Chapter 16
Sixteen
There was a statue made out of bronze or pewter in my great-grandfather’s office.
It was probably about a foot tall. The base of it was a Bible, and on top of that were two masculine hands with the palms pressed flat together in a state of eternal prayer.
I don’t remember how old I was when he died, probably three or four.
All I remember of him is that statue. In my mind, his hands were the hands in the statue.
Grandpa had it for a while after his father died; I remember seeing it in my grandparents’ living room for years.
To me, it was like my great-grandfather never died.
He was that statue. Always praying. I would go to it every time I was at their house.
I would caress it and enclose the metal hands between my two small ones; at times I would pray, other times I would pretend I was holding his hands again.
I don’t really understand how I was able to have such a strong connection to someone I don’t even remember very much.
I don’t know where the statue is today. There was a huge yard sale after my grandma died.
I assume it was sold to someone then. There have been so many times in my life when I have wanted to wrap my hands around those strong fingers, feel their solidity, their strength, absorb it into myself.
Somehow, the image of that statue got commingled in my mind with the altar at church.
I’m sure the statue was never there. I am equally certain I was never at the altar with my great-grandfather.
Who knows how a child’s mind works? The association of that statue helped make that altar the single most important spiritual location of my life.
If you walked behind the altar, there was a little corner right in the middle that was enclosed on three sides, by the back of the altar, the podium, and the platform for the choir.
On the side closed off by the platform, there was a heating vent.
I would nestle into that little nook during prayer meetings, close my eyes, feel the heat urging me to sleep, and feel safer than I did anywhere in the world.
The church never got into things like those who worshiped God by playing with poisonous snakes, nor did they pray in tongues.
However, I think their philosophy included the belief that the louder the prayer, the easier it is for God to hear, and the more apt to be answered.
I think if not heard from infancy, such an experience would leave most children in a state of terror and panic.
Grown men would be praying at the top of their lungs, crying, singing, yelling.
Probably many a person walking their dog outside the church building at such occasions thought someone had just died and people were distraught, or someone was being murdered by a gang of hate-filled villagers.
To me, though, the cacophony acted like a blanket that covered me.
When I was in that cranny, I was snuggled within the hands of that statue, within the hands of God and my great-grandfather.
Even if the sermon was the kind that made me feel I was an abomination, I was loved by God, as long as I stayed in my warm little universe behind the altar.
That altar was on my mind the next morning.
I wanted to shrink back to child size and stay there for days.
To be assured that God really did love me, the real me.
To not have to think about my mother, about being back in Missouri, even about my relationship with Jed.
It was that altar that called me to come to church.
It was that altar that made me willing to suffer the inquisition that was sure to follow from the parishioners.
It was that altar that made me shower, put on khakis and a black dress shirt, and meet Maudra, who feigned surprise, by the front door.
We were a few blocks away from the church, my lap filled with six trays of cookies, when Maudra, applying another layer of lipstick in the rearview mirror, glanced over.
“I’m excited fer you ta see the new sanctuary.
It’s so much bigger. It’s like one of them you see at those mega-churches on the TV.
It took me a while to get used to it, not likin’ change ’n’ all, but it’s right fancy. ”
“New sanctuary?” Uh-oh.
“A’course, they moved the sanctuary into the addition they built a few years back.”
“The addition! I forgot.” How could I forget that? I’d noticed it the other day. It took every ounce of decorum to not ask Maudra to turn the car around. “Did they move the altar into the new sanctuary?”
“The altar? You mean that old one covered in the red carpet?”
“Yeah.”
“Heavens, no. That thing was so worn out I ’magine they put it in the trash heap.”
My voice went up about three octaves. “The trash heap!”
Maudra looked at me, startled. “Goodness, Brooke. What’s gotten into ya?”
I shook my head. “Nothing, sorry.” This was going to be a long day.
Maudra pursed her lips. “Come ta think about it, I don’t think we even have an altar anymore.
The stage is a half circle, with steps going up all the way ’round.
People just kneel on the steps during the altar call.
Now, ain’t that funny. I never even noticed till right now that we didn’t have an altar any longer.
” She looked in the mirror again and adjusted a curl back into place.
“I musta been too distracted when we moved in there. I was upset ’bout not having the stained-glass windas anymore. ”
The old sanctuary had eight stained-glass windows going down each side, depicting parts of Christ’s life.
They were beautiful. I’d spent more time gazing into those than I had listening to the sermons.
“They don’t have the stained-glass windows any longer?
” I was incredulous. I couldn’t handle much more.
“Nope. Don’t even have windas in there at all. Said it was better fer when the church had presentations ’n’ such. Easier to see the screen ’n’ all.”
“Well, I don’t blame you for being upset!”
“I got used to it. Hadn’t thought about it in ferever until right now.”
“At the risk of sounding like an old man already, change is not always a good thing.” I was going to be sick.
By the time we reached the front door, I truly thought I was going to throw up. I was glad I had chosen a black shirt. I could feel sweat dripping down my sides. Maudra seemed to be aware that I was likely to bolt at any moment. She paused as she took hold of the door handle. “You ready, boy?”
I looked at her and shook my head minutely.
Her wrinkled hand lightly patted my cheek. “You’ll be fine.” She opened the door, then looked over her shoulder as she walked through. “Assuming the church don’t catch fire or nothin’ when you walk in with your blaze a gayness, that is.”
“Maudra! Shh!” That was all I needed. There was no possible way that everyone didn’t already know about me being gay. In fact, I was certain it was old news. However, regurgitated sensational gossip is better the second time around, especially when the object of that gossip is live and in person.
We passed the old sanctuary; I looked through the doors longingly.
The stained glass windows were still there, glowing brightly.
The altar, however, was nowhere to be seen.
Nor was the baptismal font in which I had been baptized.
The room had been transformed into a reception area.
Instead of deep red and black carpet, hardwood floors gleamed.
Instead of pews, rows of foldable tables were set up, already prepared for the potluck.
Instead of a pulpit, there was a fountain with a stone cross on the top.
Someone had pissed all over the few sacred and safe moments of religion I’d had as a child.
On top of it all, someone had the brilliant idea to paint the walls a pastel pinkish-mauve color.
My stomach gurgled in protest at the sight.
Without meaning to, I had apparently stopped in the doorway while I gaped.
Maudra grabbed my hand firmly and pulled.
“Oh, let it go already, boy. We’re late as it is.
” She winked at me. “And you know what that means!” I felt very strongly that Maudra was getting just a little too much enjoyment out of this.
I did indeed know what that meant. Sure enough, as we walked into the new and “improved” sanctuary, nearly every head turned around to see who the latecomers were.
I saw a few people’s eyes widen in recognition, but for the most part, the majority didn’t know who the mystery man with strange old Maudra Phelpman could possibly be.
That was until Mandy raised her tiny hand in the air and waved joyously, motioning us over to her and Donnie.
Suddenly the bulk of the congregation put the puzzle pieces together.
Some mouths dropped. Some heads shook. Some cheeks blushed before they could whirl back around or avert their eyes to the floor.
There were those faces, however, that broke into genuine and welcoming smiles.
One of which was old Sherry Heinz. Her smile surprised me more than anyone else’s reaction.