Deliverance of the Body Chapter 1, First pages, Draft 1

Deliverance of the Body Chapter 1, First pages, Draft 1
Text begins below… if reading from Facebook or an RSS feed, click below to continue reading at Tête-à-Tête-Tête. And welcome to this literary experiment. Feedback is welcomed, both positive and critical. I will provide more discussion in blog posts between installments. Just let this soak in, and I’ll start a discussion thread tomorrow morning.

It was a very specific, visual remembrance that filled Roger Lambert’s thoughts while he sucked down a cigarette outside the front doorsteps of the Lebanon Christ Church. Asheville isn’t so far from Ducktown, and 1980 wasn’t so long ago, but things seemed a lot different here than at the old Baptist church where the deacons might as well have held their business meetings huddled in a group outside the church doors puffing away on cigarettes and tossing the butts haphazardly toward the sand-filled cement flower planters on either side of the entrance.  Now, Roger felt like an outcast huddling alone, taking long drags to get it over with.  Drawing hard, he got the last hit off of it and scrubbed it out.  He walked ten yards to the dumpster and dropped it in.  Slipping into the building, he knew he would carry that acrid stink inside with him.

The interior of the building was sparse, compared to what he was used to, but better outfitted than one would guess based on a drive-by evaluation of the low budget exterior.  The front doors opened directly onto the sanctuary, rich blue carpet covering the floor except where parquet flooring formed two wide aisles leading to the altar, and a third walkway across the back of the room.

Just as Roger came through the door, the service opened.  He slipped in near the middle and took a seat next to April and little Tony. A woman stepped to the front and lifted her hands and face upward.  She paused for just a moment in just this pose, and the she began to speak.

“I’ve been given a word for this church tonight.   I know we’re all going to see the Lord in his power tonight. I know He is ready to come into this place in glory.  And not one of you here tonight will leave without being changed…”

She continued on in this vein for some time, calling for anticipation of great things to come. As she spoke an electric piano began to play behind her, quietly at first, then building in a very slow crescendo.

When she finished the introduction, she stepped back from the podium and the choir joined in to the tune already playing. Several projection screens displayed the lyrics of a favorite Praise and Worship number. The congregation, without waiting to be cued, began to sing; some seated, some standing reverently, arms raised, some swaying back and forth, some holding small children with one arm and hailing the sky with the other.

Roger felt like he would be more conspicuous sitting than standing, but he kept his hands by his side and his head slightly lowered. He glanced over at April, eyes up, one hand raised, singing along softly. April had begun attending Lebanon several years earlier, when she married Brad. He was Assembly of God. She was Baptist. Lebanon was a compromise that favored him, and didn’t much please her family. But she took to it, and by the time she and Brad were hiring lawyers for the divorce, she had no intention of going anywhere else. Tony was scribbling in the margins of a bulletin. Some things don’t change, at least.

Roger didn’t spend as much time with his sister as he would have liked. His Sunday morning was spent in church often as not, but it was seldom the same church two weeks in a row. Church was a journalistic pursuit for Roger. One of the several hats he wore at the city paper was that of religion editor. Another was religion reporter. When the piece he was working on involved a specific congregation, he made it a point to go and observe a service or two for context. Not standard practice for his job, but the extra mile that he liked to go. Apart from assignments, Roger didn’t think of himself as much of a church-goer.

He was at Lebanon for a Sunday evening service because April had asked him to come and listen to the guest speakers, to see if there was a story in it for him, and maybe a write-up in it for Lebanon. The speakers were a group of missionaries based mostly around Atlanta just back from a trip to Chad. He wasn’t very excited about this from a news angle, but it was a chance to spend some time with April and Tony. An excuse to, any way.

The music at Lebanon was almost always good, and hardly ever stopped. For what seemed like an hour, the band, the choir, various soloists kept it up, punctuated by only an occasional prayer backed by softly played keyboards. At times, Roger felt chills on the back of his neck. Other times he found himself reflecting and chewing over an unexpectedly poetic turn of lyric. Most of the time, he simply listened, and noticed that listening was a peaceful and relaxing experience. When only a guitar and keyboard were left softly playing, the woman who introduced the service returned to the podium. Without breaking the reverie, she introduced the group of missionaries visiting tonight. Not all visiting. Mark and Angie were longtime members of Lebanon. After years of supporting the Chad mission financially, they finally took their shot and spent a month there. But mostly the speakers were visiting from other churches among the consortium that contributed to the program. They would be telling about the life-saving work they were doing in villages near Ounianga Kebir, about bringing Bibles and the Gospel to the inhabitants, and the miraculous results of their work. And, they would be asking for financial support and new missionaries to continue the work.

