Judas Church

Episode 2

Chapter 4

I'd never been to a real church service before.

The last time I was even in a church was a couple of years ago when some of my college buddies and I were volunteering for the Obama campaign. It was five of us. We were wearing our blue shirts with the slogan "Forward" emblazoned on them, and we were going door-to-door in a middle class neighborhood asking people if they were registered to vote and if we could put an Obama campaign sign in their yard.

It started to rain unexpectedly, and we ran back to the corner where our van was supposed to be waiting for us. Unfortunately, the driver had evidently decided to take off. So, we were standing in a church parking lot — us and our stacks of campaign fliers and brochures getting wet.

There were about half a dozen cars parked around the church. After about five minutes, another car drove up and an elderly white man got out.

"Y'all kids getting wet," he shouted over to us.

"We're waiting for our ride," I told him.

"Come on and wait inside," he said.

So we followed him into a relatively small sanctuary — fifteen pews on either side of the aisle with six tall, opaque glass windows set evenly along each wall. There were about a dozen people sitting in the choir box, rehearsing songs that sounded strange to me at the time. I'm not sure whether the meaning of the words was lost on me, or whether I was just distracted by the blond girl with the smile like sunshine who came down from the choir box to offer us drinks. (Of course, I said yes.) I learned her name was Elizabeth Wesson. I would have tried to talk to her, but she was wearing a "Women for Romney" t-shirt. Not sure we would have gotten along too well.

 

I pondered that memory as I waited in the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton Residences for Manley to arrive. The late evening sky was a deep and troubled blue — like a bruise — the same color as the dark blue suit that I was wearing. It was the only thing I had that looked acceptable for church attendance. I didn't want to stand out — just look, listen, and learn.

Manley pulled into the turnabout and honked once.

"Good evening," he said as I got into his Jeep.

"Good evening." I looked over at him in surprise. He was wearing fatigue shorts and a polo shirt.

He looked at me and evidently knew what I was thinking. "You don't have to dress up to go to church," he said. "God doesn't care about your clothes. It's your heart that counts."

"Uh-huh." I guessed I would be the one who stood out.

 

About fifteen minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of City of Fellowship Bible Church south of Baltimore. The night was hot and muggy. The parking lot was full. I was surprised to see this many people going to church on a Saturday. Usually, I'd be firing up my Xbox to play Need for Speed: Most Wanted this time of the week.

Inside, the sanctuary was dimly lit. Most of the people sitting in the movie theater-style seats were dressed casually like Manley and they were pretty much in our age group too. I saw very few who looked like they were over the age of forty. We sat down in the middle closer to the back. The stage resembled a theater with thick red curtains on either side. People chatted or looked at their phones. About five minutes after we sat down, a drummer with burnt red hair and thick sideburns came on stage and tapped his drumsticks together. He was joined by a guitarist dressed in faded jeans and sandals, and two female singers who held microphones. This was interesting; I had been expecting a pipe organ, a piano, and a choir.