Blunder and LightningBy Joe Burris

Contents

Chapter One

Morning Glory Church, the Rev. Thelonius Caesar, pastor.......5

Chapter Two

Homicide.................................................................................12

Chapter Three

Dilemma.................................................................................22

Chapter Four

"Woe to the blasphemer!”.....................................................27

Chapter Five

“Everything’s gonna be all right.”...........................................33

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Joe Burris is a 30-year professional writer. He has authored stories for such publications as the Boston Globe, the Nashville Tennessean and the Baltimore Sun

and for such Web sites as We Are Creative People and Inner Child. He lives in the Seattle area.

Silhouette photos and images from Wikipedia Commons and Publicdomanpictures.net.

Quote from Brainyquote.com

“The faith that stands on authority is not faith.”

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

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Chapter OneMorning Glory Church, the Rev. Thelonius Caesar, pastor

I don’t go to church anymore.

I used to go to Morning Glory Church, just south of Argon Street. I used to be a regular. A few years ago, when I was looking for a church home, someone mentioned Morning Glory. I attended a service and never looked back. Morning Glory is an historic church; it once served as a meeting house during the ‘50s and ‘60s civil rights movements. Some of the world’s greatest orators have graced its pulpit. When you joined, you learned the church’s rich history, and the more you attended the more you felt part of that history.

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Morning Glory became part of my identity; whenever I attended out-of-town churches, and they asked visitors to stand and give their church affiliation, I’d say, “Morning Glory Church, the Rev. Thelonius Caesar, pastor,” and folks’ eyes lit up.

It gave me a sense of belonging, and I returned the favor with service. I showed up for Sunday service, Sunday school, Tuesday Night Prayer Meeting, Wednesday Bible Study and Saturday retreats. I even sang in the choir and went on sick-and-shut-in visits with the deacons.

Back then, there was little difference between my faith and my religion, and my religion was my faith in Morning Glory. But not anymore. After all that mess with Rev. Caesar, I doubt you’ll ever catch me in that church again.

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Now let me say that I, for one, didn’t have a problem with Rev. Caesar – though I could see how someone would. In fact, I questioned from the get go whether his aggressive style was right for our church.

When Rev. Armstrong passed and we began searching for a new pastor, I knew we should have chosen someone like Rev. Armstrong: warm, easy going, low key – the kind of preacher who allowed everyone’s talents to shine.

But people blamed Rev. Armstrong’s laid back demeanor for our steady drop in attendance. They wanted a fiery preacher, someone that would, as they put it, “shake things up.” And that’s

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what they got.

Rev was a man in his early 40s, but had a commanding presence of someone much older; he was tall and thin and had voice like Isaac Hayes. Nobody knew the bible like Rev; he had a way of making every passage speak directly to you. And most of the time, the passages were saying you were too far from grace to curry the Almighty’s favor alone. Rev preached the kind of sermons that said, basically, you didn’t know what to do without

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being told. Not only that, but sometimes he would point to the ceiling, pound his fist and make a declaration: Some backsliding member, he’d say, was about to fall from the Almighty’s grace. The next thing you know someone got in trouble with the law, or ended up in A.A., or lost his job. Sometimes it seemed as if Rev was the only thing standing between you and the wrath of the Almighty, and his declaration meant he had stepped out of harm’s way.

Looking back now, I wish I had left Morning Glory sooner. But leaving wasn’t easy. Missing an occasional service wasn’t easy. As soon as you did, you’d get a call from a church officer: “Rev wanted to know why you weren’t in service.” The next time you showed up, Rev would sneer at down at you from the pulpit. After a while, I didn’t dare miss. Rev sometimes made it uncomfortable to believe in God and downright frightening not to.

I guess that’s why I admired Shawn Curtis. He was one of few people in church Rev couldn’t shake, rattle or scare.

Like most of us recent members, Shawn didn’t grow up in church. He began going only after his mother, a member of the Mothers Board, took sick and could no longer drive herself. Then Shawn married Rebecca, a beautiful woman he met at State College, and they made church a family affair.

I believe Shawn would have enjoyed Morning Glory if we had another pastor. While most of us were eerily captivated by Rev’s sermons; Shawn sat through them. He’d wheel his mother out as soon as Rev ended. Mama Curtis complained and Rev rolled his eyes, but Shawn kept wheeling.

One day, I’m told, Rev. Caesar summoned Rev. Lewis, the assistant pastor, to his office and told him to give Shawn a call. He then switched on the speaker phone.

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Rev. Lewis said, “Rev wants to know why you keep leaving before the benediction.” I’m told Shawn said, “If he wants to know then why the hell are you calling me?” and hung up. And that was the end of that.

