A few weeks ago, I was privileged to speak at the homegoing service of another great soldier in the Lord’s force, Venus Gibson. She was not only a parent at Chicago West Side Christian School, but along with her mother, Betty served thousands of school lunches to CWSCS students. As pastor of the church and school I wanted her services and the presence of the many students from the school recognized. In 35 years of ministry, never did I have such difficulty in fulfilling my mission. But as Peterson likes to say, “every step an arrival.”
As guests in this neighboring church, we sat in the pews near the middle of the large sanctuary. I sat chatting with my deacon, Maurice Campbell, who reflected that he was so thankful he had visited Venus in her last days. I glanced at the printed program, saw my name under ‘Remarks- 2 minutes please’. I fully expected the minister, who was calling the service to order, would invite all the ministers in the house to come and sit with him behind the pulpit. I waited – no invitation was given. A little strange especially in light of the fact that Jasmine, a niece, had made it clear the family wanted me to be on the program. After an Old Testament and New Testament reading, a selection of Heaven is my Home from the choir, and Sister Powel’s acknowledgements of cards and telegrams, the time for 2 minute remarks arrived. What I failed to take notice of, or more likely thought a typo, was the presence of a slash between my name and Sister Jasmine’s. As Sister Jasmine completed her reading, Maurice poked me, ‘You better get up there’. ‘No, I’ll wait to be called.’ The only call that came was for Sister Gloria to bring a musical selection. As Gloria and her cousin sang a duet and the choir chimed in, I made my way to the front bench and sat with the nurses all dressed in white. I leaned over to one of them, ‘Who do I speak to, to get on the program?’. She pointed to the pastor sitting behind the pulpit. I sat and waited, thinking ‘they must of overlooked my name, I’ll be called next’. Then there was another selection from the choir. So I thought, ‘I’ll go up to the pastor while the choir is singing and ask when I can get on the program’. As I climbed the steps that reached the top of the platform, an attendant rose out of his chair and stood at the top step stopping me. I tried to politely move past him in tight quarters and I felt something I had not felt since my days on the basketball court, a ‘chest-butt’. The deacon gave me a chest butt in front of the entire audience. I was not getting past him. As I explained who I was and that I was on the program, he pointed at his note scribbled bulletin and tried to tell me above the volume of the choir directly behind him that for whatever reason I was not getting up there. I felt rather exposed and embarrassed and wanted so much to get off those steps, the audience may have been listening to the choir but they were looking at this Black man stopping this White man from getting to the pastor. ‘Can we talk somewhere else than up here?’ I tried to reason with him. He guided me to a door immediately off the stage. ‘I am Pastor Wolff from Chicago West Side Christian School, I would still like to say something.’ ‘We’ve been given strict instructions not to let anyone else speak who is not on the program.’ ‘But I am on the program-see right there.’ The deacon looked at his program, as now 2 more deacons were running from the back hallway to try to reconcile what was quickly becoming an uncomfortable situation. ‘There is a slash in front of your name.’ ‘I see that- but that is my name’. ‘The slash means either/or….either Jasmine talks OR you not both.’ The door to the stage opened again and this time it was Betty, Venus’ mother. ‘This is Pastor Wolff and HE IS ON THE PROGRAM, LET HIM SPEAK!’ The newly arrived deacons were frantically trying to find a ‘Barabbas.’ ‘Who is this ‘Raven Clay’….is he even here?’ They were pointing to the name of a soloist on the program. ‘No he’s not here, let the Pastor speak!’ “I have told you these things so that my joy may be in you and your joy may be complete.” I shared Jesus’ words with the saints gathered to mourn the life of one who brought so much joy to their lives. I told Venus’ daughter Myracle not to let NO ONE take that Joy from her. As I stood waiting for the pastors, family, and friends to proceed out, several thanked me for the words I brought. The deacon who threw the block, shook my hand sheepishly and said, ‘I’m sorry, if I had known you were with Coach Gordon I would of let you up there!’ I laughed thinking, of course every white person in Lawndale is with Coach! After the funeral I got the view from those sitting in the audience. Deacon Campbell started in as we walked to the car, ‘What happened up there? Ms. Perry and I thought it might be a racial thing, we were ready to come up there!’ Back at the school, Mary Post, a school administrator, laughed and said, ‘All I know is I saw 3 people go through that side door, the deacon, you, and Ms. Betty and only 2 came back out, the deacon was gone!’ I made one last visit that afternoon, as I wanted to see Doc before he headed to Mississippi for Thanksgiving. As I went to greet him and told him I had seen his grandkids at the funeral I had just attended. Doc laughed and blurted out, ‘I know--- I heard you took the pulpit gangster style!
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