it’d come a rain and the preacher’d have to sweep the mess out the front door.
The preacher, Brother Eustis Brown, was just another field hand. But he was the onlyest man I knowed besides Uncle James that could read the Bible. I learned a lot of Scripture from listenin to Brother Brown. That’s ’cause he’d preach the same sermon ever week for months .
Let’s say he was preachin on the evils of lust. Brother Brown’d say, “Now listen, church: The book of First John say we know the lust a’ the flesh, the lust a’ the eyes, and the boastful pride of life—all that is not from God , it’s from this world ! But this world is passin away ! And its lusts are passin away ! But if you do the will a’ God, you gon’ live forever !”
Ever week, he’d say them same verses, hammerin em home over and over, like he was nailin a shoe on a stubborn horse. But ever once in a while, people started complainin.
“Brother Brown, we done heard that message about a hun’erd times,” one of the older women would say, somebody with gumption like my aun-tie, Big Mama’s sister. “When you gon’ change the sermon?”
Brother Brown would just gaze up at the holey roof and shake his head, kinda sad. “I work out there in the cotton with y’all, and ever week, the Lord shows me what’s goin on in the congregation so I’ll know what to preach on Sunday. When I start seein some changes out there,” he’d say, pointin toward the plantation, “I’ll be changin what I preach in here.”
That’s how I learned the Bible without knowin how to read.
When I was about twelve, my aunt Etha dressed me all in white and took me down to the river to get dunked. There was four or five folks gettin baptized that day, and all the plantation families brought pails and baskets of food to spread out on blankets and have us what we called “dinner on the ground.” White folks call it a picnic.
My auntie wrung the neck off a chicken and fried it up special, and brought her famous blackberry cobbler, and a jug a’ cool tea she made with mint leaves she got from my great-aunt. (Least I think they was mint leaves. With my auntie, you never knowed what kinda powders and potions you was gon’ get.)
We didn’t eat, though, till after Brother Brown preached a sermon ’bout John the Baptist dunkin Jesus hisself, and God callin down from heaven that He was mighty pleased with what kinda fella His Son had turned out to be. When Brother Brown was done preachin, he waded out into the cool green river till he got waist-deep in his white robe that he kept special for baptizin. I followed him down in my bare feet, over pebbles, smooth and shinin wet, down through the warm soft mud, into the water.
Now me and Bobby did lots of swimmin in the waterin hole, but we was mostly buck naked. So it felt kinda strange goin in the water in a full suit of clothes, and them swirlin around me all white and soft like a cloud. But I waded on out to where Brother Brown was waitin for me. The river mud squished up between my toes while I kept one eye out for gators.
I stood sideways in front of Brother Brown, and he put his left hand behind my back. I could hear some birds a-peepin, and the water sloshin, and away off down the river, I seen some white folks on a boat, fishin. “Li’l Buddy,” the preacher said, “do you believe Jesus died on the cross for your sins, was buried, and rose again on the third day?”
“Yessir, I do,” I said and felt somethin graze my leg. I was hopin it was a catfish.
“I now baptize thee in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!” Brother Brown said, and quick as lightnin, like maybe I was gon’ change my mind, he pinched my nose shut with his right hand, and slammed me down backward in the water.
Problem was, Brother Brown kinda lost his grip and I sunk right to the bottom. I didn’t know I was supposed to come right back up, so I just floated on down the river a ways, blowin bubbles and lookin up
The preacher, Brother Eustis Brown, was just another field hand. But he was the onlyest man I knowed besides Uncle James that could read the Bible. I learned a lot of Scripture from listenin to Brother Brown. That’s ’cause he’d preach the same sermon ever week for months .
Let’s say he was preachin on the evils of lust. Brother Brown’d say, “Now listen, church: The book of First John say we know the lust a’ the flesh, the lust a’ the eyes, and the boastful pride of life—all that is not from God , it’s from this world ! But this world is passin away ! And its lusts are passin away ! But if you do the will a’ God, you gon’ live forever !”
Ever week, he’d say them same verses, hammerin em home over and over, like he was nailin a shoe on a stubborn horse. But ever once in a while, people started complainin.
“Brother Brown, we done heard that message about a hun’erd times,” one of the older women would say, somebody with gumption like my aun-tie, Big Mama’s sister. “When you gon’ change the sermon?”
Brother Brown would just gaze up at the holey roof and shake his head, kinda sad. “I work out there in the cotton with y’all, and ever week, the Lord shows me what’s goin on in the congregation so I’ll know what to preach on Sunday. When I start seein some changes out there,” he’d say, pointin toward the plantation, “I’ll be changin what I preach in here.”
That’s how I learned the Bible without knowin how to read.
When I was about twelve, my aunt Etha dressed me all in white and took me down to the river to get dunked. There was four or five folks gettin baptized that day, and all the plantation families brought pails and baskets of food to spread out on blankets and have us what we called “dinner on the ground.” White folks call it a picnic.
My auntie wrung the neck off a chicken and fried it up special, and brought her famous blackberry cobbler, and a jug a’ cool tea she made with mint leaves she got from my great-aunt. (Least I think they was mint leaves. With my auntie, you never knowed what kinda powders and potions you was gon’ get.)
We didn’t eat, though, till after Brother Brown preached a sermon ’bout John the Baptist dunkin Jesus hisself, and God callin down from heaven that He was mighty pleased with what kinda fella His Son had turned out to be. When Brother Brown was done preachin, he waded out into the cool green river till he got waist-deep in his white robe that he kept special for baptizin. I followed him down in my bare feet, over pebbles, smooth and shinin wet, down through the warm soft mud, into the water.
Now me and Bobby did lots of swimmin in the waterin hole, but we was mostly buck naked. So it felt kinda strange goin in the water in a full suit of clothes, and them swirlin around me all white and soft like a cloud. But I waded on out to where Brother Brown was waitin for me. The river mud squished up between my toes while I kept one eye out for gators.
I stood sideways in front of Brother Brown, and he put his left hand behind my back. I could hear some birds a-peepin, and the water sloshin, and away off down the river, I seen some white folks on a boat, fishin. “Li’l Buddy,” the preacher said, “do you believe Jesus died on the cross for your sins, was buried, and rose again on the third day?”
“Yessir, I do,” I said and felt somethin graze my leg. I was hopin it was a catfish.
“I now baptize thee in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!” Brother Brown said, and quick as lightnin, like maybe I was gon’ change my mind, he pinched my nose shut with his right hand, and slammed me down backward in the water.
Problem was, Brother Brown kinda lost his grip and I sunk right to the bottom. I didn’t know I was supposed to come right back up, so I just floated on down the river a ways, blowin bubbles and lookin up
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