Perhaps Rev and Shawn were destined to butt heads, but none of us saw it coming. And no one could have imagined Rebecca in the middle of it.

Rev came to Morning Glory Church fresh off a divorce from his second wife. He also came with wandering eyes, but instead of setting his sights on one of the single women in the congregation, Rev focused on Rebecca. One Sunday, while thanking her for leading the children’s retreat, Rev complimented Rebecca’s looks, likening her to – get this – Bathsheba, the woman in the bible that King David coveted so much that he sent her husband to the front lines of battle to be killed.

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Shawn and Mama Curtis sat stunned, but Rebecca smiled at the compliment. That was the only Sunday Shawn stayed the entire service. Afterward, he made a bee-line toward Rev, but Rebecca and Mama Curtis restrained him. I’m told Shawn and Rebecca argued all the way home.

The next thing you know Rebecca and Rev are spotted all over town. After that, Rebecca and Shawn end up in marriage

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counseling. Later they filed for divorce. Rev didn’t foretell any of that.

Only a few people knew about the blowup Rev and Rebecca had in his office; I didn’t hear anything until after she was asked to leave the church for an “unexplained violation.” And then Rebecca discovered that many of the intimidated people in our congregation were business and political pillars in our community. In no time she went from being pink slipped to blacklisted. She was accused of this, rumored of having done that and disgraced for both.

Rebecca not only left church, she left town. Shawn, though never officially thrown out of church, was asked to stay away.

It was a mess, and it only a matter of time before the whole church got dragged into it.

Chapter TwoHomicide

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I’ve always enjoyed church rituals. They’re what I miss most. Whenever I come across the phrase, “Order of Service,” in a church program,” I’m reminded of two reasons why I kept attending Morning Glory, for lack of a better word, religiously, for years on end – without fail or question, even in the face of doubt about our pastor or contempt for church folk.

Let me explain. First, there’s the service: We practiced both written and unwritten: Whenever we sang the hymn, “Just as I Am,” Sister Winifred Jakes always grabbed the third verse, nurtured it, polished it and offered it up to the Heavens as a gift. Everyone sung as low as we could on verse three so we could hear Sister Winifred from every pew.

The Doxology? We knew it verbatim. Still, we read from the hymnal. During the offertory; Rev exclaimed how the Almighty “loves a cheerful giver,” and everyone shouted, “Amen!” including some of our rich parishioners who put a peasant’s share in the collection plates.

Then there was the sermon: No one ever questioned whether it matched the scripture reading. For that matter, no one ever questioned the sermon or the scripture reading. And though Rev’s message sometimes left you feeling like crumbs on the Welcome Table, he insisted, “Everything’s gonna be all right” if you simply obeyed the message. We scribbled notes on our programs and we vowed to go over them as soon as we got home, though I always forgot.

Still, there was something reassuring about being told that the message would serve you during your work week. We read the same scriptures, sang the same hymns, and listen to, save a few modern-day references sprinkled in, the same sermons, Sunday after Sunday, year after year.

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Then there’s order: You could set your watch by the moment certain parishioners arrived or how long Deacon Jeffrey Andrews’ offertory prayers would last, or when Rev had reached the midway point of his sermon.

No one disrupted the cadence of a Morning Glory service. No one spoke out of turn: If a parishioner noticed that Rev got something wrong while reading the announcements, she would summon an usher and whisper the correction in his ear. The usher whispered it to a deacon. The deacon then whispered it to the head deacon, who would wait until the congregation was standing during a hymn to approach the altar and tell the assistant pastor, who then told Rev, who brought it up just before benediction.

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This order of service was a refuge from the disorder in our lives – from toxic work environments, failed relationships and fears of going out at night. Sunday after Sunday, we entered Morning Glory on time, shut the door behind us and relished our detachment from the rest of the world.

It was our blessed quietness, and no one disrupted it: Anyone repeatedly coughing got up and left the sanctuary without being told. Parents with crying children needed only one hard stare before taking the kids outside.

Here’s why I bring this up: Shawn could have chosen any of the weekday services to confront Rev. He didn’t have to do it on Sunday. And if he insisted on a Sunday church service, he could have chosen the evening service, when church is half full. Instead, he went after Rev not only during the 11:00 service but on Women’s Day, when church is so full that deacons have to put chairs in the aisles.

Shawn arrived late to a packed church; Rev had just begun his sermon. A deacon offered to place a chair for him at the back of the sanctuary, but instead Shawn walked down the aisle to the front pew and ordered those seated there to squeeze together to make room for him.

Rev momentarily stopped preaching but said nothing.

