Rodney

There was a large Baptist Church out on the Airline Highway that sent its blue and white busses all over the city of New Orleans..."The Church of the Open Bible". It had a big open neon Bible on the roof and a sign..."God said it, I believe it, That settles it."
One of those busses passed through the Iberville Housing Project...my mother and I and a lot of people we knew rode that bus three times a week to services. Hunched Mr. Tweety, my jazz hero, was there, and Miss Margie, a big woman, who Mr. Tweety knew from the old days when the speakeasies heated up the city.
I loved that big church. It was, in many ways, my family. Sure there were a lot of rich members, but there were also a lot of folks exactly like me, my mom and the rest of our bus from the projects. And people cared about us...really cared.
That Baptist church was also my social life. There was a gym, a bowling alley, and a youth program with lots of activities...and we fit. People saw to it that we got there...and when we missed a service, there was always somebody that found out why.
But I probably liked the rides to and from church more than anything else. These were my people...
Tweety told me that Miss Margie was really something back then...quite a singer. But it was not easy to look at the older lady on that church bus and connect her with the hot music of the 20's. It was great when these two got started unearthing their part of the jazz age on the way to church...and I just sat quietly taking it all in.
Back in Philadelphia, I made the first spiritual decision I remember. My mother took me once to this huge church...my overall memory of the place takes in a gray stone exterior...with an interior of dark wood and dim light.
I don't remember what the sermon was about, but toward the end of it all, the preacher invited people to say "Yes" to Jesus. That pulled at me...the idea of saying yes to Jesus, and I told my mother so. "Mom, let's say yes!" And we did!
I had no idea what I was doing, but I think it was important.
Retarded is not a word we use much anymore. There are much more polite, kinder, politically correct ways to refer to people who are slow...but back then when people spoke of Miss Margie's son, they just threw it out there..."You know, Rodney...that retarded boy!"
I remember Rodney as very good looking and well dressed. He looked sharp...Miss Margie saw to that. But he had a lot of the mannerisms of his mother...a guy in his 20's or 30's acting like a woman in her 50's or 60's. Rodney got on the bus with a hanky in one had, dabbing his eyes and face, clutching a huge Bible in the other arm...holding the book close to his chest, like it was precious to him. And even though Rodney couldn't read, it was precious.
Rodney was merely imitating the only adult he was with most of the week.
Nobody made fun of Rodney much...who would want to make fun of this gentle soul?
In the way of a small child, Rodney loved everybody. But the thing that Rodney was most known for is that he said "yes" to Jesus at every service....every time there was an altar call.
When Bro. John-Paul would wrap up his sermon, he would step down from the pulpet and invite people to come, and Rodney was most often the first to go and take the pastor's hand...dabbing his eyes, looking broken and grieved...hungry for healing in his life...responding to the same sort of pull I felt as a small boy...
That's what Rodney did.
Who knows how many other people reached out to God during those sevices because of Rodney?
He went first.
As the congregation sang, "...Open wide Thy arms of love. Lord, I'm coming home." ...Rodney couldn't go home fast enough!
Rodney's gift was saying "Yes".