Sure enough, this is what happened. Mark and Angie came to the mic first. No first time speaker jitters for them – they were just back from Africa where they had a crash course in everything from lining up non-English-speaking tribesmen for vaccines to giving small Bible studies, to leading full Sunday morning services. They bubbled with enthusiasm, relating their experiences in Africa, how God had moved in fantastic ways with people who had never before heard the Gospel – people who were drinking clean water for the first time in their lives – people who God would use to raise up that continent. Roger imagined dark skinned children drinking from a glass of clean, clear water, sporting a healthy, muscular physiques, free of disease and emaciation. He looked back to Mark and Angie and envied them the opportunity they had to help bring that about. The pair were followed in succession by more experienced missionaries who gave polished presentations and well prepared pitches for money and volunteers. All this went on for nearly another hour. The last set of American missionaries then introduced the Reverend Goukhouni Djammous whose home church was in the town of Ounianga Kebir. Rev Djammous ambled easily onto the stage with an easy gait. He looked to be in his early fifties. When he came to the pulpit he widened his smile to show his teeth and took several long moments to gaze around the sanctuary, seemingly taking in every face. And then he spoke slowly and carefully with a thick accent.

“I look around this beautiful sanctuary tonight and I see the faces of so many friends. So many friends. Oh, thank you God, for carrying me here to see my friends in the United States from so many miles away. Thank you, God, for carrying me here. And thank you, God, for what you are doing in my country. And thank you for these beautiful friends who give us their prayers and their support and come to my home to bring your wonderful word to our people. So much to say…

“Lives … being changed every day in my community. You would be so amazed. People are delivered from sorcery and witchcraft. People are healthy…(he emphasized “healthy”, thumped his chest and flashed a wide grin)… People are knowing our Lord and Savior and are being filled up with his life giving spirit. You could not believe your eyes.”

Reverend Djammous had a funny rhythm to his speech, accentuated by his careful pronunciation of each syllable to help himself be understood over his accent. He continued briefly describing the brotherhood and sisterhood he felt with the missionaries who operated in and around his town, but soon slipped into a sermon built on Phillipians chapter 3. The words of the King James Version sounded different somehow coming out of this man’s mouth. He displayed a talent for bringing out meaning from the text and each verse or two was interrupted by a brief explanation. By the time he reached the middle of the chapter, he had built up to an intensely pronounced peak,

“That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings, being made con-form-ab-le unto his death; If by any means I might … attain unto the resurrection of the dead!… skip with me to verse thirteen…. Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I … press toward the mark for … the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.

“If Paul, this great servant of God, this man who gave his very life for Jesus, this apostle to all of the gentile world had not attained to the resurrection how much less can we say that we have attained this. To attain this, we must … accept the sufferings and the death of Christ just as Paul hoped to do. We… can… not… attain the resurrection by saying Praise Jesus on Sunday morning and going back to live like the devil the rest of the week. We must keep our eyes on God all of the time and accept the life he has showed us through his Son who died for us!

“But, I tell you this tonight. Hear me well. There is a resurrection coming. There is a resurrection coming! There is a resurrection coming! Be ready my brothers, my sisters. It has already begun.”

Roger listened intently through the end of the sermon, and through the pastor’s altar call enhanced with pleas for whatever time or money the congregation could give to nourish this new community of believers in Africa. After another thirty minutes of music and tearful prayer at the altar, interrupted once or twice by the pastor’s announcement that another great commitment had been made by a church member, the service closed. Roger, April, and Tony left together and stood in the parking lot speaking with another couple and their kids.

Roger was looking for an opportunity to say goodnight and get back to his car where he could light a cigarette and drive away. But he stayed and listened politely to the conversation, trying not to raise his eyebrows at some of the more outlandish sounding stories being repeated by the new couple, who had apparently had some private conversations with the missionary group. He wasn’t surprised by stories of wells being dug, shots given, transportation arranged for medical care. He wasn’t even surprised by now about stories of deliverance from demons and witchcraft or miraculous healings, though he took all such stories with a grain of salt. But stories of eyewitnesses to African witches running without touching the ground, stories of death curses being lifted just after a heart and breathing had started… these were a little more unusual.

Nonetheless, his head was filled with thoughts of Chad as he finally pulled away from his sister and the other company and got into the car to go home. He’d have to sleep on this tonight.