Read Online The Black Mass of Brother Springer by Charles Willeford - Free Book Online
Authors: Charles Willeford
Ads: Link
Bar-B-Cue Palace. In addition to a lively drive-in trade the inside section of the cafe contained seven booths and a dozen tables, most of the seats filled with hungry rib and chicken eaters. Although I was the only white man eating inside, many of the drive-in customers I could see in automobiles through the windows were white men ordering ribs and barbecued chickens to go.
"Yes," I said to Dr. Jensen, wiping my greasy mouth with a paper napkin, "The Church of God's Flock offers the true Christian an opportunity to return to the basic truths of the Gospel. My early theological training in California at the California Bible Institute convinced me of the necessity of true meditation. That was my primary reason for entering the monastery at Orangeville. Have you been there, Dr. Jensen?"
"No, sir, I haven't, although I have always intended to visit it some day."
"Have you been there, brother Linsey?"
"I can't say that I have, Reverend. The Palace keeps me pretty busy, and although some may consider it a sin, I have been forced to stay open on Sunday. Oh, I go to church regular," he added hastily, "but many people have told me how nice it is to be able to get ribs on Sunday. I figured that by staying open on Sunday, many churchgoers are able to get out of their kitchens and go to church. By buying ribs here, you see, Reverend, they are free to worship in God's house without worrying about something at home on the stove."
"I see what you mean," I nodded, "but you must never lose sight of the fact that Sunday belongs to the Lord. Do you allow your help time off to attend church?"
"Yes, sir. Some I let off in the morning, and the rest for the evening service, but they all get a chance to go."
"Then I suppose it is all right. Who has been conducting the services while you have been without a regular pastor?"
"I have conducted some of the services," Dr. Jensen admitted modestly, "and Jackie has conducted a few, but most of them have been ably handled by Brother Caldwell, our other trustee, who should be along any minute. We have also had guest ministers from the Abyssinian Church of Lambs, the Truth Baptists of the Infant, Jesus, and the Afro-Cuban Missionary Society. Reverend Ruiz, from the Afro-Cuban Mission, didn't speak English, and we trustees voted not to have him back after his sermon in Spanish. Although we feel he is a very fine minister, of course."
"It is all very well to listen skeptically to the faith and beliefs of others," I said solemnly, "as long as you are not influenced away from the basic truths in the Holy Bible."
"Amen!" Dr. Jensen and Brother Linsey said together.
At this moment we were joined at the table by Clyde Caldwell, a thin, narrow-faced Negro with a high sloping forehead and a closely cropped head. His lips were thin and the corners of his mouth curved sharply downward. His dark eyes were alert and never still as he looked about the cafe. This was a man to watch, I thought. If Caldwell had conducted the majority of the services he had a working knowledge of religion, and he was not a man to get into a theological argument with until I had my feet on the ground. Introductions were made, and Caldwell sat down in the booth next to Jensen, facing me.
"I say it is about time, Reverend Springer," Caldwell said sharply. "I've written no less than seven letters to Abbott Dover requesting a new pastor, and I believe Dr. Jensen has written several letters himself."
"Three." Jensen nodded.
"Have you ever visited the monastery of the Church of God?" I countered.
"No. I work hard six days a week, and on Sunday I worship the Lord."
"Worship is not enough," I said sternly, "you must work for the Lord. Our monastery, gentlemen, is without funds, and without monks. At the present time there are no
"Yes," I said to Dr. Jensen, wiping my greasy mouth with a paper napkin, "The Church of God's Flock offers the true Christian an opportunity to return to the basic truths of the Gospel. My early theological training in California at the California Bible Institute convinced me of the necessity of true meditation. That was my primary reason for entering the monastery at Orangeville. Have you been there, Dr. Jensen?"
"No, sir, I haven't, although I have always intended to visit it some day."
"Have you been there, brother Linsey?"
"I can't say that I have, Reverend. The Palace keeps me pretty busy, and although some may consider it a sin, I have been forced to stay open on Sunday. Oh, I go to church regular," he added hastily, "but many people have told me how nice it is to be able to get ribs on Sunday. I figured that by staying open on Sunday, many churchgoers are able to get out of their kitchens and go to church. By buying ribs here, you see, Reverend, they are free to worship in God's house without worrying about something at home on the stove."
"I see what you mean," I nodded, "but you must never lose sight of the fact that Sunday belongs to the Lord. Do you allow your help time off to attend church?"
"Yes, sir. Some I let off in the morning, and the rest for the evening service, but they all get a chance to go."
"Then I suppose it is all right. Who has been conducting the services while you have been without a regular pastor?"
"I have conducted some of the services," Dr. Jensen admitted modestly, "and Jackie has conducted a few, but most of them have been ably handled by Brother Caldwell, our other trustee, who should be along any minute. We have also had guest ministers from the Abyssinian Church of Lambs, the Truth Baptists of the Infant, Jesus, and the Afro-Cuban Missionary Society. Reverend Ruiz, from the Afro-Cuban Mission, didn't speak English, and we trustees voted not to have him back after his sermon in Spanish. Although we feel he is a very fine minister, of course."
"It is all very well to listen skeptically to the faith and beliefs of others," I said solemnly, "as long as you are not influenced away from the basic truths in the Holy Bible."
"Amen!" Dr. Jensen and Brother Linsey said together.
At this moment we were joined at the table by Clyde Caldwell, a thin, narrow-faced Negro with a high sloping forehead and a closely cropped head. His lips were thin and the corners of his mouth curved sharply downward. His dark eyes were alert and never still as he looked about the cafe. This was a man to watch, I thought. If Caldwell had conducted the majority of the services he had a working knowledge of religion, and he was not a man to get into a theological argument with until I had my feet on the ground. Introductions were made, and Caldwell sat down in the booth next to Jensen, facing me.
"I say it is about time, Reverend Springer," Caldwell said sharply. "I've written no less than seven letters to Abbott Dover requesting a new pastor, and I believe Dr. Jensen has written several letters himself."
"Three." Jensen nodded.
"Have you ever visited the monastery of the Church of God?" I countered.
"No. I work hard six days a week, and on Sunday I worship the Lord."
"Worship is not enough," I said sternly, "you must work for the Lord. Our monastery, gentlemen, is without funds, and without monks. At the present time there are no
Similar Books
