Closed

The building needed repairs, the boiler strained to heat the sanctuary, and the exterior needed paint. And the number of active parishioners dwindled down to thirty or forty.

It's a neighborhood church and twelve years ago we decided to stay in our town and attend a local church within walking distance. From the beginning the fit wasn't right, but we stayed for sixteen months.

The minister, from Zimbabwe, was a mixture of Southern gospel and African charisma. Praise and Worship services late Sunday afternoon drew a larger crowd. Amens and Hallelujah, raised arms.

Tonight I passed the glass case right outside of the church: CHURCH CLOSED, THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES.

We left because it really wasn't the right church for us, but I learned a great deal about faith in that church.

Forgiven

praise songs, syncopated hymns
projected on a white screen
jesus, jesus
oh yes jesus, hands raised
swaying as the refrain picks
up momentum, oh yes jesus

emmanuel bawa came from zimbabwe
and said i’ll tell you a story

there was a man, a poor man
a man so poor that he stole a chicken
one day someone whispered
pay me a dollar of your pay
but i’m a poor man
oh poor man—remember the chicken
the poor man paid
and he paid
remember the chicken
just you remember the chicken
at night the chicken
appeared like a ghost
the poor man lay locked in the dark
until dawn then went to his boss
i am a poor man who stole a chicken
his boss listened hard
he heard the man’s body bend
with the words remember the chicken

the minister from zimbabwe
stopped his words
held his story cupped in his hands

now the poor man waited
unable to look up from his feet
what you did was wrong
the poor man waited
like a man already knowing
will you do it again
the poor man shook his head
go back to work and i will
forget the chicken
still the poor man waited
you’re forgiven, go back to work


at the end of the day
the other man whispered
where is my dollar
the poor man walked away

the words remember the chicken
shadowed the man

the minister
from zimbabwe
held his hands together,
his voice shook the pipe organ

the poor man turned
and spoke quietly
i don’t have to remember the chicken

the minister from zimbabwe
stepped out of the story
raised his arms
praise God
oh praise God