New Day Baptist

Tyson could have slept clean through the alarm clock were it not for the beam of sunlight cutting through the tattered remains of his hand-me-down curtains, reminding him that he’d already slapped the black snooze button twice. He groaned and rolled to the edge of the bed; his foot slapped the side of a few cheap, plastic bottles, sending them rolling across the stained carpet. He stood and stretched; the room spun a bit, a mixture of only three hours of sleep combined with what he assumed was the remaining alcohol he had in his system. He caught himself on his dresser and shook the cobwebs off. Unlocking the clasp on the knob, he opened his bedroom door and looked down the apartment hallway, only to see the passed out bodies of the numerous revelers from the party the night before, strewn across living room furniture, the floor, and one lovely party-goer peacefully snoring across the dining room table.

He grabbed his toiletry bag and walked into the bathroom, happy that no one had decided to sleep in the tub. Shower on, teeth brushed, the molten steam of the water jolted him awake better than coffee ever could. A fresh shave, a good shampoo, and admittedly more soap than he realistically needed, and Tyson was a new man. He stepped back into his room, fingered through the basket of clean clothes that he never bothered to fold and put away, and he grabbed the least-wrinkled shirt he could manage and tucked it into some slacks he pulled from the closet. Shoes tied, keys grabbed, Tyson tiptoed through the dark apartment over sleeping coeds on his way to the door.

The drive through the city on a Sunday morning wasn’t too terrible; most of the city slept in, so downtown looked barren and empty save for the handfuls of vagrants dotting the grounds of the Capitol building and the benches running down Main Street. In a few hours, this street will be bustling, but presently, it was a ghost town. The downtown of Columbia was beautiful: classical southern houses (now turned businesses), adjacent to a huge college campus, and dotted with new-construction high-rises, too small to scrape skies but large enough to hint at the growing economy of the Capitol City. The only signs of life came from the beautiful, classical churches that bunched around each other in the center of downtown. As the large buildings of Main Street grew distant, more signs of the less affluent crept in: numerous liquor stores and pawn shops, payday loan shops, and video rental stores on every corner. Once the signs of downtown completely disappeared, the reality of the city showed itself, rundown, poor, and falling to pieces.

Tyson crossed the bridge over the river that divided the city, and a more rural, suburban area blossomed on the other side. A few turns, and over another river bridge, he found himself in a poorer area just adjacent to the heart of the city, and he turned onto a small side street surrounded by trees and thick wood. The street wound itself around, seemingly forever; it wrapped and pulled the road into the wilderness, and the towering trees and wildlife made you forget, for a moment, that the city was only a short romp from here. Slowly, houses began to appear, and more houses, until a whole neighborhood blossomed in the woods. The houses were old, cheaply constructed, but they looked like they’d been treated with care, by people happy to have a home to come back to. Signs of life were everywhere: bicycles littered around each yard, neighbors rocking in chairs on dilapidated porches, men working on cars with boombox speakers playing lazy blues notes while kids in the yard bob their heads to the melodies.

Finally, in the middle of the expansive neighborhood, the trees spread wide and an open space framed a building, one that felt out of place. It was a church, a huge chapel building surrounded by ancient stained-glass windows. Behind it, a small area hosting smaller rooms for Sunday School classes and office spaces. Beside it, a building half the size of the chapel, meant to serve for wedding receptions and potlucks, with a storage building in the rear. The church was old, perhaps the first building built in this area when the neighborhood popped up around it. Regardless, the building was a jewel in the desert, something beautiful that made everything around it brighter and more glorious. The open field to the right of the church filled with cars, and people buzzed around it in beautiful dresses of vibrant colors. Men, each dressed in a finer suit than the next, accompanied their wives with children in-tow, and slowly people from all around the surrounding houses began making their way to the chapel on foot. In the front, a huge banner read “Grand Re-Opening”, and a brand new sign out front proclaimed: “New Day Baptist Church, Reverend Roy Jones.”

“All Are Welcome Here.”

Tyson parked his car in the rear of the parking lot; he stepped out, straightened his collared shirt and slacks, and he felt immediately underdressed. An older black man walked up wearing an oversized but colorful suit and a smile bearing a beaming grin that stretched from cheek to cheek, “Tyson, my boy!”

“Hey, Henry. Hello, Mrs. Hankinson,” Tyson nodded his head to a lovely older woman wearing a simple dress and an ornate hat that matched her decorative brooch.

“Get outta here with that, Tyson,” she smiled. “You’re family now. You can call me Loretta.”

“Respectfully, ma’am, my mother will snatch me up if I call you that.”

Loretta smiled, “Well we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“So, whatcha think?” Henry still beamed.

