Free Is You Okay? by GloZell Green

river. The congregation was very excited about having her in our house of worship, so everyone wore their best Sunday-best, arrived extraearly, and staked out prime pew seating. The pastor welcomed everyone, did a quick sermon like an opening act before a concert, then handed over the pulpit to the headliner.
    When Sheila took the stage, the entire congregation got quiet—it was clear they knew what was coming. That woman could preach her tail off! I was amazed at what I was seeing. The “Hallelujahs” and “Amens” were flying back and forth between Sheila and fellow church members. It was inspiring. She had a ton of passion, and she had even more oxygen. Her sermon was long, like weekend lines at Disneyworld long.
    Despite the emotion swirling around the room, thirty or forty minutes in, I got bored. I have a strong work ethic, but I don’t have the best attention span, so I dug out a pen from my purse and started filling in the holes in all the O ’s, P ’s, D ’s, and B ’s in the program. When that was done, I flipped the program over and played tic-tac-toe with myself. It didn’t take long before I was completely zoned out and Sheila’s words became background noise. I figured nobody would notice since the place was packed and everyone was listening so intently.
    Silly, silly GloZell.
    At some point mid cat’s game, Sheila started calling people up to the front. You might think because of my reputation as an extrovert that I’d gravitate toward situations like this. Nope—this was my worst nightmare. I always get called on in situations like this. It’s the curse of being different, I guess. You’re easy to spot. Don’t get me wrong, I love being up on a stage in front of people, but only when I choose to be, not when someone else decides, and especially when I have no idea what that person has been saying!
    Sure enough, Sheila starts pointing at me. I wanted to melt into the pew or hide behind the church crown on the lady in front of me, but it was no use. When a prophetess handpicks you from the crowd, you aren’t just chosen . . . you’re Chosen .
    Eventually, a dozen of us found ourselves on the altar, all lined up in a row. I was in the middle. I had no idea what was coming, though the others seemed to know because they were vibrating with excitement. Sheila started with the woman at the far end, to my left. Her words started as a whisper—part chant, part prayer—and then built in volume and speed until she boomed:
    IN THE NAME OF JESUS!
    And then Sheila hit the woman on the head, sending her fainting to the ground, seized by the Holy Spirit.
    The congregation gasped and shouted out their “Amens!” The woman who had been hit on the head rolled around for a few seconds and moaned something I couldn’t quite hear. (She reminded me of Dr. Almont when he had his epileptic fit, actually.) When the woman stopped moaning, an assistant helped her to her feet, and then Sheila moved down the line. She performed the same ritual each time—quiet chanting, rising to a huge “In the Name of Jesus!,” then the smack on the head, and the collapse, and the rolling around.
    All these people seemed to be in a total out-of-body state—it was clearly a very real experience to them. They seemed to all be in the moment—problem was, I wasn’t. I felt like everyone else had been hypnotized but Sheila’s spell hadn’t worked on me, and now the hypnotist was expecting me to do weirdstuff too. I started to worry: I’m not going to fall out. I don’t think I’m going to fall out. Am I going to fall out? What if I don’t fall out?
    A big part of me doubted the whole thing.
    The churches I attended growing up offered much more of the average church experience. The pastors were much more, well, pastorlike. This was my first experience with something like this call-and-response sermon, or with