Saturday, August 18, 2012

Be An Original...Well, An Original Copy! (Part 4)


The preacher's name was Jerry D. Black; he looked, in my view, nothing like he'd sound.  He appeared as a thin, straight-haired, pretty-boy, middle-age guy with hazel eyes. But as he stood in the pulpit, I was immediately struck by his baritone-bass voice, coupled with his role in the service.  He seemed to inadvertently direct the choir, the band and the entire experience flowed at his direction.  He possessed a perfect blend of a country/city preacher. He was clearly intellectual, but also emotive and 'down-home.'. I would find out years later that he grew up in the back hills of Arkansas, and actually got his start as a church musician, and then became a prominent preacher, coming to Atlanta some years later. It all made perfect sense - he had the gifts to touch both head and heart. With all of the energy, detail and effort that was dedicated to the worship experience, everyone seemed to know that the central purpose  was to hear the preaching of the Word of God.  Jerry Black, the preacher, read from Luke chapter 13, the story of a woman bowed down for eighteen years and encountered Christ and eventually healed.  He titled the message that morning, "The Crooked Made Straight.". As he preached, I began to alternate between the hats of being a young teenage Christian and a student of preaching.  I could be biased, but I will say that I've heard Jerry D. Black many times since that day, but on that occasion he seemed to be in rare form.  Actually, that has been the only time, even now, I can recall a preacher literally shouting while preaching. He preached.  Clearly, whatever insults we young preachers made to Rev. Miller and my father behind their backs, it was all worth it.  As we climbed back in the van to head back home to Corpus Christi, we were all quiet, some even crying.  We were simply blown away, as probably some young basketball novice who would see MJ for the first time on court.  As we returned, I had determined in my heart and mind that I would certainly follow in MLK, Jr. and Miller's footsteps, and attend Morehouse College. (More on that later!)

As a sophomore in high school, my Dad took myself, along with his other preachers, to the Prairie View A & M's Minister's Conference.  I was most excited about hearing G. E. Patterson, who had been slated to speak at the banquet. Unfortunately, he did not show!  Imagine my heartbreak...  Nonetheless, I had some very good experiences there at the conference.  Most notable was being introduced to the preaching of William D. Watley, among others.  It was my first real experience of seeing preaching across denominational lines.  It was still good preaching, nonetheless.  On Tuesday night of the conference we played hooky and traveled with Rev. Miller to Brookhollow Baptist Church, aka 'The Church Without Walls.'. It was a midweek service, but I never will forget being on the Bingle location campus, remarking how many people were there. In fact, it wasn't just a lot of people for a midweek; it was just a lot of people!  The worship was exciting and alive, led by V. Michael McKay.  Then the pastor, Ralph D. West (a guy who I remember seeing at the Prairie View conference, seeming to be a little cocky) took the stage. I'd never heard of him before, but everyone seemed to listen to his every word. Admittedly, I wasn't impressed. No one, including myself, would have ever thought that he would one day be my most favorite preachers in the world. I was there to hear Charles Boothe!!!  Finally, after that 'West guy' was done 'talking', Charles Boothe was up.  Again, he had preached. I would later hear him at the conference later that week.  I seemed to be in my element when listening to the message of the preacher. Somehow, I loved the emotional side, but my should leaped in the content the way many leap at the 'close'.  Needless to say, I really connected at that conference, and was enriched by the experience.

During my junior year in high school, I never will forget that our city hosted our national convention's mid-winter board.  This was a great experience for me because I would finally get to see all of these preaching legends I had heard for years on tape.  James Dixon (who had grown to be a favorite of mine) was there, the Sampson boys (F.D., Asa, etc) were all there, along with C. L. Harvey and Isadore Edwards.  All of these guys had different styles, but by then I had grown to appreciate them all.  No vivid memories stand out, aside from one night when I was at home.  Rev. Miller insisted my Dad make contact with me to be at the meeting that night in the general session.  Miller conveyed the message, and my Dad co-signed and agreed, that I wouldn't want to miss the preacher.  It is ironic, as I reflect...after arriving there, the preacher Miller and my father were insistent upon me hearing, I had heard once.  It was L.K.Curry, the Chicago preacher I had heard years before that played a part in starting everything!  The one who preached on being inadequate and an underachiever.  As I sat there in the back of this packed house, this guy's presence was simply vintage.  He even 'looked' like a preacher.  I never will forget he had on a nice black, 3-button suit, a white shirt, a grey satin-looking tie and a white handkerchief.  As soon as he spoke, I made the instant connection.  Interestingly, I didn't really want to be there that night! But Miller, who was like a father figure to me and had been such a blessing to me as a young preacher, let alone my Dad's instruction, I was there out of respect.  I must admit that I don't remember his text, but I remember the title of Curry's message was 'Divine Closure'.  I remember him telling the story of being a little boy when his mother passed; and that as others were wailing the death of this young woman, he sat there in quiet content and peace, knowing that his mother was in good hands and safe keeping. He said that he unknowingly had 'Divine Closure.'. Again...Miller, nor my father, steered me wrong.  That one message has gone into the archives as one I continually replay through the virtual IPod of my mind. 

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