IBO by Brian R. Lundin (best books for 20 year olds .txt) 📖

work?” Contact asked Malik.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” Malik, answered.
Pops says to Malik,” Listen man, we're getting ready to get into some heavy shit, and when you're better, we'll have a sit-down, I want you in, here's something for you.”
Pops hands Malik a brown envelope containing three one hundred dollar bills, “Let me know if you need anything, later.”
“I made sure your people were ok,” Contact added.
Three weeks later Malik returned to work as a hawker for Contact.
Pops was right, business was good, and his spot was selling over ten thousand dollars a day in assorted drugs. Contact raised Malik’s salary to two hundred dollars a week.
The truce between the Maniac Disciples and the State Street Boy’s held, but occasionally, some of the wannabes from the Maniac Disciples gang would come across State Street and fire shots, usually into the buildings, but nobody got hurt, they were mainly showing off. Two weeks later Malik returned to school and because of the tutoring he received while in the hospital made the honor roll and was a straight “A” student and the valedictorian of his senior class. Malik received academic scholarship offers from colleges throughout the country as he continued to work as a hawker for Contact.
There are many black churches on Chicago’s south and west side. Most of these churches are Baptist, some are storefronts, and others are massive with large congregations. Black preachers in Chicago come in all forms and persuasions. Some are very old and some are very young. Some are honest and some are dishonest. Some try to help the people and some exploit the people. Many of these preachers use their pulpit for political or personal reasons and could care less about their congregations. When the Sunday service was completed and the collection counted the doors were closed until the following Sunday. Members of their congregation, evicted or burned out from their homes could not find shelter in their church. Politicians, especially at voting time, use these churches to get out and control the black vote.
Second Church of Deliverance was different. It was one of the biggest and most prestigious Black Baptist churches in the country and sponsored many programs aimed towards the youth in the community. The Adopt A Child program worked with Indiana University, Princeton University, University of Chicago and Harvard. The program provided gifted high school students with college scholarships and provided financial support.
Reverend Clarence James, its charismatic pastor was tall but slight of build, medium brown in color and was dapper in appearance and manner and he had a sincere interest in his congregation. Malik and Barbara were members as was Pops and his mother. Prior to being shot Malik attended regularly and was the Director of the church “MENTOR A CHILD,” program and taught bible classes to the younger church members on Sunday mornings.
The church doors were always open and a family in need could always find food and shelter at his church. The church was warm and intimate despite its size. It was a big church with a church bell on its roof that ranged three times on Sunday’s announcing services. It had a sturdy pulpit of varnished oak and edged in gold. Behind the pulpit sat five high-back velour chairs reserved for the deacons, and rustic pews that could seat over two thousand people. Each pew had a hymnbook with cardboard covers lined with royal purple felt and a high, rough-hewn cross on its side. A verdant purple carpet ran down the center aisle and large stained glass windows, which could be covered with plush purple drapes, were on the walls.
The church properties took up the both sides of the whole block at 43rd South Wabash Avenue. The church was situated in the middle of the block on the west side of the street and a nursing home was on the north side of the building. A childcare center was on the South Side and both of these facilities were for church members only. On the East Side of the street was a large paved parking lot. Every day of the week the church had some type of activity; senior choir practice was on Monday between 6:00-7:30 pm, Junior Choir practice was on Saturday between 9:00- 10:00 am. Bible classes and drug awareness classes were held on the other days of the week. There were three church services that were held on Sunday’s at 9:00 am, 11:00 am and 3:00 pm and usually lasted for about an hour and the services started and ended on time. Older members, the early risers, usually attended the early morning services and the younger members who had to recuperate from Saturday night usually attended the afternoon services. The services were something to behold, an elaborate production.
The ushers seated the people skillfully, big donors had front row seats and the rest of the congregation filled up the remaining pews. Fifteen minutes before the service was to begin the over-head lights would dim, and the organist would began to play a slow stirring gospel song.
“Precious Lord, Take My Hand
Lead me on, let me stand
Lord, I am so tired
Yes, I’m weak
And yes, I’m worn………….”
The choir would slowly join in, softly humming more than singing the lyrics as the lights dimmed. Suddenly, an orange spotlight softly illuminated the area behind the pulpit and a lift located underneath the pulpit that held the reverend would slowly began to rise. As the lift rose, the orange light intensified, as did the singing and the music. When the spotlight centered over the pulpit, the lift holding Reverent James would slowly began to stop behind the pulpit.
