but every bit as run-down—a gang of saggy old homes ranging around a town square, and brick stores with messages painted on them advertising stuff nobody has bought for probably fifty years.
“I suspect the national pastime around here is sitting on your ass shelling purple hull peas,” Certain Certain says.
We have a lot of volunteers in Clampton, so Sugar Tom and me spend the hours reading and playing chess while Certain Certain supervises. Sugar Tom likes to call the chess men things like Hittites, Amalekites, and Jebusites. I have never beaten him.
“‘I will bring you up out of the affliction of Egypt,’” Sugar Tom says. “Checkmate.”
“Huh?”
“Some days the Spirit is close, Ronald Earl, others it’s far away.”
When it’s time for the service, I sit peeking through the saddle flap. No Lucy, only the same kinds of faces I always see. I know what they’re expecting. I just don’t know how much of it I want to give.
“Game time,” Certain Certain says.
After Sugar Tom introduces me, I stand there in the lights and the screaming, and that’s all I do. I’m not smiling, I’m not doing anything. I let it soak into me, not thinking about the whiteness, not thinking that I need to get started. Just
feeling
. I let them settle down. Then I let them
more
than settle down. They go so ghostly quiet, you would think I was all alone.
My head is hanging a little, eyes down. Then I begin to hear them whisper, wondering if something is wrong. Maybe I won’t do it this time. Maybe this is the time I just walk offand keep going. Quiet. Quiet. And then I see it. The chessboard still sitting there over behind the curtain, the game pieces still laid out. I raise my head and say this:
“Have you ever played chess, brothers and sisters? A chessboard has pieces on it. Pawns. Bishops. Knights. Rooks. A king and a queen. One player takes black, one takes white. If you corner the other player’s king, you win. Simple as that.”
Even I’m not sure where this is going.
“Are we the Lord’s chess pieces, my brethren?” I say. “Is that what we are here for, for Him to play games with us? Do we even have any say in where we end up on the chessboard of
life?
”
Miss Wanda Joy looks like she just swallowed a broomstick sideways. She makes motions with her hand, cutting it across her neck:
Cut it off
.
But I can’t.
“Maybe one side of the board belongs to Jesus, the other to Satan. Which side do you pick? And what piece? Are you a bishop, thinking you can sneak catty-corner past the devil? Or maybe you’re a knight, hopping out of trouble? A pawn, where you can only march straight ahead, Satan’s sacrifice? A rook, plowing straight in a line, no matter what? Or maybe you’re a queen. You can go anywhere, do anything you want. All the power is in
you
. But maybe, my brethren, just maybe, you are a
king
. You spend your time hiding from life, letting others fight your battles. The most powerless player on the board.”
A smattering of voices holler out, “Amen.”
I sneak a glance at Miss Wanda Joy. She’s not slashing her throat anymore. I feel my voice rising, the whiteness coming up behind my eyelids, climbing my throat. I close my eyes and raise my arms.
“This is what I’m here to tell you, brothers and sisters,
ah!
It doesn’t matter
what
piece you are in this game,
ah!
Because a great reckoning is coming,
ah!
The arm of Christ Jesus,
ah!
is coming to sweep aside every piece on the chessboard,
ah!
Each and every one of us,
ah!
Queen to pawn,
ah!
The Lord’s side,
ah!
Satan’s side,
ah! All
will fall like wheat to the thresher,
ah!
For the Great Harvester,
ah!
He is coming to take His accounting,
ah!
at the End of Days,
ah!
when the dead in Christ,
ah!
I say the
dead
in Christ,
ah!
shall rise like a great anointing,
ah!
and ‘they that sow in tears shall reap in joy,’
ah!
”
Now they’re on their feet, waving their hands in the air, swaying back and forth, yelling out “Amen”
“I suspect the national pastime around here is sitting on your ass shelling purple hull peas,” Certain Certain says.
We have a lot of volunteers in Clampton, so Sugar Tom and me spend the hours reading and playing chess while Certain Certain supervises. Sugar Tom likes to call the chess men things like Hittites, Amalekites, and Jebusites. I have never beaten him.
“‘I will bring you up out of the affliction of Egypt,’” Sugar Tom says. “Checkmate.”
“Huh?”
“Some days the Spirit is close, Ronald Earl, others it’s far away.”
When it’s time for the service, I sit peeking through the saddle flap. No Lucy, only the same kinds of faces I always see. I know what they’re expecting. I just don’t know how much of it I want to give.
“Game time,” Certain Certain says.
After Sugar Tom introduces me, I stand there in the lights and the screaming, and that’s all I do. I’m not smiling, I’m not doing anything. I let it soak into me, not thinking about the whiteness, not thinking that I need to get started. Just
feeling
. I let them settle down. Then I let them
more
than settle down. They go so ghostly quiet, you would think I was all alone.
My head is hanging a little, eyes down. Then I begin to hear them whisper, wondering if something is wrong. Maybe I won’t do it this time. Maybe this is the time I just walk offand keep going. Quiet. Quiet. And then I see it. The chessboard still sitting there over behind the curtain, the game pieces still laid out. I raise my head and say this:
“Have you ever played chess, brothers and sisters? A chessboard has pieces on it. Pawns. Bishops. Knights. Rooks. A king and a queen. One player takes black, one takes white. If you corner the other player’s king, you win. Simple as that.”
Even I’m not sure where this is going.
“Are we the Lord’s chess pieces, my brethren?” I say. “Is that what we are here for, for Him to play games with us? Do we even have any say in where we end up on the chessboard of
life?
”
Miss Wanda Joy looks like she just swallowed a broomstick sideways. She makes motions with her hand, cutting it across her neck:
Cut it off
.
But I can’t.
“Maybe one side of the board belongs to Jesus, the other to Satan. Which side do you pick? And what piece? Are you a bishop, thinking you can sneak catty-corner past the devil? Or maybe you’re a knight, hopping out of trouble? A pawn, where you can only march straight ahead, Satan’s sacrifice? A rook, plowing straight in a line, no matter what? Or maybe you’re a queen. You can go anywhere, do anything you want. All the power is in
you
. But maybe, my brethren, just maybe, you are a
king
. You spend your time hiding from life, letting others fight your battles. The most powerless player on the board.”
A smattering of voices holler out, “Amen.”
I sneak a glance at Miss Wanda Joy. She’s not slashing her throat anymore. I feel my voice rising, the whiteness coming up behind my eyelids, climbing my throat. I close my eyes and raise my arms.
“This is what I’m here to tell you, brothers and sisters,
ah!
It doesn’t matter
what
piece you are in this game,
ah!
Because a great reckoning is coming,
ah!
The arm of Christ Jesus,
ah!
is coming to sweep aside every piece on the chessboard,
ah!
Each and every one of us,
ah!
Queen to pawn,
ah!
The Lord’s side,
ah!
Satan’s side,
ah! All
will fall like wheat to the thresher,
ah!
For the Great Harvester,
ah!
He is coming to take His accounting,
ah!
at the End of Days,
ah!
when the dead in Christ,
ah!
I say the
dead
in Christ,
ah!
shall rise like a great anointing,
ah!
and ‘they that sow in tears shall reap in joy,’
ah!
”
Now they’re on their feet, waving their hands in the air, swaying back and forth, yelling out “Amen”
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