MyAn's Truth (Episode 3)

Now, like I’ve stated before—I’m no atheist. Hell, I aint even an agnostic. I consider myself to be rather Christian. I believe that God sent his Son to die for all our sins and all that good stuff. You know already. I was raised Baptist. But as I grew I became very fed up with the closed-mindedness that I observed in the church. Being holy and sanctified does not mean one has to be naïve, scared, and downright ignorant sometimes. I love them to death, but DAMN I got tired of that mess every Sunday. So of course, this step to be with Zye invited the religious fanatics to my doorstep like the proverbial Jehovah’s Witnesses, only, these witnesses happened to taste of all flavors of Christianity. Hell I was even
approached by a Muslim. But once again, that is a story for another day as well.

I mean, I really don’t know what it is. Is it concern for my soul or is it more a concern for the sensibilities of a society that decrees that anything, and I mean anything out of the ordinary, is devilish? Do those preachers really care about whom I’m with and what that means for my spiritual life? Maybe they do. But they didn’t seem to care when I was getting turned down by all those heterosexual women. Where the fuck are they at when members of their congregation are beating the living hell out of their children for no good reason? Where the hell are these insightful eyes and spiritual voices when their elders are sleeping with the sisters [or the brothers] in the congregation? Where is all their holy conviction and tongues of fire then?

Look, I aint a heathen by any means—not in my own eyes at least, but I just can’t get down with it. Maybe they are right, maybe I am sinning somehow but God didn’t send an angel to tell me that. I don’t feel like God ignores my ring-tone when I call on Him. That could mean a whole lot of things but if you ask me I will tell you that it means that me and G-O-D are on the up-and-up.

Well, we are except for the one time I had to give this preacher a piece of my mind. He was one of those church people whom Lyfe Jennings must have been singin’ about. You know that song? “Made Up My Mind”? Now that is a song that speaks volumes. Lyfe rags on the hypocrites that need more prayer than they are offering for the “sinners” of the world. It’s a damn shame.

Anyway, this preacher guy, a minister by the name of Dr. Thomas Isaiah Joshua Pendle Jr., is the subject of this little episode known as my life. What a name, right? I mean DAYUM! His parents got a little happy with the Bible names. This guy irked the hell out of me, not because he was a practicing Christian, but because he made it his duty, his “divine” assignment, to get on my last nerve. For one thing, he was obsessed with the little doctorate he had. No one could address him without acknowledging the fact that he had spent a few years in a seminary. I mean, education is great. I can’t knock being a theologian but the very notion of theology perplexes me beyond recognition. To break that word down theology means, literally, the study or science of God. I mean…doesn’t God work in mysterious ways? Doesn’t science damn near try to disprove his existence? Anyway, that’s an argument for another day, trust me.

Dr. Pendle had a church. A church with all of like twenty members. Ten of which consisted of his wife and kids. Small beginnings are fine and dandy but this dude has had the same amount of members for the whole ten or so years he’d been pastoring. When you are with God, or better yet, when God is with you, growth should occur. No one walks with God and doesn’t experience something greater, ya know? That ought to have told him something in the first place but, of course, it didn’t.

The “good reverend” knows Zye. But he doesn’t really know Zye. He basically is aware of the fact that Zye is a gay man and loving it. Therefore when Zye invited me to his parents’ house on a Sunday evening the pastor was there enjoying a meal that Mrs. Johnson, Zye’s mother, had prepared. We walked in holding hands, no doubt, because the Johnsons’ loved their son despite what they believed and besides, Zye was a grown ass man by now.

As soon as we walked into the kitchen Dr. Pendle’s eyes lit up with that appraising glint that some men of the cloth seem to acquire. I felt the weight of his judgment almost like an invisible garment around me, smothering me. Zye simply smiled and kissed his mother and father hello.

We conversed. One of us being a bit more nervous and awkward than the others, that one being me…duh. Nothing eventful happened that day besides the invitation that Zye and I received to Pendle’s church the following Sunday. Like I said, I was not a devil-child, I didn’t mind church so I accepted the invitation with no problem. Zye on the other hand decided to decline and I later understood why.

The following Sunday I rolled up in the cozy little white building with a nice suit on and a smile on my face. I knew I looked good. I wore a three piece suit tailored to fit me and only me. It was black with pin stripes and a red vest underneath the jacket. The dress shirt I wore under that was black as well. I was lookin’ right sanctified and sexy that day. Yes, sexy and sanctified—the two can go together.