I don’t remember where Rev’s sermon was going before Shawn arrived, but afterward, it was all about righteousness and damnation. He said the Almighty places a path of righteousness for all to follow, but that some people, through their own selfishness, detour to a road that leads to eternal damnation.

He spoke about how some people live to stir up trouble with intimidation and confrontation, and how they willingly turn from righteousness as if they favor damnation.

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And he said that people who don’t strive for righteousness, and instead bring misery to one of the Almighty’s messengers, were definitely bound for hell and damnation!

No one knew where Rev was going with this. I don’t believe he knew. Still, Rev’s got the regular call and response, with people saying, “Amen!” and “Yes sir!” But it was a hollow, half-hearted response; we all knew who he was talking about.

Rev went on and on. Shawn began shaking his head. We worried that one of these two men was about to throw a dent into our precious order of service. Most of us figured that it was up to Rev to keep the peace. Shawn would do his best to restrain himself, we figured, because no one, regardless of denomination, interrupts a preacher in the pulpit.

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So when Shawn stood up and said, “What do you know about righteousness?” it got so quiet that you could’ve heared a squirrel nibble on a raisin.

Rev didn’t know what to say or do.

Shawn asked again, “What do you know about righteousness?”

Rev struggled gathering his composure. He hadn’t factored in Shawn’s response to the affair. He marveled at Shawn’s

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brazenness; anyone else would have been too scared to stage a confrontation in the house of prayer.

Instead, Shawn made Rev. Caesar the first minister in the history of religion to be scolded during a sermon.

Rev felt embarrassed and bullied; he wondered why none of his parishioners stepped in to make Shawn leave him alone.

Finally a few people spoke up for him.

“Sit down, brother!”

“This is church!”

“Show some respect for the house of prayer!”

Shawn simply ignored them.

“You call yourself preaching about righteousness!” he shouted. “How about preaching a sermon about a minister who sleeps with another man’s wife? Is there hell and damnation for a preacher who steals another man’s wife and then runs her out of town?”

If there was a person in the congregation still seated comfortably, he was asleep. About a third of the church got up and walked out, with some people shaking their heads and others saying, “I can’t take this,” as they departed. They left out every exit, and it was then that we noticed an awful thunderstorm had been brewing outside.

Deacons grabbed Shawn by the arm and tried to usher him out. Shawn shoved him away and yelled, “Get your hands off me!” But the deacons got a hold of him again.

When Rev finally spoke, he pretended as if Shawn wasn’t there; he abandoned his sermon and instead went straight to extending membership to the church. “The doors of the church are open!

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Would you come?” he said with a cracked voice. “Come and unite with Morning Glory!”

More people got up and left. Ushers joined the deacons in steadily pushing Shawn out a side door. Shawn pushed back once and yelled, “I’m leaving! Leave me alone!” So they let him go and he headed toward the door.

Shawn opened the door as a bolt of lightning blazed through the dark sky and the peal of thunder that followed shook the stained-glass windows. He stepped out into the pouring rain. We were all glad to see him go.

And then things got truly bizarre. For some reason, Rev ordered Shawn to come back.

“You need to come to this altar and repent!” Caesar shouted as the confidence and command returned to his voice. “You’ve sinned against this temple, this congregation and the Almighty!”

Shawn turned around and stopped at the doorway.

“I’ll repent if you repent!” he said.

“Did you hear what I said?” Rev yelled. “Come and repent your sins!”

“Let him go, Rev!” some parishioners said nervously. “Just let him go!”

But Rev Caesar wouldn’t let him go. “Come back here!” he roared as lightning zigzagged through the sky.

Shawn looked Rev in the eye and uttered something as a peal of thunder boomed outside. No one heard what he said. Yet apparently Rev read his lips and became enraged. Shawn turned to the door, covered his head from the rain with his jacket and walked away.

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Then Rev pounded his fist, pointed at Shawn and screamed, “If you don’t come and back and repent, may the Almighty in Heaven strike you down!”

Suddenly a blinding flash of white light filled the sky.

Before you know it – WHAM! Shawn was hit by a blazing bolt of lightning that ripped his body in two and seared him from head to toe. His eyeballs popped out of their sockets and sailed across the street. His clothes caught fire. His metal watch and neck chain melted into his charred remains, which fell to the sidewalk.

In a matter of seconds Shawn went from a furious man to two lumps of charcoal and a set of black-stained teeth.

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I’ve never heard screams and wails like those of that moment. People dashed out church exits, trampling over one another. Some parishioners shook and cried uncontrollably in their seats. Brother Reese Turner didn’t know what to do; he scampered to an exit, reversed direction and headed for the altar, the back to an exit and back toward the altar before he spun around and passed out, plopping head first to the carpet.

