Reverend Willie’s Fancy Tea Cup Sermon  

        Snowflakes gently fluttered to the ground outside the steamy windows of the rustic white clapboard church the December morning of Reverend Willie’s Fancy Tea Cup Sermon. Rising with the sun itself as it crept into the sky over the hill surrounding the tiny valley community of Tennessee, Brother Clyde had donned his overcoat, gloves and wool fringed scarf when he rose with the sun itself that morning and stoked the coal furnace in the basement of the tiny Baptist church, perhaps a bit too well, in preparation for Sunday morning services. Reverend Willie’s huge brown eyes cast a concerned sympathetic glance toward Sister Beatrice from under the white wiry shock of hair as sweat beaded up on his furrowed brow. Sister Beatrice commanded the old pump organ at the front of the church and wiped beads of sweat from her velvety tawny face with the back of her plump hand. As the congregation made a joyful noise unto the Lord singing the last chord of Bringing in the Sheaves, Sister Beatrice picked up her sheet music and fanned her face, taking in a deep breath, followed by a sigh of relief. 
        It was at this time that Reverend Willie took hold of the horns of his altar, a large oak pulpit that had shiny spots worn into the area of his grip from years of intense and fervent preaching and bid his flock be seated. Brother Diggs, official song leader for the day, took a seat in the pew by his wife himself, and as he did, Reverend Willie took account of his flock with his large speculating eyes, looking to and fro into the faces of the young and old Sunday morning saints and sinners that had gathered together to hear the word. Lowering his head down, as if to offer up a silent prayer before addressing the congregation, Reverend Willie looked up, then winked his left eye, toward Sister Beatrice and grinned, “Thank you Sister Bea for one more good song of praise!” Then casting a glance toward Brother Diggs stated, “A joyful noise indeed Brother! I’s sure God ‘preciated your song leadin’ welcoming in His Sabath Day with dat good old hymn. Straightening up his arms and pushing himself back, standing tall, then looking heavenward, and again back down at his flock, Reverend Willie eyeballed the congregation once more, took in a deep breath like he was about to take a plunge into Miller’s Pond on the deep end, then loosening the button of his robe at the neck with his right hand, said, “Morning folks!” his voice booming.
        “Morning Pasta,” came the echo of many voices, some of them old, young and in between. Sister Grace’s latest family addition gave a startled cry, and then subsided back into slumber at her mother’s bosom. Folks moved about, momentarily on the oak pews adjusting themselves comfortably for the anticipated message, their eyes glued on Reverend Willie.
“Dis morning,” began Reverend Willie, “I’s got what I titled my Fancy Tea Cup Sermon. This weather we be havin’ done inspired me concerning this mornin’s message, bringin’ somethin’ to mind. Cold weather like dis makes folks sick and poorly and they be drinking a lot o’ tea to get they strength back. Times like these folks feel a chill fo’ going to bed when the wind gets to blowin’ at night through the cracks in the walls, and they be drinkin’ that chamomile type o’ tea to sooth they nerves, warm they bones and hep em sleep good. Gone is the tall cool glass of lemonade days fo’ sure when the snow be fallin’ on the ground.
        Several voices from different parts of the congregation said, “Amen Pasta”.
        “Yep! Sure is a nice comfortin’ thing…a cup o’ hot tea…at weather times like these. Not everyone be as blessed as us to have a Brother Clyde to stoke the stove!” Pastor Willie smiled in the direction of his faithful steward, who flashed a gleaming grin, displaying his prized gold tooth.
        There was a low murmur of voices coming from the congregation as several women fanned themselves with their church bulletins.
        Reverend Willie cleared his throat loudly, quieting the drone of comments.
“So folks, now I got yo’ attention and got yo’ thinking about a nice cup o’ hot tea, I gots a story to tell you bout my dear sweet mama, God rest her soul.”
        Reverend Willie looked down for a second and choked, then looked up toward heaven, then back at the congregation. His broad dark face radiated from within, then softened into an almost vulnerable countenance for a fleeting moment, then once again took on determination with a bit of fire behind it. The brothers and sisters of the tiny Baptist church knew their pastor was officially “in gear” and the message would be a good one. 
