Collection of Conflicts pg. 11-15

Page 11

==== “Will you choose heaven today, Ms.? Today is your day for salvation,” Pastor Bill urged, his voice laden with a persuasive fervor as he extended his hand toward me. For a moment, I stood there, utterly frozen, akin to a display manikin’ in a storefront window. My feet felt rooted to the spot as my heart raced and my thoughts churned. The earnestness in his eyes was disarming, yet it awakened the thorn in my side.

Around me, the church buzzed with an expectant energy, as if the congregation was collectively holding its breath, waiting for my decision. The weight of their gazes bore down on me, adding to the intensity of the moment. But with all conventional escape routes effectively sealed off, my usual strategy of blending into the background and slipping away unnoticed was no longer an option.

In that suspended sliver of time, as Pastor Bill’s hand hovered in the air, a surge of defiance bubbled up within me. My inner rebel, which I had often silenced in favor of conformity and peace, now roared to life, refusing to be overshadowed by the theatricality of the moment. It was as if a dam had broken, releasing a flood of pent-up resistance and a fierce desire to stand my ground.

Page 12

==== “No. I don’t want to go to heaven; can you propose a more integrated option? I’ve never seen any black people there,” I blurted out louder than intended.

“People of all colors are welcome in heaven,” he replied calmly.

“Well, next time they have picture day, can you ask God to allow some black angels in the studio? The current photos look a tad exclusive,” I retorted, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

The church fell silent, even the pianist pausing her melody. Jenn, from her vantage point on stage, looked horrified, well aware of my stance on religious matters.

The Bible, often touted as a book of unconditional love, seemed more like a collection of conflicts, wars, and embellished and plagiarized stories to me. And to think of the scrutiny Harvard University President Claudine Gay faced over her dissertation citations.

Page 13

==== Pastor Bill, undeterred, made one final attempt. “This could be your last invitation from God; HELL is real,” he implored, hand outstretched.

“I’m well aware of hell, sir; my ancestors endured the ‘Middle Passage,’” I replied agitatedly.

“And your name?” he pressed.

“Panya.”

“We’ll pray for you, Panya,” he concluded, signaling the end of his effort.

The tension in the air was tangible as I sat down, meeting Pastor Bill’s gaze with a steady one of my own.

Peter patted my hands reassuringly, knowing I had been on my best behavior. Leaning in, I whispered to him, “If I’m going to spend eternity somewhere, it better include some people who look like me. I’m done being a token.”

Soon after, a text from Jenn popped up: [sorry❤️]

I quickly replied: [sid and I are ordering everything on the menu. Hope you brought your black card😜]

 Page 14

==== The Pastor turned his attention back to the gathered individuals at the altar, his voice authoritative as he guided them through the sinner’s prayer. “Repeat after me,” he instructed, and in unison, they echoed his words, starting with “I am a sinner” and concluding with, “Lord, thank you for saving me.” The congregation erupted in a cacophony of cheers and applause, reminiscent of a Super Bowl victory celebration. Yet, the ceremony was far from over.

“Now, you cannot depart without receiving the POWER of GOD,” Pastor Bill proclaimed. “He is the Holy Spirit, a divine gift. As He was with Jesus, He shall be with you. Do you wish to receive Him?” They all nodded in submission, his zealous words filling their eager hearts.

Receive the Holy Spirit!” He yelled; his arms outstretched towards the congregation in a dramatic gesture akin to televangelist Benny Hinn. Several attendees crumbled to the floor, overcome with emotion, while ushers, armed with boxes of Kleenex, hastily attended to them. Others, robed in white and seemingly vested with special authority, wandered the altar, laying hands on those still standing. One by one, they, too, succumbed, either falling of their own accord or being gently pushed for effect.

 Page 15

==== Glancing over at Peter, I then looked for Sid. His seat was empty. Where could he be? I whispered to Peter.

“Where’s Sid?”

“He went forward,” his tone tinged with concern.

Scanning the altar, I spotted Sid amidst the crowd, surrounded by church members intent on ‘curing’ him of his homosexuality. I couldn’t help but chuckle internally; Sid was never one to shy away from the spotlight. But I knew better than to think he would succumb to their efforts, not when he was wearing his prized designer clothes.

The service finally concluded after Jenn B’s soul-stirring rendition of gospel melodies, three prolonged offerings, and what seemed to be a prolonged benediction. Many of us made our way towards the lobby and exits. While Sid was busy networking and flaunting his Wharton Business School credentials. At the same time, Jenn B was swarmed by adoring fans seeking selfies and autographs.

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