For a moment no one approached Shawn’s charred body. We were all afraid to go near him. Then one by one people knelt over him teary eyed. Some prayed over him and lay hands on his crisp remains.

Rev just stood in the pulpit stunned silent. Those who weren’t huddled around Shawn stared at him with fright. He descended from the pulpit and some people took off running. Others crouched horrified in their pews.

Rev didn’t know what to make of their fright. He stared at the crowd huddled over Shawn’s body. He then looked down beneath the altar. There, staring up, was Sister Charlotte Oscar, who was confined to a wheelchair, her legs having been amputated after a bout with gangrene. Sister Charlotte looked up at Rev and shook her head before wheeling herself out of the church. Rev retreated to his office and locked the door behind him.

When Rev showed his face again, he saw that EMTs had arrived to pick up Shawn’s body, and police were questioning parishioners. A few parishioners pointed Rev. Caesar to police, who then approached him.

“Sir, are you Rev. Thelonius Caesar,” one of the policemen asked.

“Yes, I am.”

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“Rev. Caesar, I’m going to have to place you under arrest. Will you please place your hands behind your back, sir?”

As the police read his Miranda rights, Caesar couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What? Place me under arrest for what?”

“Homicide, sir,” a policeman said. “Your parishioners say you killed Shawn Curtis in a fit of rage.” Rev. Caesar mouth gaped open. He stared at his parishioners in the distance; most of them stared back with fear and anger.

Rev told police Shawn got struck by a bolt of lightning, and that he wasn’t within 15 feet of Shawn when it happened. Police replied that parishioners insisted he killed Shawn. More than five dozen, they said, had come to the station and offered testimony saying they saw him commit murder.

Rev stared at the gathering crowd as he approached the patrol car. He buried his face in his cupped hands. Then a group of reporters converged on the scene and swarmed Rev before he reached the car.

“Reverend Caesar, did you kill Shawn Curtis?” one reporter asked. Other reporters didn’t wait before chiming in.

“Reverend, is it true you have the power to alter the course of nature?”

“Reverend Caesar, how long have you had this power? And what else can you do with it?”

“Reverend Caesar, is it true that Mr. Curtis had previously confronted you about an affair you had with his wife?”

“Reverend Caesar, how do you feel about your parishioners’ assertions that you killed Mr. Curtis? Do you believe you’ve been falsely accused by your congregation?”

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I believe that for the first time Rev pondered the effect he had on his congregation. Half of his parishioners said that they had no doubt whatsoever that he had killed Shawn. Many spoke of Rev’s might during his arraignment, with personal accounts of how he put them in dire consequences with his fist-pounding pronouncements.

Sister Rosa Caldwell said Rev predicted that some woman in the parish that had done an evil deed would suffer tremendously. She said she had previously told a lie about someone at Morning Glory, and the next thing you know she suffered a stroke that left her without use of her right arm.

Brother Jacob Donaldson said once he got into a dispute with a fellow church member in the parking lot and pushed him. Rev said that a man in the church with a violent temper would suffer a calamity that would render him dependent on others.

About a month later, Brother Donaldson said, he got into a car wreck that left both his legs broken, and he said his wife had to take time away from work to tend to him.

Stirring the forces of nature by pounding his fists, pointing to the sky and invoking the name of the Almighty was exactly what Rev had done the moment Shawn died, they said. They insisted Rev’s powers were so mighty that he needed not be near the person, or even in the same place, to invoke his pronouncements.

Not once did Rev respond to the accusations publicly or confront his accusers privately. From what I hear, he didn’t speak to anyone in jail about the matter. He simply practiced his right to remain silent and allowed the accusations to fester and grow while awaiting his trial.

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Later, some who spoke out against Rev worried he would retaliate with a pronouncement behind bars. Those who didn’t defend him worried they’d get a pronouncement against them for remaining silent.

Talk about a mess, and that was just the start of it.

Chapter ThreeDilemma

Prison, I’m told, wan’t bad for Rev. For years Morning Glory performed ministries at the facility and helped many inmates transition back into civilian life once they left jail. The prison was

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grateful; they gave him a cell away from other inmates, allowed him to use his cell phone and even ordered takeout.

Still, though Caesar spent much time working in prisons, he never envisioned himself housed in one.

But he didn’t stay for long. Two weeks later, in fact, he was set free; guards told him that his half-million-dollar bail had been posted.

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When Rev stepped outside the facility he discovered about a thousand people assembled, some holding posters calling for his release. They cheered loudly when they saw him emerge.

Few of those assembled were Morning Glory members. Most were town folk with old money and big influence. They had raised Rev’s bail. They huddled around Rev and hugged him almost non-stop. They introduced him to their small children. Some of the men placed $100 bills in his hand when they shook it.