        When I was a boy bout eight years old, one cold winter like this one here, my sister Lilly May took bad sick. She was six at the time, and the doctor feared she had pneumonia. She had fever and it was powerful hard for her to breathe. Mama had her cot in the kitchen by the wood burnin’ stove and a iron kettle boilin’ water sittin’ on top o’ it steamin’ up the room soes Lilly May could breathe better. Ever’one in the whole house be blowin’ their nose and clearin’ their throat night and day from all that steam. Wall paper came off one wall o’ the kitchen, and part of the parlor. Windows was steamin’ and drippin’ water. Ever’thing was happenin’ cept Lilly May getting better. We all was scared God gonna take her home. It was a bad time. Den Mama done heard about a woman who worked with herbs from the lady who done her hair. The lady say dis woman cured her man o’ the hoopin’ cough real quick. Then the lady says, “ I gots to tell you Miss Belle, that this lady what does the herbs not be a God fearin’ woman, but she smart in other ways with the herbs, soes Mama most reluctant to ask her heed, on one hand, but strugglin’ with herself to go talk to the lady on the other. Know what I mean folks?”
        Amens flowed from the congregation toward Reverend Willie.
        “Truth of the matter be, Brothers and Sisters, she was one of them gypsy women that went around with sinners in one of them fancy coaches pulled by a spotted horse. One of them fortune tellers God say don’t consort with.”
        “Lord have Mercy,” came from the far corner of the room, along with a few gasps.
Reverend Willie looked over in the direction of the comment and hung his head saying, “I knows. I knows it weren’t right, but we gots a forgivin’ God knows our weakness, so you all sit still, and let me tell my story.”
“Stead of getting’ better, my baby sister seemed to be getting worse. Dats when my mama went to my daddy and say, ‘Henry, I done prayed about goin’ to get some herb medicine from that woman Dixie told me about, and I think it be o.k. by Him long as I don’t get my fortune told to consort with her bout somethin’ to help Lillie May.”
Dats when my daddy took the Pontius Pilot Stand and says in a very grim voice dat he washes his hands o’ the whole thing and told my mama to do what she gotta do.
        Laughter fluttered throughout the congregation like the soft snow outside the steamy windows of the tiny church.
        Reverend Willie looked down at the oak pulpit and then up, smiling slightly, cleared his throat and went on.
“Mama went over to the hair doing shop and got Dixie, and the two of them walked to the South side of Miller’s Pond where the gypsies were camped. Mama said the woman called herself Josette, and she had earrings dat was big hoops, and lots of rings on her fingers…in fact on ever one cludin’ her thumb. She also said Josette had lipstick on so red it’d pale the color of the devil. Mama says she look like what she sposed Jezebelle…that harlot in the Old Testament the dogs ate…looked like, but she was right nice and, when Mama and Dixe ‘proched her sittin’ by her campfire, the gypsy lady asked Mama what she’d be needin’.”
        Mummurs rose in the congregation. Sister whispered in the ear of sister then turned their gaze back attentively toward Reverend Willie, while several Brothers in Christ caste slightly disgusted looks toward their women.
        “Mama told her about Lillie May, and the gypsy woman went into her carriage through some fringe curtains like something Mama figured Solomon’s Temple had. They was a thick heavy velvet type of cloth,” Willie continued. “Then she came out holdin’ a glass cannin’ jar with some dried leaves and berries in it. She handed the jar to Mama and said to make a tea outa the leaves and have Lillie May drink many many cups of it hot. My mama then asked the gypsy lady how much money she owed her, and she smiled and said, ‘Just promise me you will serve my herbs in the fanciest teacup in your house as your daughter grows stronger and stronger with vigor.’
        Mama was surprised cause she heard tell how gypsies were thieves and loved money. She promised this Josette woman she would use her grandmother’s fancy tea cup, the one with red and yellow roses and 24 karot gold trim. The gypsy woman clapped her hand together and twirled around in a circle. Mama said her skirt made a big circle and she figured it was one of them dancin’ skirts for carousin’ them gypsies do. Anyway, I’s getting’ off track here.
        Mama come home and told all of us bout the experience she had and put a kettle onto boil and got in the special keepin’ cupboard in her bedroom and got her grandmother’s tea cup outa a fancy paper box. She drug Lillie May over to the kitchen table, put some herbs into the cup and had her sit breathin’ the sweet fragrance o’ the blend. Lillie May’s eyes got big and she said that was the fanciest tea cup she ever done seen and did a queen have it or a moving picture star. Mama smiled and said she reckoned maybe a queen might have had one like it cause it came from England where queens lived. My baby sister grinned big then coughed some, saying, ‘I’m a queen. I’m the queen of England.’”
        The congregation laughed.
        “Now folks, this is where the big event comes in. My mama told Lillie May to drink the tea. She picked up the cup and took a sip of the tea, but it was too hot, so she yelled and dropped the cup on the table and it broke into three pieces.”
        Once more the congregation gasped, and “Oh my Lord!” was heard from several directions.
