1981

I'd waited 5 years for the kind of church Reed Street Church was in 1981. It wasn't like my dad's church - no 'amens' from the pews, no hand raising during the sermon, or yells of 'yes, preacher, preach it!' My dad had said that the interaction with the congregation was how he knew he was 'on point'.

Reed Street Church never did have that kind of style. People sat politely in the pews, shushing their kids. Once a young mom got up to take her fussing kid to the 'cry-room', and Pastor Tim had stopped his sermon.

He said from the pulpit to the fleeing mom, "You don't have to take the baby out of here."

She turned and said, "Well then, Pastor Tim, you change his diaper!"

In many way, 1981 was magic at that church. There was no African-American vibe to a Sunday morning, but the congregation was enthused and committed.

And since I was doing the banking of all donations, pledges, and envelopes, etc., I witnessed first hand their support. The Progressive 80s were by-passing America with Ronald Reagan, but at Reed Street Church wide support among the membership was making it happen.

I should have taken a snapshot of 1981 and put it up on my office wall. (I still have not got to what I'm writing all this for!)

WHAT COULD GO WRONG?

That's the question I hope you're asking.

Fast forward to January 1982. For the last 2 1/2 years, Reed Street Church had put itself on a solid, Godly foundation. Biblical preaching, meaning Pastor Tim's preaching. Community outreach to the hungry. Overseas mission trips. The bonus!? No behind the scenes harassment. This was a different church than the one I had been hired into six years previous.

Best thing? The money was cleaner - the money followed the mission. None of it by this time was 'pay-off money' like our money-man (past-tense) had engineered.

I was so glad that I had not drawn that line in the sand. I was the only Black face in the place, but otherwise Reed Street Church could have been - if you squinted enough, if you ignored the micro-ignorant stuff - one of those straddling-Baptist Convention churches that my dad had preached at. Reed Street never had the energy that an all African-American church had - I just learned to think of it as an inner-energy.

Most certainly both Pastor Tim and Pastor Dale had an inner-Spirit. Their preaching rarely got an 'Amen' or rarely even lifted those present from their seats. But true to the values of 'mainline-America', the givings simply went up and up. Legitimate givings, which were attached to its mission. Not some other secretive thing.

What could go wrong?

Wait for it. First: Governor Ronald Reagan had been elected President. Ok, I've already said that.

That had sent a chill through my dad's old neighbourhood as well as his church. Here, it redoubled the efforts of Reed Street Church. Our givings skyrocketed. To repeat, legitimate givings. The place was so busy that I was offered, and I accepted, full time hours in the office. As for 'tension', it was minor. I wasn't against Zach having access to my secretarial time, I just wanted it defined - so that young-Zach could not just appear in my office door thinking he could (on the spot) assign to me two weeks' worth of work, all on his own authority.

My surprise? That complaint was the one that resulted in me being full time! God works in mysterious ways.

MARCH 1982

Ok, the prelude is (finally) over. From now on, I'll keep to what I was asked to write about. The Jennings. As church secretary, I knew pretty much everything about even new parishioners, even those coming from as far away as Falls Church. It was the way I served the pastors. I owed that to my dad.

The Jennings were an exception. It had first been their daughter, Paige, who had joined Zach's group. Kelli's friend. Both Kelli and Paige had 'parent' issues. With a new person, usually all I needed to do was listen to the gossip - put it together in my head. All it took was for me to keep my mouth shut while others talked. No big secret. But The Jennings were tough nuts to crack.

March 9th, 1982. A Tuesday.

I had known Pastor Tim and his lovely wife, Alice, for almost three years by then. Pastor Tim was a wonderful, Spirit-motivated leader. Had responded to Reagan's election by getting involved - 'out there', as my dad used to call it. Involved in peace-work well beyond the D.C. Metro region. Pastor Tim had been arrested outside a military base, where it was suspected they'd had nuclear weapons. That arrest got wide media attention, and had (the first time) ruffled the board.

Yet on his return to the pulpit, he lifted the place. It was heartening to see the congregation - nearly all white - lifted and inspired. Even the people who'd made ignorant comments to me during the week, even they responded. Because I did the banking of the donation receipts, after every arrest of our Senior Pastor (there were three), our givings went up significantly.

Zach's group(s) was(were) making an impact. Radicalized, all-be-they middle-class white kids in a middle-class church. True, Alexandria was diverse, but Reed Street attracted more affluent, college educated (mainly White) people from places like Falls Church and Arlington. Falls Church was not so diverse. Me, I'd probably not be allowed to buy a house in Falls Church.

So it was, March 9th, 1982. I'd noted it in my diary back home. I rarely made entries about work in my personal diary, but that day was different.

