Chapter 35 church

I walked into the church, and a thin man with a high forehead nodded to me and handed me a small white envelope so I could make a donation.He motioned for me to sit anywhere.The weather was changing today, and it was raining heavily. The hole in the ceiling was full of menace, dripping blackly, and red buckets were lined up on the three-plywood shelf to catch the continuous dripping rain. Most of the benches are empty.At the very front, near the altar, there was a man sitting behind the organ, playing a chord now and then, and a drummer beating the rim and head at the same time, beating time for him.Their humble little music echoes in the lobby.

Pastor Henry stood aside, wearing a blue robe, shaking his body back and forth.Unable to withstand his repeated invitations, I finally came to church.I'm not sure why I'm here.Maybe it was curiosity; maybe, to put it bluntly, I came to see if he was worthy of my trust and worth my money.We've talked a few times now.He was open about his criminal history about drugs, firearms, and prison terms.It's good that he's so honest, but if you only consider his past, there's probably no reason to invest in his future. But the sadness and confession on his face, the tiredness in his voice, it's as if he's had enough of the world, at least a certain part of it.I can't help but think of the old adage: Never trust a fat preacher, but I'm not worried about Henry.Covington would take advantage of the congregation.Not profitable at all.

He looked up from his contemplation and saw me.Then he continued to pray. Henry.Covington in 1992 by the New York International Pilgrim Congress (Pilgrim Assemblies International) Roy.Bishop Brown sent to Detroit.Brown found Henry in his church, heard his testimony, and took him to various prisons to observe how the prisoners reacted to his story.After training, teaching, and appointing Henry a deacon, Bishop Brown finally asked him to come to the city, the center of the automobile industry. Henry would do anything for Brown.He moved his family into the Ramada Hotel in downtown Detroit, and on a salary of three hundred dollars a week, he helped start a new pilgrimage church.He came and went by means of an old black limousine allocated to him by Bishop Brown.If the bishop comes to preside over the service on weekends, he will be responsible for the transportation.

Henry had worked under three priests over the years, each of whom had noticed how hard he studied and how easy he was with the neighbors.They made him an elder and eventually a priest.But in the end, the Pilgrimage lost interest in the city, Bishop Brown ceased to appear, and Henry's stipend ceased. Whether the future development is good or bad depends on him. His house was repossessed by the bank.The sheriff put a seal on the door.His water and electricity were cut off.Meanwhile, the neglected church boiler failed and its water pipes burst.The local drug dealers said that as long as Henry agreed to use this place as a secret distribution center, all financial crises would be solved.

But Henry was done with that life. So he fortified the wall and cleared the field.He formed the Brotherhood of Guardians, he asked God for guidance, and he did everything he could to keep the church going and his family alive. Amidst the sound of the pipe organ, someone staggered forward with a cane.It was the one-legged man I had seen on my first visit.His name is Cass, and his full name is Anthony.Castro.I later learned that he was an elder of the church. Thank you, thank you, Lord.He spoke, eyes almost closed: Thank you, thank you, thank you Someone claps.Someone shouted: OK, every time the door is opened, the sound of cars outside can be heard.

Thank you Jesus thank you for giving us pastors thank you for giving us this day I counted twenty-six people present, all of African descent, and most of them were women.I sat behind an elderly woman in a Caribbean-colored dress and a wide-brimmed hat.In terms of the number of people congregating, this place is far inferior to the super cathedrals in California, not even the synagogues in the suburbs. thank you for giving us today thank you jesus After Elder Cass finished, he turned to leave, but the wires got tangled up in his crutches, and the microphone fell to the ground with a loud thud.

A woman immediately put it back in place. Then the church fell silent again. Pastor Henry, whose cheeks and forehead were already shiny with sweat, stepped forward. The pastor comes out to preach, and the audience, I think, can relax and look forward to a wonderful speech.I always do this when I attend meetings hosted by the Archmage, and out of habit, I also lean back on the wooden bench when the organ plays the last chord of "Amazing Grace". Henry leaned forward and looked at everyone.He held this position for a while, as if pondering one last thought.Then he spoke. Wonderful Grace He shook his head while talking: Wonderful︱ㄠ︱Grace.