They all pledged unyielding support for Caesar. They marveled at his “magical powers.” They labeled Shawn an agent of the devil who deserved to die. They said they wished Rev would do the

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same to the drug dealers who make their streets dangerous to

walk at night.

Rev had become a hero of the masses, or at least the masses who stood there before him.

They asked Rev to perform services for them and as soon as he obliged they rented a large office space downtown. Gave him a big salary and luxury car. Lawyers offered free legal advice. Doctors provided medical care. One woman who owned a public relations firm handled the press.

Oddly, no one talked about whether Rev had committed adultery or whether he was capable of doing what he’d been accused of. Instead, as news of the matter spread, lines were drawn between

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those who believed he was justified in killing Shawn and those who thought he was unjustified. Those who sided with him outnumbered his detractors five to one.

Morning Glory Church remained closed during that time. Most of us went to nearby churches like Cedar Street Community Church and Hall of Grace Worship Center. Some people stopped going altogether. Rev didn’t go near Morning Glory, and he didn’t miss it. He held services three days a week at the rented space. His newfound members were a breath of fresh air. They had fewer problems and much, much more money. They made the collection baskets overflow with envelopes during offertory.

After six months, Rev discovered he was earning five times as much as his annual Morning Glory salary.

But Rev. Caesar’s detractors, though not a large in number, were just as determined to get justice for Shawn. They consulted experts in the supernatural and found dozens of occurrences and phenomenon that could not be explained by laws of science.

Even has he enjoyed his greatest financial windfall, Rev. Caesar knew he was in a quandy. He couldn’t deny killing Shawn, for then he would be considered a charlatan to the thousands who had inundated him with support and revenue; he had already pegged them as his new congregation after the trial.

But he couldn’t professed to having the power to kill Shawn, either. That would mean lead to a sure prison sentence.

I’m told that Rev never mentioned Shawn or the upcoming trial to his “new” worshipers. Instead, he preached thoroughly crafted sermons that dealt with such topics as the will of the Almighty, obedience and blasphemy.

His congregation loved it. They massaged his ego until it shined.

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In the weeks leading up to the trial, Rev rediscovered the confidence and self assurance that returned him to the man we all knew – the fire-and-brimstone orator who was convinced he was rarely wrong about anything.

Still, Caesar stunned both detractors and supporters when he chose to defend himself during the trial.

Chapter FourWoe to the blasphemer!

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I figured Rev. Caesar had a chance walking away scot free if Sister Charlotte wasn’t called to testify. She wasn’t, and for that Rev was fortunate.

Sister Charlotte loved Morning Glory; she knew the church’s history front to back. Once a civil rights attorney, she had successfully defended many of its parishioners who were arrested during that era. She was champion for the underdog and a troublemaker for authority; from her chair she leveled slumlords, rogue police chiefs and corrupt politicians.

She also harbored a deep-seeded contempt for preachers and she couldn’t stand Rev. Caesar. Mostly she kept her sentiments to herself out of respect for the congregation, but she secretly longed for a screw up that would cost him the pulpit.

Sister Charlotte was the last person that Rev spoke to prior to entering the courtroom for his trial. She wheeled over to him, and, without greeting him she asked, “Rev, what do you think is going to happen in there today?”

Caesar reared back and stared at her. “Well, hello, Sister Charlotte, and to answer your question, I believe justice will be served.”

“Justice?” Sister Charlotte replied. “Do you think justice was brought upon the man who accused you of sleeping with his wife?”

Rev snarled. “Sister, I’m about to enter court. I don’t have time for this.”

“You do have time, Rev,” she replied. “You have time until they call you into that court room.”

“I have to prepare for the trial, Sister.”

“That might come up in the trial. Prepare now. Prepare with me.”30

“Sister, I …”

Just then, Rev was summoned to enter court as his trial was set to begin.

The prosecutor went on the attack immediately. He cited examples of phenomenon from other ministers. He read articles from noted scientists who said that claims of ministers possessing divine power could not be considered out of realm of possibility. The prosecutor portrayed Caesar as a man who possessed power bestowed upon him by the Almighty and that he abused that power because he allowed his emotions got the best of him.

Shawn Curtis, he said, was disruptive, foul-mouthed and rude. But he had no weapon and hadn’t jeopardized the safety of the church or any of the parishioners. He has simply confronted Rev. Caesar, and he did so from his pew, while Rev was in the pulpit, some 15 feet away.

And after being escorted out of the sanctuary, the prosecutor said, Shawn was willing to leave the church, and was already outside when Rev summoned him to return, knowing that Shawn was no match against his ability to summon divine power.