“The church is gorgeous, no doubt. Feels like something out of a black and white movie,” Tyson looked at the richness and the design of the stained-glass windows circling each wall of the chapel building.

“Took me and your granddad two months to get her into working order. New carpets. Cleaned the windows. Sanded and restained the pews. I’m pretty sure it all came out of Tanner’s pocket, too.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Tyson whispered to himself.

“The man’s got a dream, Tyson, and you should be very proud of him.”

“He’s planted churches before. What’s so different about this one?” Tyson asked, a question ruder than he’d intended.

Unshaken, Henry smiled and took a deep breath, placing a large hand on Tyson’s shoulder, “He wanted a church that didn’t care about the color of your skin. White church. Black church. It doesn’t matter. Only that we’re all children of God.”

“That’s great and all, but I haven’t seen any other white people around other than me. Is there anyone other than me, Grandma, and Grandpa?”

“There’s a few. This is a black neighborhood, Tyson. Clearly we’re gonna draw the people of the community first. We got you, Mr. and Mrs. Boyd, your grandfolks. Your mom came last week. I haven’t seen her yet today, but it’s still early. Gwen Hutter and her two daughters are here.”

“That doesn’t make for the ‘multi-cultural church’ and ‘blended service’ that Grandpa had in mind, does it?”

“Skin color don’t matter, Tyson; only that everyone is welcome. Everyone.”

Tyson flashed a fake smile and patted Henry’s hand; Henry was a great man, and since Grandpa had his big falling out with his last church, Henry had been a dear friend of his. Being a pillar of the community here, Henry had a lot of influence in pushing Tanner into focusing his time and resources into refurbishing this old church, abandoned and boarded up, and making it the centerpiece of this quiet little cut-out outside the city.

“Oh, and Tyson: one more thing,” Henry stopped him as he tried to move away, “There is one more white person. A white girl, in fact. ‘Bout your age, I assume. Pastor Roy brought her over from the university, asked for volunteers to help teach our children’s program.”

“Girl, you say?” Tyson smiled.

“Cute little thing. She may need to be welcomed to the service.”

“I can handle that. Call me ‘the welcoming committee’.”

“Go get her, boy.” And Henry laughed his deep, booming, full-body laugh.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stepping inside the church, everything smelled new and fresh. Every nook and cranny of the church had been scrubbed, vacuumed, wiped. The carpet was fresh and new, still smelling of the warehouse it was brought from. The vacuum lines were still marked fresh and crisp in the carpet near the pulpit, and it was easy to forget just how old this building was. Grandpa had called Tyson the second he thought of the name. “New Day Baptist”, he exclaimed, “that’s it. That’s what we’re doing. We’re giving everybody a second chance. It’s a new day, Ty. Everyday, God forgives us of our sins. He forgets them, throws them away. We’ve already been redeemed, my boy. It’s about time we have a church that represents that. No matter how bad you’ve screwed up. How down you get. Today’s a new day, and we’re ready to show you how.”

The vast majority of the faces in the church were black and brown, well-dressed and clearly happy to be back in this building again. This church had been boarded up for over ten years now; the last pastor was great at preaching but terrible at managing staff and finances, and eventually, they couldn’t keep the doors open and the power on. Henry tried to keep something going, hosting prayer sessions and Bible studies in his backyard.

But today, people were excited again. People buzzed from one side of the chapel to the other, each one laughing and smiling and excited to be with one another, in this community, in this forgotten relic of hope that was finally back. What few somber faces in the crowd were white ones: Gwen Hutter sat near the front by herself, and her daughters Molly and Melissa sat to themselves in the back pew. Gwen had been brought in to volunteer as the church secretary, and the girls (who wanted nothing to do with any church, much less this one) secluded themselves away from anyone and everyone. Elizabeth Boyd, Tyson’s grandmother, sat in the front row on the right side; she was polite and jovial, but clearly exhausted, spending all of her retirement years caring for and chasing behind her more ambitious lesser half. Tanner, her husband, moved around from person to person, shaking hands and introducing himself, reminding everyone that he was an elder of the church.

Pastor Roy Jones stood in the front of the chapel, smiling widely and greeting everyone who walked down the center aisle. He made a big show of it, with his glamorous tailored suit, his shiny gold jewelry, his flashy jeweled tie clip hooked to his thick double-windsor tie. He was well-groomed and his gigantic hands squeezed every hand within his reach. There were no colorful robes or garments, and despite that, everyone walking through the chapel doors knew exactly who was in charge, despite all the politicking Elder Boyd did with everyone within earshot.

“Brother Tyson,” the Pastor called, enveloping Tyson’s hand with his own.

“Good morning, Pastor.”

“Brother Boyd tells me you’re doing the reading this morning. Is that correct?”

“Yes sir. That’s what I’m told.”