As the reverend was ascending the orange spotlight would become brighter, illuminating the white robe with gold trimmings and the solid gold crucifix chain he always wore around his neck, he looked like a saint ascending from the depths of hell rising to meet his God. As the reverend reached the pulpit, he started singing in his deep baritone voice and the entire congregation joined in. By the time the lift stopped, everyone was on their feet singing and clapping their hands. The reverend’s deep and resonant voice added an orgasmic frenzy to the production, some members fainted, and were fanned and attended to by the sisters, some of the older members got so “happy,” or as the reverend would say, received the “Holy Ghost,” they began to speak in tongue. Finally, the reverend would hold up his hands, like magic everything became quiet, the music and the singing stopped, the congregation would take their seats, and the reverend would begin his sermon. Members of the congregation believed that the reverend success was because of his preaching style.
Unlike many old time fire and brimstone Baptist Preachers who yelled hell and damnation from the pulpit, Reverend James preferred to teach rather than preach and he very seldom shouted but depended on soothing words and music to get his sermons across.
The reverend used his voice expertly, at certain times in his sermon his voice would lower to a whisper and seemed to be directed at each individual member, but loud enough to be heard in the rear pews. He would slowly increase the volume of his voice until it reached a fever pitch, with “AMEN’S” coming from the Deacons seated behind him. Each emotional appeal would come in waves that would crest higher than the last.
His sermons were usually on contemporary issues; crime, drugs, gangs and concerns that affected his congregation. He believed that one of the duties of a pastor, he did not like the title preacher, was to teach, to try to elevate the intellect of his congregation. He felt that too many black “Preachers” talked down to their congregation and tried to scare them into becoming believers with their hell and damnation sermons. The reverend sermon today was on the horrors of drugs and its associated violence.
“Friends, our church records show that we have over two thousand members that support our church. Although I cannot personally visit all our members, I am still out into the community to try to save souls for the Lord. I talk with the young people selling the drugs that are destroying our community and I try to get them to come to the Lord, some do, some do not. When I visit some of our members for dinner or to pray with the sick for their souls, I have seen some of them trying to hide the little freezer bags containing the white poison under the tablecloth or slip it into their pockets, I pretend I do not see. My friends, I come into your homes as your pastor not a police officer. It is my calling from the Lord to be concerned about you and yours and I come to help not to preach, but you know it’s wrong to use drugs.
You know of the lives and families that have been destroyed by using drugs and the families that has been divided by the use of drugs. I am not blind or dumb; I know how the drugs are packaged and how they look.”
The reverend paused and took a sip of water while the Deacons “Amended.”
He continued, “Cast that devil out of your lives and your house, and throw it back where it belongs in the gutter and in the sewer. We must cleanse ourselves and our community of these dealers of death and destruction; we must take back our streets so our little children don’t have to be afraid to play outside for fear of being shot or hide under the furniture when the shooting starts.”
Reverend James was on a roll now.
“Drugs are the tools of the Devil who wants your souls, who wants to turn you from the Lord, kick him out, kick him square in the area where the sun don’t shine.
“Preach reverend preach, the Lord loves the truth,” a female voice in the back of the church yelled.
“Now I know what many of you are thinking, you’re blaming the white man for all your troubles, he won’t hire you to a decent job, and he won’t let you do this or do that. Stop that kind of thinking, it’s not the white man who are killing our young brothers in the streets, it us killing us. It is not the white man that is killings our children in drives-byes, it is us killing us. We all are tired of gathering in the funeral homes and churches for the going-home ceremony of our young black men who has not yet tasted the sweet juices of life. We are tired of driving behind black hearses and seeing names of our friends and family members painted on the walls of our neighborhood. I have extended my hand and the promise of a just God who will help them in this saddest of times. I tell them there is a loving God that will heal their hearts and dry up their tears and He is a compassionate God that will rest their weary souls. A God that in the middle of darkness will shine His everlasting light that will guide them on their way. I have tried to console the inconsolable mothers of young men taken from them by the violence that blows through our community like the cold wind coming off the lake. Let us send our prayers to the families.”
The reverend and the congregation bowed their head in a silent prayer. When Reverend