, and child-molesters, all are in the same category and will receive the same justice. God will strike you down with the arrows of his vengeance when you least expect it."
He grabbed both sides of the podium and looked over his spectacles for effect. He saw the eyes of every member and visitor as he brought home this important point. His eyes flashed anger on command. The moment will call for it, he thought.
"The holy writ declares that no one knows the day or the hour of his coming but know this you sinners, God is coming and coming for you. What can I do to avoid his vengeance, you ask? Do I need to state the obvious? Repent, oh sinner. Repent and let the forgiveness of God wash over you and cleanse your wicked hearts. Oh, wretched ones, don't play politics with God. Make sure your sorry is real. Make sure your heart is burdened with the understanding of your iniquity. Then, and only then, will God snuff out the flames of his coming wrath. God stands ready. Are you ready? Is this the day of salvation or the day of damnation? You decide, oh sinner. You decide."
He stopped his pacing at the end of the pulpit with stairs emptying into the hallway, leading to the pastoral study and offices. He pulled a white, starched handkerchief from his vest pocket and wiped his brow. He smiled for the first time. He stepped down into a hallway, lined with the framed pictures of his predecessors. Some called it the Hall of Heroes. His eyes looked at the first stern-faced white man, followed by more until the passing faces turned brown or black. He stopped at the picture of Pastor Winston Caleb. He installed Pastor Breedlove as the new Senior Pastor in his stead and prayed over him. Afterward, Pastor Caleb gave him a red envelope and whispered cryptic words into his ear. At that moment, Pastor Breedlove couldn't remember what he had said. Hearing a sound, he looked over his shoulder to see the assistant pastor coming from the sanctuary. Their eyes met.
"Good day," Silas said.
"Good morning, sir."
Pastor Breedlove turned on his heels and entered the study, pulling the door shut. He locked it.
