Our church in Iowa held revival services in the 1960s, and a guest preacher came to speak at all the services. His sermons were always lengthy. After church was over, he continued talking to members of the congregation.
Mom would invite the visiting preacher to have lunch with us. We lived across the street from the church.
By the time the local minister and the revival preacher arrived at our house, the food was ready. The smell of roast beef and gravy was fantastic. Mom would come to the room where everyone was waiting and announce, “Come eat, the food is ready,” and we would all proceed to the table.
After a short prayer by the local minister everyone would fill their plates with beef, potatoes, and vegetables. The guest speaker, who had talked non-stop at church for over an hour, began eating... and he never said a word.
While the meal was being consumed mom would offer second helpings and apologies, “This just isn’t very good today.” But clearly, judging by the rate at which the food disappeared from the plates, everyone disagreed with her. The only thing that could top the meal was the homemade apple pie that was served for dessert.
After the meal, the guests would find an excuse to leave. They never admitted it, but I think they were ready for a nap.
Our resolve must be different. My prayer is that we have finally reached a tipping point. My hope is that when the protests fade and the marches slow that our will as a church to truly eradicate the scourge of racism won’t dissipate but grows even stronger.”
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