Someone followed and repeated: Wonderful Grace!Others clap.Clearly this was not the quiet and introspective audience I was used to. Wonderful︱ㄠ︱ㄠ︱Grace.Henry Wei growled: I should have died. uh-huh! It's time to die! uh-huh! Death is dead, but by His grace! Yes! His grace saved a lost man.I used to be a lost person.Do you know what it is to the lost?I was addicted to drugs, I was addicted to alcohol, I was addicted to heroin, I lied, I stole.I've done all these things.but jesus appeared Jesus! I said, He is the greatest recycler Jesus He lifted me up.He rearranged me.He rearranged me.I'm a bad person

OK But he changed everything! Amen! Now, yesterday, my friends, a piece of the ceiling fell off and the church was leaking.but you know go ahead, pastor you know you know you know how that song is sung hallelujah Hallelujah! all in all! He starts clapping.The organist joins, followed by the drummer.They sang immediately, and suddenly it seemed that a spotlight illuminated the entire altar. Ha︱ha︱Lelujah In a word, Henry sang: Don't be downcast when you encounter disappointment no matter what happens, raise your voice and speak out Hallelujah all in all! His voice is beautiful, pure and clear, with a very high pitch, which really doesn't seem to be the high pitch that such a big man can produce.All the congregation immediately cheered up and sang in unison, stretching their heads, shrinking their necks, and clapping their hands, except for me.I feel like an undrafted outcast from the choir.

Hallelujah all in all! Immediately after the singing stopped, Henry resumed his sermon.There is no division between praying, singing hymns, speaking, singing, preaching, supplications, cries, and responses.Apparently the whole thing fits together. We were here last night.Henry said: "Just looking around, looking around, the cement is cracking, the paint is peeling everywhere That's right! You can hear the rain pouring in.We put buckets all over the place.So I asked God and I started praying.I said: Lord, let us see your mercy, your kindness.Help us treat your house.Just help us patch the hole

that's good For a while, I felt hopeless.Because I don't know where the money for the repairs will come from, but soon I'm no longer desperate. That's right! I no longer despair because I understand one thing. Yes, pastor! You know, what the Lord cares about is what you do, but the Lord doesn't care about a house or not. Amen! The Lord really doesn't care what house is not a house. well said! Jesus said: So don't worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about tomorrow.God doesn't care about the house, he cares about you, what's in your heart. Lord of Armies! If this is the place we worship If this is the place we worship If this is the only place we worship He paused.His voice dropped to a whisper. Then this place is sacred to him. Yes, the pastor said well, pastor Amen is good! Everyone stood up, clapped their hands enthusiastically, and thanked Henry with great confidence.Though their church was so dilapidated, their souls were being watched, and maybe God was looking down through the hole in the roof, and ready to help them. I looked up and saw the red bucket and the dripping water.I saw Henry in his blue robe take a step back and join the group in singing the prayer.I still don't know what to make of him as a charismatic, mysterious, problematic character?But you have to admit, his mother had a lot of insight.He will be a priest no matter how many years it takes. ◇◇◇ I started reading religious books that weren't my religion.I'm curious to know if there is more in common with these beliefs than I thought.I read introductions to Mormonism, Catholicism, Sufis, and Quakers. I saw a documentary about the Hindu celebration of Kumbh Mela, a sacred pilgrimage from the mouth of the Ganges to its Himalayan birthplace.According to legend, when the gods and demons competed for the pot in the air, four drops of nectar of immortality fell down and landed in four different places.To go on a pilgrimage is to go to these places; to bathe in the rivers, to wash away sins, to seek health and salvation. There are millions, tens of millions, of participants.The scene is huge and unbelievable.I see bearded men dancing.I see saints with pierced lips and powdered skin.I saw elderly women trekking for weeks in the snow-capped mountains in search of the Most High God. This is the largest gathering in the world, known as the world's largest single act of faith based on faith.But most Americans have never heard of it.This documentary describes the Kud Pot Festival as participating in a great cause through small actions. I don't know if I can put that on my visit to an old man in New Jersey.