As a minister, as someone endowed with supernatural abilities, Rev should be slow to wrath, the prosecutor said. Rev should use his powers only when his or another person’s life is threatened, he said. Instead, he said, Rev deliberately drew lightning down from the Heavens and struck down Shawn in response from being confronted. It was no different, he said, from shooting someone in cold blood during a heated argument.

Shawn Curtis was no saint, the prosecutor said, but he did not deserve to be put in a situation he was totally defenseless against. And what was stopping Rev, he said, from resorting to

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such actions if his members objected to, or revolted against, his authority? Could Rev Caesar be trusted to refrain from using his powers during another moment of road rage?

Rev was endowed with divine power and entrusted by the Heavens to use it wisely, the prosecutor said. He abused that power and it cost a man his life. Rev must be put behind bars, prosecutors said, to protect his parishioners, the town, the state, and perhaps the world at large, from his ability to summon the elements for personal reasons. Then prosecution rested.

It became Rev. Caesar’s turn to speak. He walked to the front of the courtroom, turned and stared at the jury for a few seconds.

He turned to Shawn’s family, which was seated near the front of the courtroom.

He turned and stared at the audience, which had squeezed into every seat until there was no room.

Rev bowed his head, closed his eyes and mumbled a few words. He raised head, opened his eyes, took a deep breath.

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Then he let us have it.

“HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME OF MURDER!”

His voice was so loud it cracked. Some people reared back in their seats.

“You accuse me of MURDER? Tell me, brother! Tell me, sister! Do you believe in a righteous Creator? Do you believe in an all-powerful Creator?”

No one said a word.

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“You do! I know you do! So, tell me, brother! Tell me sister! If I was in the pulpit abusing the power that the Creator has bestowed upon me, as you’ve said I was, what was the Creator doing at the time?”

Silence.

“Did I hear somebody say, ‘That doesn’t matter!’ WHO SAID THAT?”

Nobody had said a word.

“You mean you believe the Almighty would just sit back and watch me kill a man in cold blood, with the power He bestowed upon me, and do nothing?”

Some people squirmed uncontrollably.

The prosecutor stood to object, but the judge motioned him to sit.

Caesar continued, “Most of you who will testify were in church that day! I hope you remember how Shawn disgraced the temple of the Almighty, how he threatened a messenger of the Almighty, how he frightened you, the children of the Almighty!”

Shawn’s family members didn’t know how to respond. Some began crying while other angrily shook their heads. Rev ignored them, but he often stared at the jury. Some jury members nudged one another underneath their seats while others longed for Rev to finish. Instead he went on, steadily talking to the audience as we were having dialogue with him.

“I told him to come back inside and repent, remember?” Rev asked. “Instead, he mocked me! I said he would face the wrath of the Almighty, and he cursed me! He dropped an F-bomb, knowing he would face the Almighty’s wrath! YOU REMEMBER THAT!”

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No one had in fact heard what Shawn said; his words were inaudible because of thunder. Rev didn’t care.

“Now, if any you had done as Shawn did,” Rev said, “how comfortable would you have been to go outside, in an electrical storm?”

Some of Rev’s supporters, who had been silent, began responding as if they were in church listening to a Caesar sermon.

“Amen!”

“That’s right, Rev!”

“Wouldn’t you have been at least somewhat worried that maybe, brother, maybe sister, the Almighty was displeased with you? Or angry?”

“Yes sir!”

“Tell them, Rev!’

The judge nervously hammered his gavel and asked for quiet.

Rev continued. “If you made the Almighty angry, as Shawn most certainly did, do you believe that I could somehow hold back His anger? No sir!

In fact, if you were to resort to such behavior, I would want the Almighty to unleash His wrath upon you, too! You’ve got no business doing such a thing, and you would deserve to be punished!”

As he wrapped up his fiery dialogue, Rev sauntered down the aisle and stared at some of his parishioners in their faces.

“You say a crime has been committed, brother? You say it was murder, sister? That would make me an assailant!” he said. “Let

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me ask you, brother! Let me ask you, sister! If I am an assailant, does that make the Almighty an accessory? Does that make the Almighty a criminal?”

Some people gasped.

“If you accuse me of murder, you accuse the Almighty of murder, for the Almighty bestows power upon those who will do His will. None of us are to question that will! We are to follow it, without question! To follow it is righteousness! TO QUESTION IT IS BLASPHEMY!”

“Glory!”

“Preach it, Rev! Preach it!”

We were back in church, again left to feel as if perhaps we had done something terribly wrong.

Rev pounded his fist on a seat and pointed to the ceiling. “And I say WOE TO THE BLASPHEMER! Woe to you, I say! The Almighty in Heaven sees you! He’s been watching you all along!”

