Free Second Sunday by Michele Andrea Bowen

some woman who got a crazy notion that she been called to preach. Come on
     now . . .”
    “Are you through?” Bert asked.
    When Cleavon didn’t answer, he said, “Let’s go ahead and vote on hiring Rev. George Robert Wilson as our new pastor. All in
     favor?”
    Four hands shot up, representing half of the committee.
    “All opposed?” Bert went on. Cleavon and his cousin Rufus raised their hands.
    “Any abstentions?”
    Two members of the committee abstained.
    “Why y’all tripping?” Bert demanded, tired of looking for a pastor.
    “Well, for one thing,” Cleavon said, “we have one more candidate to interview before we decide on anything about anybody.
     Earl Hamilton knows the value of a dollar and has strong ties to the business community. Yet you-all are being pigheaded about
     even scheduling an interview week with him.”
    “Because he’s a dead fish,” Mr. Louis Loomis said. “Rev. Earl Hamilton is tight and boring, and he has far too many ‘strong
     ties’ for my comfort to not-so-nice white preachers, like Ray Lyles out in St. Charles.”
    Cleavon was so mad that he could spit tacks. He leaped up out of his chair and walked up on Mr. Louis Loomis, who was sitting
     down. Mr. Louis Loomis barely blinked as he said, “Watch yourself, Cleavon,” in a deadly voice, with one hand placed firmly
     on his belt.
    Cleavon threw up his hands but backed off and addressed the rest of the committee. “We are not discussing hiring George Wilson
     until this committee sees my next candidate, Rev. Earl Hamilton.”
    Bert was out of patience. But if bringing in Earl Hamilton would help keep the peace in his church, then it was a worthwhile
     move.
    “Call Rev. Hamilton, Cleavon,” he said, and then abruptly stood up. “Meeting adjourned.”
    When Bert went home and told Nettie that they could not hire Rev. Wilson until after they interviewed Rev. Earl Hamilton,
     she lost all faith in those men. The very next day, she rounded up all the missionaries’ and women’s auxiliary groups for
     an emergency session. The moment the last woman walked into the Ladies’ Parlor, Nettie signaled for the doors to be locked.
     Only then did she cut loose.
    “Y’all, we are in some serious trouble. The closer we get to our anniversary date, seems like the farther away we are from
     having a pastor. We need a pastor bad, but we need a good pastor. The church keeps suffering from all this foolishness that
     these men been putting us through, and I for one can’t stand another breath of it.”
    “Amen,” Viola called out.
    “Now we have found the perfect pastor, and the men are still not satisfied. Instead of offering the job to Rev. George Wilson,
     they rounding up Rev. Earl Hamilton, who don’t know what kind of church he wants to be up in, black or white.”
    “That’s right,” Sylvia said. She had gone to high school with Earl Hamilton, and even back then, his philosophy was “White
     is right; black get back.”
    “So—,” Nettie started in.
    “Before you do any more rabble-rousing, Nettie Green,” Cleavon’s mother, Vernine Johnson, interrupted, “you need to think
     about Earl Hamilton’s credentials. No sense in being rash and foolish and hiring one man before we have a chance to examine
     another’s qualifications for the job.”
    “Why in the world would we think that tired Uncle Tom, Earl Hamilton is a qualified candidate for our church?” Viola asked.
     She couldn’t stand Cleavon’s mother. Vernine was always posturing and acting like she was so much better than everybody else,
     when half the time she didn’t even know where Cleavon’s daddy was.
    “
Be-cause,
” Vernine stated, straightening out her ranch mink stole, “Rev. Hamilton is a graduate of the Yale Divinity School, he holds
     several honorary doctoral degrees, and he comes from a long line of preachers, doctors, lawyers—”
    “—and Indian chiefs,” MamaLouise, Nettie’s mother, said. “He’s all that and more,