“That’s good to hear. So, my wife has told me to inform you that Sarah, the girl from the university, is coming to work with our children… apparently she’s here with us this morning.”

“So I’ve heard,” Tyson smiled, “Brother… Elder Henry got a hold of me this morning.” The title “Brother” felt weird coming out of Tyson’s mouth.

The pastor leaned in, as covert as he could manage, “I’ve talked with her at length. She seems like a fine Christian woman, Tyson.”

Tyson smiled, “I’m not looking to marry yet, Pastor.”

He laughed, “I don’t know. Handsome young white boy like you. Cute little white girl like her. There are worse places to meet a woman than church, you know…” He pointed his long, thick finger at a cute, nervous-looking brunette wearing thin-rimmed red glasses sitting by herself in the center of one of the pews.

Tyson squeezed the pastor’s shoulder with his free hand, “Thank you, Pastor.”

“Tyson, son,” the pastor leaned in, “do I smell alcohol on your breath?” He gripped Tyler’s hand harder.

“No sir,” Tyler groaned, “just really strong mouthwash.” The pastor grinned knowingly and released his grip.

Tyson popped a few breath mints in, walked over, and smiled when she looked his way. Her name was Sarah, and she nervously nodded when Tyson asked if he could join her. She smiled, and in short time, they were comparing course loads, professor gripes, and favorite movies.

The pews filled, even more people than they’d had at the grand re-opening the week before, and before long the pianist began playing some joyful notes, the drummer started hammering a resonating beat, and the pastor stood at the pulpit, arms high, and exclaimed to all, “Welcome everybody, to week number two in what I hope will be a brand new day at New Day Baptist Church! Now get off your butts, stand proud and tall, and hug someone you don’t know around the neck! Let’s get ready to praise our Savior the only way we know how!” The praise band kicked into full gear, with a handful of vocalists with mics in-hand waving their other hands in the air, swaying to the rhythm of the gospel music pouring over the congregation. People joyfully followed the pastor’s instructions, hugging family members and strangers alike, and everybody praised and worshiped with joy and without shame.

The music waved and pulsed, and the energy in the room was tangible. The congregation moved like waves in the ocean, and voices reverberated off the ceiling, the walls. The ancient stained glass shivered with each beating of the drum, each high note, each crescendo. After the fourth song, the tremor settled, and the only sound came the low melodic tone of the organist reverently tapping the melody of “How Great Thou Art.” Tyson smiled at Sarah, stood, and slipped out of the pew, making his way up the stage steps and onto the pulpit.

“Please stand with me,” Tyson began, then choked on his words, clearing his throat, “Please stand with me for the reading of God’s word.”

“So from now on we regard no one from a worldly point of view. Though we once regarded Christ in this way, we do so no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people’s sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: Be reconciled to God. God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.”

“Second Corinthians. Chapter Five. Verses sixteen through twenty-one.”

The pastor stepped up into the pulpit and placed his arms around Tyson’s shoulders, “Thank you, Brother Tyson. Brothers and sisters, this is Elder Boyd’s grandson Tyson. God has brought him to us today because he will be helping us build a Boy Scout troop here starting next week, am I right?” Tyson nodded. “And while we’re here, I would also like to recognize another volunteer that will be joining us. Miss Sarah, will you please stand? This is Sister Sarah from the university’s Baptist ministry. She will be volunteering her time here to teach the Word to our precious children on Sunday mornings and evenings. Can we please give God a round of applause for convicting these young people to give of their time and gifts to give back to our community? Give it up for the Lord!”

The congregation stood and applauded, and the pastor politely motioned Tyson down from the pulpit. Sarah received pats on the back and a bevy of kind words, blushing at even this much recognition. Tyson gave her a polite smile when he reached her, and soon the congregation calmed in quiet reverence of the Pastor waiting placidly at the pulpit’s podium.

“Last week,” he began, his voice a low, powerful, melodic cadence, “Last week the doors of this church opened up for the first time in over ten years. Most of you were there. Many of you were not. You stood on your porches, you watched from your yards, and you waited to see the spectacle of what would come out of this place when those doors flew open. And now you’re here. So why? Why are the seats packed now, when they should have been packed last week? I’ll tell you why. I’ll tell you exactly why. ‘Cuz when the doors flew open last week, for the first time in years, those of you here knew it, and those of you outside found it out: God is in this place!”

At these words, the congregation exploded in a hail of “Amen!” and “Yes, Lord!” and “Speak it, Pastor!” A loud applause shook the walls, and the pastor waved his hands in the air, feeling the vibrations shaking the air.

“Yes, God is in this place. Where two or more gather in His name, God is with us. And we talked about the goodness of God, and God’s place in this community. We talked about how we need God back in this community, and how this church will serve as a place where we can all find God’s calling. But today? Today we’re gonna talk about something different. We’re gonna talk about the new name of this church. We’re gonna talk about the fact that today is a brand new day.”

