"Dear Sir, it was a troubled and terrible cycle which included all. All, sir, were and are touched by the curse of slavery! Every white prospered, sir, from slavery; yea, even your ancestors if they lived in this country in the past four centuries, or even if they were white Europeans, sir! No, sir, no, I will not stand condemned alone for the system of slavery. It was the odious operation of a nation, yea a civilization. White fear and subjection of the colored races is the foundation of what is called modern Western civilization."
The sermon was thus delivered. The sinners' pew stood open and empty.
***
What had I expected-some antiquated, ill-conceived, self-serving philosophy on the superiority of the white race, the Biblical condoning of slavery, an argument on how much better off the lost black heathen had been to get Christianity and betterment, even if at the bottom of the American social structure?
Where did his insight come from? Was eternity some graduate school that specializes in the analysis of the ascent of humanity: our evolution from crude animal with an opposing thumb making us the most versatile tool maker to a moral being that can include and consider others in the making of choices? Were the noblest of the great religious ideals refined and applied to human history on the other side? Was wisdom into the how and what of human existence discerned in the hereafter? Could it be that my phantom-a near nobody in the great scheme of history, a stereotypical everyman who'd had a little worldly success and fame in his time-was in truth an odd herald of the Holy who'd come into my reality to offer insight, wisdom, and maybe even a little grace through knowledge driven by honesty? If my mind was not overloaded, my soul certainly was assaulted.
***
During my reverie evoked by his sermon, Mr. Jones sat gently rocking a few inches forward and back with his hands crossed on his silver headed cane, his abused tall hat square on his head. When I returned from my troubled thoughts, I took in the darkness that framed our place. The brightness of the security light in the park behind us cast our shadows onto the brown-green grass across the path at our feet. Night had fallen during our fervent gospel meeting and I had not noticed.
As if he'd waited for his truth to minister to my conscience, he said, "Yes, yes…context and complicity, sir. Context is formed by the times and the accepted truths of those times. But truth is subject to change when new information or new ideas of what the human being is capable are brought forth and believed. Jesus was right, sir, we are all sinners living in a corrupt time and with a set of ideas that are centered on self, not God and others. We fret about having while the Master pointed out the joy and beauty of the lilies in the field. They display simple serenity without effort and glory God by their lack of artifice.