It was a Tuesday. In those days, my week started on Monday when both Pastors Tim and Dale had the day off. I needed my Mondays alone in the office to get a jump on the week.

Tuesday, Pastor Tim had come in as usual, it was Pastor Dale's day away at Wesleyan. For the first time ever, Pastor Tim went straight to his office - no 'how was your weekend' pleasantries with me. He often came in, used to sit on the stool near the office counter, just chatting until the first walk-in arrived; only then retreating to his office.

He even once said why he checked in with me, he'd said, "Jackie knows what's going on!"

Not that day. He went straight to his office and closed the door. He was a man not wanting to be disturbed. I'm not sure what he did that morning other than just sit there. The line-light on the multiline telephone didn't even light up. From what I could tell, he just just sitting there.

The weeks' previous to that? It had been the busy-ness to do with his upcoming Kenyan, food-security trip. The one he'd sold to the board (at which the final power-guy resigned, and neither he nor his money was ever seen again). The Kenyan trip had been the subject of Pastor Tim's Christmas 1981 sermon series, which had seen donations rise. The man who spent three, four, or five nights a week in his office alone at the church working the phones or polishing a sermon. Or planning. That man always had a plan.

That morning? Just sitting there.

When Pastor Dale came in on Thursday, I made note to him of Pastor Tim's behaviour. "Is everything all right?" Pastor Dale had noticed it too, although he was wondering if that new Falls Church family had something to do with it.

The Jennings? Pastor Dale had said, "You know me, Jackie. I abhor gossip. But Zach has this new girl in his group, and her family have started coming on Sunday morning." I confirmed with Dale that she had been Kelli's friend.

Dale continued, "They're realtors, insurance salesmen, or travel agents or something. The father, he was there last Sunday. I had line of sight on him. He glared at Tim the whole service. Icy stare. There was something so troubling, so much so that I called Tim that afternoon. My guess about Tim? It is that girl's family."

REVELATIONS FROM THE FUTURE

My mamma's observation? Church Vegas. All of what Pastor Dale had said stayed with me in the office.

So it is I raise this here, only for this piece I am writing. I had no idea if what I'm writing was a figment of my imagination. I have not written, nor spoken of this before. I'd certainly not raised it with either of the Pastors or the board at that time. I did not wish to appear paranoid.

WHO'S BEEN MESSING WITH MY STUFF?

There was one line in my contemporaneous diary that tweaked my memory. "Somebody has been moving stuff in my office."

It had been more than that. Pastor Dale, that week, accused me of touching his stuff in his office. So had Pastor Tim. Pastor Dale had been playful with the accusation - but Pastor Tim became uncharacteristically punitive in his accusation. That had been the first, and last time he'd 'lorded it over me', as if my accountability was to him, not the board.

Of course, today I have strong suspicions of what had gone on.

Obviously, we'd been broken into. With literally no sign that we'd been broken into! Both pastors' offices, as well as my own.

This had not been a typical break-in, in the search for cash. But why in the name of all that is holy, would someone be breaking into OUR church? My dad's church had been broken into in the weeks before Dr. King's killing. My dad had always suspected the FBI. The clue had been that no money had been missing; my dad's filing cabinet similarly had had only the lock broken.

But I want to return to Reed Street Church. Pastor Tim secluded in his office. That was bizarre enough. Pastor Dale's observations about a new family. Added to the bizarre.

The nuclear protest was a success. Zach had brought the youth group, and the organizers negotiated with the police that the teenagers would not be in harms' way. (I thought, how can you tell that these are white people? The police never negotiated with Dr. King or Rev. Abernathy. But no matter.) The Kenyan trip was a success.

Then Pastor Tim's wife announced her pregnancy. My dad had always said - the best way for the congregation to increase its givings? Have the pastor start a family.

There was a new line in the sand for me. Things got busier, I was at my limit in the office. A good limit, but one just the same. It was something I could not imagine three years' previous. But there it was.

My line in the sand? I would not do overtime. I've told myself that I'll keep my personal life out of this accounting, so it is I'll stop right there. So it was I remembered those times when I was forced to stay late, almost to the dinner hour. Ok, enough about that.

Because December 1982 turned into January 1983. Paige Jennings's name came into my office in more ways than one. From the celebration of an adult baptism, to the near-tragedy of Pastor Tim disappearing in Ethiopia, to the 'goings-on' of March 1983, to Christmas 1987, all that will be for the next chapter.

All those things were a long way from March 9, 1982. I'll get to them. Stay tuned. I had not yet taken possession of Alice's letter, so won't mention it here.