A terrified hush filled the room. Rev then took his seat and listened to the sobs and sniffs of those seated behind him.

After that the prosecution didn’t stand a chance.

Days later, those who testified stammered and stuttered or broke down and cried or got accounts of the events mixed up. Some even stupidly pleaded the Fifth Amendment. Nobody said anything that would incriminate Rev.

It took the jury less than an hour to find Rev not guilty.

Pandemonium erupted when the verdict was announced. Caesar’s supporters jumped and shouted all over the place. Rev fell to his knees, pointed to the sky and yelled, “Thy will be done! Thy will be done!”

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Chapter Five“Everything’s gonna be all right.”

By then, I didn’t know what to make of Morning Glory. I went from proclaiming my membership with pride to shamefully keeping it to myself.

Rev. Caesar never returned. With his new members, launched a church called Victory Village on the other side of town;about a quarter of Morning Glory followed him.

Rev initially ran two services per Sunday out of hotel ballroom, but within five months the space wasn’t large enough, and he built a church that took up a block.

When the church celebrated its first anniversary, it had 6,800 members, five times Rev’s membership at Morning Glory.

Rev. Caesar treated those who accused him of murder or refused to follow him like outcasts. He rebuked them in his sermons. Some people left phone messages or sent e-mails begging for his forgiveness. Rev. never responded.

Eventually Morning Glory became an insignificant church. Caesar was replaced with a preacher who was just the opposite – low-key, down-to-earth. He was easy to approach, someone who allowed others’ talents to shine.

But parishioners never warmed up to him.

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Morning Glory services, in fact, enveloped a peculiar silence. All those years, we had a common longing for a refuge from the disorder in our lives. Then disorder entered our church, and our refuge was never quite the same. People who for years had sat beside one another in pews discovered they were total strangers.

Mostly, we were bored: Sometimes a baby’s whimper would break our hollow quietness, and we’d all look on with marvel and delight, pleased that someone was bringing up their child in the house of prayer.

Most of us continued attending out of routine; we read scriptures and sang hymns like robots, and when services ended we couldn’t exit the parking lot fast enough.

That’s when my drift from church began. I’d skip a Sunday each month, then two. I stopped showing up for weekday activities, and no one called to ask why.

It wasn’t until after Rev departed Morning Glory that I realized we never had a conversation. He welcomed me into church and shook my hand as I departed service. But I doubt if he recognized the sound of my voice.

I wish we had talked. I with I could have told him how much he affected my faith, for better or for worse.

After the trial, I never saw Rev. Caesar again, but we all know what became of him. Much of the story has been embellished over the years, but the account that I believe goes something like this:

One afternoon, as Rev exited Victory Village, he was approached by Sister Charlotte, who wheeled up from out of nowhere.

Without greeting, Sister Charlotte asked, “Rev, tell me something, do you believe you killed Shawn Curtis?”

Rev reared back. “Hello, Sister, and what does it matter?”

“It matters,” Sister Charlotte said. “It matters to the Almighty who you claim gave you the power. It matters to those who still believe in you. Certainly it matters to the people back at Morning Glory who are still scared of you.”

Rev. Caesar winced.38

“Rev, remember Deacon Edwards, how he sometimes challenged your interpretations of scripture during Wednesday Bible Study?” Sister Charlotte asked. “He called me from jail on the Saturday night he got arrested for solicitation. I called your secretary that night and told her to tell you, so you could reach out to him.

“The next thing I know you mention in church on Sunday that someone who always questions the Almighty’s messengers on scripture was about to get end up on the wrong side of the law,” Sister Charlotte continued.

“I never said I didn’t already know,” Rev said.

“I always wonder what happens to charlatans in their hour of death,” Sister Charlotte said. “Do you?”

“You need to choose your words more carefully, Sister,” Caesar fired back. “Regardless of what you think of me, I remind you that you are talking to one of the Almighty’s messengers, and you’re teetering on the brink of …”

“Blasphemy?” Sister Charlotte interrupted. “Is that what you’re about to accuse me of? According to Shawn Curtis, you, a messenger of the Almighty, broke two of the Ten Commandments – coveting a man’s wife and committing adultery. I find it interesting how you never accused him of bearing false witness.”

Rev thought to himself, “I’ve got a good mind to slap you out of that chair.”

“You know what, Sister?” Caesar said, “I really don’t have time for this.”

Rev walked away, and Sister Charlotte wheeled in front of him again.

“You know, Rev?” she said, “You act as if you’re closer to the Almighty than anyone. I guess in your mind you are. But some people can cling so close to the Almighty that they don’t understand often they need a little separation, so the Almighty can extend His arms and shake some sense into them. Until you get that separation, until you examine your relationship with the Almighty in the absence of a congregation, you’re an unfinished product, just a heavenly work in process.”

