Chapter 33 church

With Detroit traffic speeding by outside, I followed Henry C. of the I Am My Brother's Keeper Ministry.Reverend Covington, through the oversized chapel.The quaint lobby is magnificent with its high ceilings and grandeur.The grand forum is made of peach blossom hearts, the pipe organ stands like a tower, and there are condescending seats on the second floor. But corruption also appeared. Peeling paint everywhere.The walls have cracks.The wooden floors were battered and rotted, and there were holes in the carpet that would cause sprained ankles.I looked up and saw a hole in the ceiling. Very large hole.

Probably ten feet in diameter. That's a big problem.Henry admits: Especially when it rains. I noticed that red plastic buckets had been set up at various strategic points, ready to catch rainwater.The white cement has been polluted brown by water seepage.I have never seen a religious building with such a big hole.It looked like a ship had been shot through its hull. we sit down.Henry's belly was so big he seemed to have to rest his elbows on the bench to keep his balance. I don't know your purpose yet.he said politely. You take in homeless people, right? Yes, two nights a week.Henry said.

Here for them to eat? Yes, in our gym. For them to sleep too? Yes. Do they have to be Christians? no need. Are you trying to convert them to Christianity? No.We help them pray.We ask if anyone wants to give their life to Jesus, but never under compulsion.Anyone can come. I nod.I told him about the charity donation.I said what we can do to help. oh.He raised his eyebrows: OK.That's great. I look around. It's a cathedral, I said. I know.He giggled. You have a New York accent. uh-huh.I'm from Brooklyn. Is this your first priesthood mission? Yes.When I first came, I was both a deacon and an administrator.Sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, cleaning toilets, all in one hand.

I remembered that when the archmage first came to our sanctuary, he also helped clean and lock the door.Those who work for God may develop humility in this way. Long ago, Henry said: This is a famous church.But a few years ago, they sold the church to our church.In fact, they told us: As long as you pay for the maintenance, it's yours. I looked around again. Did you always intend to be a pastor? He laughed through his nostrils. certainly not. What were you going to do when you first graduated from school? Honestly, I've been to prison. real?I said.I tried my best to pretend nothing had happened.for what?

Oh, I've done a lot.Drug dealing, car theft.I'm in jail for murder, but that case has nothing to do with me. Then how did you come here from there? Let's just say that one night I thought the people I'd robbed were going to come and kill me, so I made a wish to God that I'd give myself to Him if only I'd live till morning. He paused, as if the old pain was churning in his heart again.That was twenty years ago.He said. He pressed his forehead with a handkerchief a few times.I have experienced too much in this life.I know whoever wrote the song Glory, glory, hallelujah, what it means since I let my burden down.

ok, i said.Because I don't know how to respond to his words. After a few minutes, we walked to the side door exit.Pieces of filth stuck to the floor.Down a flight of stairs leads to a small, dimly lit gym.He told me that's where homeless people sleep. On that day, I didn't commit to grant assistance, just said I would come back and we could talk more.Honestly, the prison thing is a red flag.I know people change their minds, but I also know that some people just change their address and nothing changes. I cover sports for a living and live in Detroit, and I've seen a lot of bad stuff: drugs, bodily harm, illegal gun possession.I have witnessed public apologies at press conferences packed with media.I've interviewed people who claimed to be reformed and well-spoken, and then after months of writing good things about them in the news, I found that these people fell back into the same old problems.

This phenomenon is bad enough in sports, but religious hypocrisy disgusts me even more.The act of a public fundraiser televangelist going to prison for indiscretion in his private life, then pretending to be remorseful and reappearing asking people for money makes me sick to my stomach.I am willing to trust Henry.Covington.But I don't want to be entrusted with non-human beings. Besides, to put it bluntly, his world of beliefs was not the one I was familiar with.It's so dilapidated, everything just works, and even the inside of the church seems to be sinking.Henry said a staircase led upstairs, where five tenants lived in dormitory-style rooms.

Wait a minute, someone lives in your church? Yes, there are several.They will pay a little rent. How do you meet your daily expenses? Most of it is rent. Are congregations paid on time? We do not charge. Where does your salary come from? he laughed.I have no salary. We went outside into the sunshine.The one-legged man is still there.He smiled, and I forced a grin back. Well, pastor, we'll keep in touch, I said. I don't know if I mean what I said. You are welcome to worship on Sunday.he said. I am not a Christian. He shrugged.I don't know if that means okay, then you're not welcome, or it's okay, you're still welcome.

Have you ever been in a synagogue?I asked. Yes, I have.He said: When I was ten years old. What kind of occasion? He lowered his head, a little embarrassed. We go in and steal things.