I was pleased to see Harriet in church yesterday. A faithful supporter of our church for over thirty years, Harriet has grown increasingly dissatisfied. . . “If I hear one more ‘Amen’ I’ll remove my letter,” she said not long ago. . . why don’t those “people” go to their own church?” Harriet was speaking about Margaret . . .
Margaret is black and widowed, the mother of four children and six grandchildren. . . Margaret appreciated our church when her husband, Gideon, died last year. One grandson, Larry, had taken it especially hard; his father abandoned the family before he was born and Gideon was the only dad he’d known. After Gideon died, Larry would return to Gideon’s hospital room and cry, hold the curtains, and touch the bed, all trying to resurrect his granddaddy.
Margaret hasn’t forgotten the day her white pastor brought Larry home. “We’re going to see Granddaddy again,” I promised. “He’s in heaven, and we’re going to see him again.” Larry believed me and stopped visiting that empty hospital room. . . We are white and black, young and old, charismatics and fundamentalists and liberals. Yet from our frightening diversity a new unity has begun to emerge.