“This building has history. Rich history. Proud history. And it has gone by many names. But when we opened these doors last week, we opened a new chapter in this building and what this building stands for. We call this ‘New Day Baptist’ because everyday is a new day, and everybody is invited to start over.”

“Start over. Reconcile.”

“You came here, because you messed up! You messed up a lot! I came here because I messed up! I mess up every day! I am flawed by my very nature! But how much of that does God keep tally marks on?”

“ ‘I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself up for me.’ Galatians two, twenty.”

“We had too many tallies. Too many strikes. Too many sins that we couldn’t overcome. God knew that. We weren’t strong enough. So He gave His only Son so that we wouldn’t be weighed down by that sin any longer! God wiped the slate clean. There is nothing left to judge us by! If we love the Lord and we hold his teachings in our hearts, then we are free!”

“A lot of good men came together and saw this building, and they said ‘God is in that building!’ And they asked, ‘Who else should be in that building?’ Is this a BLACK church? Absolutely! Black and beautiful, by God! Is this a WHITE church? Yes it is! Brown? Yellow? Red? God has no place for skin color! He doesn’t care, not one bit! You know what God cares about? One simple question: are you broken?”

Whispers in the church.

“I asked, ‘Are you broken?’”

Murmurs. Amens. To the right of the middle, Gwen stared into the eyes of the pastor, and she lowered those eyes. She turned her body to look at her daughters in the back; they were unmoved by the pastor’s word, one daughter gently bobbing her head to music playing from headphones gripped tightly on her ears. Gwen turned and wiped the moisture from her eyes.

“Brothers and sisters: are you broken?”

Elder Tanner Boyd held his wife’s hand in his, and he bobbed his chin in assent. From his left hand, his walking stick tapped the floor again and again, a gentle rhythm to the pastor’s spoken words.

“Are you broken? Because God loves broken people! Jesus died for broken people! And when you come to Him, and you recognize that you’re broken, and you confess that Jesus is the only one who can fix your broken world, then you are reconciled. You are redeemed. You are free.”

“God loves broken people.”

After church, people fled from the doors back out into the summer heat. All the little girls in their flowery dresses swarmed Sarah, a beautiful stranger to them. They asked all kinds of things: where she bought her dress, what she studied in school, whether that man who read the Bible was her boyfriend. She was patient and kind, and answered as many questions as she could. Many parishioners walked home to their houses nearby, while others hopped in their cars and station wagons and pulled out of the grass parking lot. A great number stuck around, choosing to fellowship in the meeting hall or outside where a lively game of horseshoes sprung up every Sunday after service.

At that particular moment, Tyson was joking with the other men and lining up his next throw when a van whipped itself through the grass, slamming to a stop fifty feet from the game. “Tyson!” a larger woman yelled from the driver’s window. It was Kayla, Pastor Roy’s wife. She motioned him to her window angrily. “Boy, have you lost your dad’gummed mind?”

Tyson gave a knowing look to another young man and he passed him the horseshoes. He approached the van with caution, “I don’t think so.”

“What are you doing after church today?” she whispered through her belligerent, grinding teeth.

“I’m going to my dad’s house. I’ve got laundry to do, and I’ll probably crash on his couch. Why?”

“And is that what you told Sarah?”

“More or less.”

“And why did you tell her this?” Kayla’s tone was softening.

“Because she asked what I was doing after church.”

“And do you not see a problem with your answer?”

Tyson looked genuinely perplexed. He nervously held Kayla’s glare, but his mind was still unable to grasp the problem.

“Tyson, honey, baby… when a pretty girl asks you what you’re doing after church, she is typically trying to make lunch plans. That was your moment.”

“My moment?” Tyson looked pitiful.

“Yeah. She says, ‘what you doing after church?’ and you say, ‘nothing planned yet,’ and she goes, ‘yeah, me neither,’ and that’s when you ask her to go get some lunch with you!” Kayla yelled, spitting the words at him.

Tyson looked at her, bewildered, “Dang. That was my moment…”

“You boys got thick skulls, I tell you,” Kayla hit the gear into first, “You better be ready to ask that girl out next Sunday. We gon’ make this happen.”

“Yes ma’am,” Tyler smiled as she pulled away. After a long, deep breath, Tyler returned to his game of horseshoes. Slowly, the pastor stuck his head out the front door of the church one last time and surveyed the front lawn. There were children playing ball in the fields. A group of people at a house across the street gathered and fellowshipped over hot dogs on the porch. Men of all races throwing horseshoes back and forth on the side of the church, laughing and smiling.

Reverend Roy Jones smiled at another successful new day.