by Steven L. Chapman
The Black Man’s Altar Call
I was glaring at Jesus on cross from the back of church on the seat of judgment, slouching on a hard wooden pew. Thirsty and cotton—mouthed, I licked my chapped lips blackened from blunts and smoking resin. Nodding off during pastor’s rendition of Martin’s, To The Mountaintop speech, mama’s elbows startled my spirit shifting my angry soul.
The choir began to hum a hymn; penetrating sounds silenced the preacher and stilled the air. Voices conjured the power of heaven. Suddenly a cool whirlwind swept all around my body. I felt I was being watched, though no one in the congregation glanced at me; heads were bowed in dignity, I stared at all of the hands reaching for the something in sky.
Then the Shepherd of the flock began to utter, strangely his expressions corralled my wayward mind. Rebelling, my heart strings stiffened up, but his firm yet gentle words drew me near. The pastor spoke with fervor, but not in my father’s accent.
Somehow I heard my Father even though I could not see his lips.
Pastor shouted, "So you can come to the altar of Glory, here and now!"
Shocked by tidal waves of emotion, rivers of salty tears flooding, I gradually floated to the altar call. Perfect, yet imperfect, angry still, yet calm all hushed inside, the congregation erupted. He told me,” don't kneel or bow your head, you have every right to stand up and see justice; now open your heart to face the awaiting peace.”
He smiled then hugged me nearly deflating my lungs, in his embrace for but few seconds he grabbed me by the shoulders saying forcefully, “I love you Son.” Crying and double breathing at the altar, momentarily I forgot anyone else was there, I felt strangely innocent and vulnerable until I turned around to the sobbing crowd.
No longer was I heavy; but adrift encircled by angels, held up by hands that were seemingly reaching for something. The cacophony of prayers, weeping, of praise, of sobbing, all in unison was at first a deafening symphony. I understood now it was the sound of everlasting grace making me whole.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
I was raised a loving household, an army brat the youngest of four siblings and a fraternal twin. People close to me often say I am an intense person, they are impressed with my muscular physique and intellect. I love to teach, I am a grateful passionate adjunct professor of English literature and composition at the nations largest community college. I enjoy interacting with students who often describe me as down to earth. I am genuine and the poetry I write deals with emotion, the inner realms that are created or already exist. I write poems that explore those known and unknown parts of the body and mind. For me writing is less a precise skill and more of a learning experience, writing poetry has been the greatest lesson in an autodidactic way.
Last updated March 26, 2015