The service proceeded on as any other service does. A few praise songs from the youth and then a selection from the adult choir. Nothing out of the ordinary. I was even welcomed by a few of the members with a pleasant smile. The usher had seated me near the front, about four rows away from the tiny pulpit. After all the singing and what not the pastor came out. As soon as he stepped through the door I got one of those feelings. I don’t exactly know how to explain it but it was just one of those feelings…kind of like something wasn’t quite right in the universe.

Dr. Pendle began his sermon, welcoming everyone, even the visitors. Or should I say…visitor. I stood and introduced myself and they all nodded their hello or “praise the Lord” and I sat my black ass right back in the wooden pew. Then the good reverend began to preach.

This man started in Leviticus chapter 18. Worked his way to Genesis to animate the story of Sodom and Gomorrah. Then he took it to Romans chapter one. This man danced all over the bible on one subject…that subject apparently being me.
“Sissies and dykes will NOT enter the kingdom of God. Sodomites have no place with the Most High.” Ranted the pastor with the utmost sincerity. His eyes dead set on me.

“God created Adam and Eve,” he did the little cough that preacher’s tend to do, “Not Adam and Steve. Can I get a witness somebody?” The pastor asked the congregation who nodded or yelled in agreement. Some of those members cut their eyes at me.

“They need to turn away from their wickedness. They need to repent and be born again! God don’t like ugly and that is ONE ugly thing to see. One man crawling on top of another man working that which is unseemly. It’s an abomination, saith the Lord!” That was it…I was done. I was not the one. I am a firm believer in not having a respect of persons. I don’t give a crap if you are a janitor or Pope John Paul whatever. No one has the right to disrespect another human being and they sure as hell don’t have the right to disrespect me. Pasta boy learned that the hard way.
Before I came, Zye had informed me of some of the unmentionable things that Dr. Pendle had done behind closed office doors if you know what I mean. There was even speculation that he stole money from the church tithes. All this conveniently surfaced in my mind as I stood up to leave. I had decided to simply hold my peace and let the Lord fight my battles. But the ol’ preacher man had another plan in mind.

“Son, don’t walk out on the Lord. Don’t turn your back on him. He can heal you of your sin. You don’t have to live your life as a faggot. Jesus loves you. Come to the altar and fall on your face before him.” The congregation grew rather quiet. I was in the aisle and I slowly turned to face the pulpit. There was only a look in my eyes. That’s it. I tried to turn away again.

“Satan has given you the spirit of fear. Don’t let the devil win this war. Fight for the Lord. Fight for Him and leave the life of a queer and become a real man. A man that your parents can be proud of!” That was it. I couldn’t take it anymore and I asked forgiveness for what I was about to do.

“Did Satan give you the spirit of screwing your secretary? Did the Devil give you the audacity to put your hands on the Lord’s money? Did you get heaven’s permission to abuse your first wife before she died? As a matter of fact, did Lucifer himself tell you to jack your dick in your office?” All this rushed out of my mouth in a rage of emotion. I was fed up with people like him. Fed up with the bull shit that people kept trying to shovel at me. Pastor or no pastor, he was wrong as hell and I sure won’t afraid to let him know that.

There was an enormous hush over the entire church. The organist, the drummer, all the congregation had stopped in mid-motion. The pastor had dropped his microphone and his mouth was all agape. It was rather funny to me in a cynical sort of way. My sense of humor is quite twisted some days.

Pastor Pendle made a step off the pulpit with something like wrath peeking from his eyes. It seems that I had hit the nail right on the head. He was coming for me and I don’t think he wanted to lay hands on me to do anything holy.

“Pastor, if you put your hands on me I will not be responsible for what happens next. Do you really want your church to see you act in such a sinful manner? The Bible that you just preached from definitely says ‘Be angry, but sin not.’” With that said, I turned and got the hell out of that church.

I don’t really know what happened after I left and to be truthful, I don’t really care. I hope those members left that church as well and found another one because Dr. Pendle was not who they needed to be following. Talk about a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I may not be right, I don’t really know, but I’m certainly not one to hurl stones at others. I think Jesus ought to have pimp slapped that man claiming to be one of His. Was I wrong for what I did? Maybe. Do I feel bad about it? Kind of. Would I do it all over again? Hell yeah.