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“A work in process?” Rev yelled. “DON’T YOU DARE BELITTLE MY SERVICE TO THE ALMIGHTY! Do you remember what that congregation was like before I arrived? I grew its membership three fold in my first year! All those ministries I set up? The increase in donations? How about those old members who returned after being away for years? I’m responsible for all of that!”

“And now you don’t have anything to do with those people.”

“My work there is done!” Rev roared. “And if you were so dissatisfied while I was there, why didn’t you go to another church?” Rev asked.

“That’s my church, that’s why! I don’t need to go somewhere else!” Sister Charlotte yelled. “I’ve been going to that church since I was a child, and …”

“Then keep going! Rev. interrupted. “My work at Morning Glory is done, Sister! I got a new church, and we’re on fire for the Almighty! You tell my new congregation that I’m not a finished product!”

“You stole a man’s wife, then made it appear as if the Almighty looked right past that and struck him down for confronting you. That new congregation of yours pays you good money to tell them what they want to hear. You’re an unfinished product. And it’ll be a good day when you and your ministry are just finished.”

Rev stormed away outraged. Sister Charlotte shook her head and left in the opposite direction.

Then it got truly bizarre. For some reason Rev turned around and took a few steps toward her.

“You know what, Sister Charlotte?” he yelled. “If I possessed the power to make the crippled walk again, you’d still be in that chair!”

“And if I had the power to take a morally corrupt preacher’s life,” Sister Charlotte screamed, “you’d get hit by a truck!”

Rev stormed away. He pondered turning around again, pointing his index finger to the sky and making a pronouncement on Sister Charlotte. Something that would silence her once and for all!

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Rev. Caesar was immersed in the thought when he crossed an intersection without looking. He never saw nor heard a police car storming through the red light, sirens blared, lights flashing!

The next thing you know – WHAM! The car plowed into Rev then ran him over, the weight of its wheels crunching his bones like saltines.

In an instant, Rev went from a commanding figure pondering vengeance to a bloodied, mangled mess in the middle of the street.

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Some of his staff stormed out of church when they heard wails outside. Rev was still breathing when they huddled around him with fright. Two of his vertebrae had snapped and one of his lungs was punctured.

Sister Charlotte sat wondering“What have I done?” Someone called 911.

But Rev’s members believed he had the power to come to his own rescue.

“Rev, do something!” said Rev. Simon, his assistant pastor, behind the huddled crowd. “Point to the sky and summon your power!”

Rev. Simon tried getting closer, but couldn’t inch through the crowd. “Some of you church members next to him, you know what to do!” Rev. Simon said. “Help him! Grab his index finger and point it to the sky!”

Caesar wanted desperately to stop them but couldn’t speak. Two of his parishioners motioned the crowd to stand back then grabbed Rev’s index finger and raised it to the sky. Then came the sudden cracking of snapped vertebrae; Rev gurgled blood, gasped and died.

Since then, no one listens to a word that Rev. Simon says.

And apparently someone heard Sister Charlotte say that she hoped Rev would be hit by a truck. It didn’t mind that Rev got hit by a car; word spread that she, too, was an agent of evil and had been given the power, albeit temporarily, to kill Rev. Sister Charlotte was arrested and charged with manslaughter. No one stepped forward to post her six-figure bail.

After that I didn’t know what to believe. So I don’t go to church anymore.

Maybe if Rev had allowed Shawn to simply walk away none of this would have happened. Perhaps both would be alive today. Refusing to allow Shawn to leave was a major blunder. Some folks would say Rev committed blunder and lightning.

Sometimes, when problems overwhelm me, I consider those people headed to Morning Glory, to Victory Village and to other churches, and remember how I used to go, for lack of a better word, religiously. Maybe I’ll return someday, or find another church home.

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Since Rev’s passing, most Morning Glory parishioners have moved away. Few ever return to their old church home. Some say they still lament their broken relationships with a man that that touched their lives deeply.

As for Sister Charlotte, she’s still behind bars awaiting trial.

One morning I went to visit, and I saw Sister Rebecca moments before she went in ahead of me. She had aged considerably. The affair had cost her everything: marriage, friends, jobs and her good name. There were rumors she had been in and out rehab. They turned out to be true.

As I sat in a nearby waiting room, watching a new day dawning, I tried listening to the two women’s conversation. Much of it was inaudible; I even couldn’t tell who was speaking.

All I know is I could hear one of them saying, “Don’t worry, Sister. Everything’s gonna be all right.”

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The End

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