        “Brothers and Sisters. It were a very memorable moment in the life of your pastor. My mama all but tore her apron lamenting over the breakage of that fancy tea cup. She called on the Lord to help her from killin’ Lillie May fore she died first from being sick. I was sceered. I recon I never seen my mama get so upset over somethin’. I ran and got a towel to soak up the mess, and my Mama ran into the bedroom and shut the door to suffer herself to gain her composure. Lillie May cried and said she was sorry. My daddy picked up the pieces and put them carefully on the chopping board, and he told Lillie May to stop crying. My daddy say he’d get the spensive kinda glue at the store and fix it back like it was, only a little different. Lillie May lay on her bed coughin’ and spittin’ while she was cryin’ hard. It was a scene folks. There was confusion. Where there is confusion you know the devil is at work. Do I hear an AMEN?
        Loud Amens chorused together.
        Reverend Willie continued, “Finally Mama came out of the room. She told Lillie May and me she was sorry for scaring us and carrying on over the broken cup. She said she treated that cup like it was her child and her precious child that got broke and her poor sick little daughter like she was a something like the cup was. Mama said, “I learned a powerful lesson just now. It is that even if they are fancy things, things are not as important as people. I recon your daddy could buy me another queen teacup but I can never replace my little girl. Dats when she axed us to forgive her…my dear sweet mama.”
        Reverend Willie reached up with his large rough hand and wiped a tear from his eye. In the congregation several Sisters got out their lace handkerchiefs and wiped away sympathetic tears.
“So folks,” Reverend Willie boomed, “that is part of the lesson today. Don’t treat folks like stuff and stuff like folks. Amen?”
        A loud Amen filled the room in unison.
“By the way,” Willie went on, “Lillie May got better.” Drank her tea a little cooler from a ol’ brown chipped coffee cup o’ my daddy’s he bought at the local donut shop, but that gypsy lady knowed her stuff. My Mama said God uses all kinds of folks for his hand and none is exempt and that day he done used a hand of a gypsy with five rings on five fingers to save her baby. Mama prayed for that gypsy woman for years. I claim that she be walkin’ the golden streets of heaven today with my mama. Dats what I choose to believe. My mama’s God and my God answers prayer.”
        Reverend Willie pounded the top of the oak pulpit with his right fisted hand. The congregation applauded.
        “Also folks, gotta tell you my daddy done glued that fancy tea cup together, and my Mama put it on a shelf in the parlor for the whole world to see and to remind her of a portent lessen she done learned. Man at the store said, ‘this tea cup may been broken one time here and there, but my super glue make these broken parts the strongest parts. Never will break where it’s been glued again.’ That got me to thinkin’ how God is our super glue; he helps us when we’s broken and when we’s fightin’ the fight with him. Once we back together again in one piece, a little different but the same kinda, like my mama’s fancy tea cup, then we’s stronger than we ever was cause God done seen us through. He gives us the power. That’s the part where we’s a little different than like we was. Do I hear an Amen?”
        “Yes Pasta” and “Amen” flowed toward Reverend Willie like the waters of the Red Sea.
        “And Brothers and Sisters,” Reverend Willie boomed, “What the outside of the cup look like don’t matter as much as what’s in it. Lord is powerful medicine. When we drink from his cup, we’s blessed. Devil be cursed!” Reverend Willie pounded his pulpit with two firm fists several times, then looking up toward the ceiling said, “Hallelujah” as if looking through the roof of the church straightway toward Heaven, his eyes flashing like lazar beams of light into the face of God.
        The congregation shouted praises and clapped their hands. Tears of emotional gratitude streamed down the faces of both men and women. A baby cried, waken from the clamor.
        “Now,” Reverend Willie stated, after the praises subsided, “Sister Hilda has placed a basket by the back door on the visitation book table. In this basket you will find bags of tea. The tea is called Passion Tea. When you all leave the building this morning, take one home with you. Remember…you are God’s cup, whether you are chipped, repaired or fancy. Let God fill you with His passion and make you a beautiful vessel to show his love. Do I hear an Amen! Everybody stand up. Brother Diggs, let’s sing!”
        As Reverend Willie’s flock stood to their feet, hands clapped and shouts of Amen and praise resonated off the walls, making their way through the steamy windows of the clapboard wooden church into the Valley of Tennessee, then rose to heaven as a sweet perfume to God. Inside the church Sister Beatrice played a refrain of Just As I Am on the old pump organ and in the sky, a bright ray of sunshine shone through white clouds, and it was a glorious day, indeed.
                                                                        Jennifer Grant

        BRINGING IN THE SHEAVES

Sowing in the sunshine, sowing in the shadows,
Fearing neither clouds nor winter's chilling breeze;
By and by the harvest, and the labor ended,
We shall come rejoicing, in bringing in the sheaves.

Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves,
We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves,
Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves,
We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves,