It takes a special kind of person to wear two-tone Wingtip Oxford shoes in public. But, once a week, at the Ebenezer Baptist Church on the east side of Austin, just these kinds of people gather together in masses to worship the Lord.
Men wearing suits in colors plucked from a fruit basket lead women with big hats into the sanctuary and laugh deep, long laughs. I can only assume that they find their attire as amusing as I do.
I look down on these people, not in the metaphorical or omniscient sense, but in the quite literal sense. My second story balcony faces their sanctuary and it has become habit for me to sit outside and have my breakfast as I watch them all pile into the worship hall.
Once inside, the party begins. There is singing, shouting and an occasional slide piano solo. I can’t imagine anyone possibly being able to hold back the urge to dance circles around the place. But, I once read that that sort of behavior is frowned upon by Baptists. And as stained glass windows inhibit my view, I can only assume these good people are versed in their donominational doctrine.
To make up for such a blatant waste of good dance music. I like to stand up on the balcony, holding a dance partner of yogurt and spoon, then form a miniature conga line. If they won’t dance for their Lord, I will certainly dance for mine, whoever he or she might be.
Once my church-going friends have had enough devotional to carry them through another week, they exit the church, making plans for lunch at Luby’s, picking out the two sides their Luanne platter will come with in advance.
As a parting gift for the entertainment they have provided me, I will open all of the windows in my living room and strap George Harrison’s Gretch Duo Jet Rockband Guitar to my back. Turning the speaker volume up as loud as it can go without popping, I sit on the window sill and rock.
As bright colored fabrics move towards me, I can tell that they appreciate the serenade. It’s hard for me to start my Sunday if I can’t get a heavy set man in a banana yellow suit and two toned Wingtip Oxfords to dance the slightest little jig, while I wail on the Helter Skelter guitar solo. Maybe these Baptists are allowed to dance afterall?
One day, I’ll throw a baby blue suit on, walk across the street and find out for myself. “Believe in God! Believe in me, also! Praise the Lord!”
Posted via email from Jon Ray
