Sitting With The Sages. Clifford E. Mclain

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СКАЧАТЬ beginning of the Montgomery bus boycott, Jackson offered to provide buses for the boycott, but King refused.”

      “This would only hurt our cause. And the people we want to change will accuse us of being led by outside agitators,” King replied.

      C. C.’s advice and encouragement to King proved to be correct.

      C. C. and other preachers on my street were members of a group called the Nicodemus Club. They met at night to strategize on registering to vote and correct other social injustices. In 1945, C. C. was one of five African Americans to register and vote in Lincoln Parish. When Edwin Edwards became governor of Louisiana, he appointed my father chairman of the Lincoln Parish supervisor of elections. C. C. pastored at least six different churches before becoming pastor of the Little Union Baptist Church of Shreveport, Louisiana.

      While pastoring the New Hope Baptist Church in Ruston, from 1948 to 1959, C. C. was elected the moderator of Liberty Hill Baptist Association in Grambling, Lincoln Parish, where he served twenty-two years. He was elected vice president at large of the Louisiana Baptist State Convention under Dr. T. J. Jemison and served until his death in 1991. After being encouraged to preach by C. A. W. Clark, C. C. was called by the church to fill the vacant pulpit at Little Union Baptist Church in December 1958. He became pastor in 1959. During the first year, C. C. had become actively involved in the civil rights movement. He met the buses of the freedom riders, helping them post bail. Little Union BC became the epicenter of the civil rights movement. C. C. had supported Dr. King during the Montgomery Movement by sending monthly financial contributions.

      Little Union, a church that began on the Brownlee Plantation (Bossier Parish) in 1892, after convincing a reluctant plantation owner who would not allow a large number of Blacks to meet. Organizers told him, “We are just a Little Union, boss.” With that, the church was organized.

      In early fall, 1959, in the hallway of the parsonage of the Looney Street location was the telephone. The phone rang, I picked it up and said hello. The voice on the telephone was a white man who spoke a very racist, vulgar threat. I had never heard so much profane verbiage. I dropped the receiver. C. C. was standing behind me and immediately picked up the receiver and said hello. He interrupted the caller, saying, “Do you know where I live? I’m going to give you the directions. Is your insurance paid up? Mine is.” The caller hung up. Looking into my dad’s eyes, I saw a man who was dangerously determined to gain freedom at any cost! My father was the opposite of Dr. Martin King; he would be nonviolent if left alone. Death threats were phoned into the parsonage every day. My father was threatened but not bothered by the naysayers.

      In 1962, Dr. King spoke at Little Union BC when no other pulpit was open to him. As the death threats phoned to the parsonage increased, during his visit, he refused to stay at the parsonage. He knew he was going to die and wanted to be alone.

      After Dr. King’s speech, he and CC talked about a march the next day.

      “I’ll see you tomorrow downtown on Texas Street,” King said.

      “What will you be doing tomorrow on Texas Street?” CC asked King.

      “We’ll be marching to call attention to our struggle.”

      “I don’t march, Martin.”

      “Why not?” King asked.

      “Man, I’ll destroy your movement. If one of those white people put their hands on me, I’m sure there will be at least six funerals,” C. C. responded.

      “Okay, I understand. You stay here and pray for us.”

      C. C. was a man who knew his limitations, his strengths, and his weaknesses. He seemed never to outlive the events of 1919. He forgave, but he never forgot.

      Men came to the house late one night in an attempt to get under the house. They couldn’t! Mother had told all of us, Pat, John, and me, “Get on the floor and stay there until I tell you to get up.” When C. C. opened the side door to the driveway, my mother said, “Claude, don’t go out there!”

      C. C. responded, “I aim to kill or be killed tonight!”

      The anxious footsteps of the men could be heard in their hasty retreat.

      In 1963, I saw more trouble, but this time, it was at a church. On September 15, four young girls were killed at the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama, when it was bombed. The following Sunday, September 22, Dr. King had asked for a national day of mourning. In Shreveport, Louisiana, a group of students and residents from the black community attempted to march from Booker T. Washington High School to the Little Union Baptist Church. The march was stopped by local police. The marchers were determined to get to the church, and they chose alternate routes. The church was full, but at the end of the worship service, police rode horses inside enough to beat two ministers, with Reverend Harry Blake being beaten severely. He had been dragged outside to the front of the church.

      After being licensed and ordained by C. C., I entered the pastorate. In my second year of pastorate at Zion Travelers Baptist Church in Ruston, Louisiana, I decided to attend seminary at Princeton Theological Seminary in New Jersey. C. C. advised me that it was a noble idea; I would only be able to use about 10 percent of what I learned while dealing with my congregation, especially as an administrator in the black church. C. C. was a strong advocate for preparation. He had taught mathematics at Jackson High School for sixteen years before resigning and giving full time to the ministry.

      When I was starting out as a young preacher, he observed my dress as I was leaving to preach. “Your clothes should not be louder than your sermon,” he said. “The preacher has to wear well, rest well, and ride well.” C. C. believed that formal training would help shape the preacher’s theology and expose him to the great homiletic minds of my era.

Dad (C. C. McLain) Baby picture	Granddad (John McLain)

      Opening Prayer

      Wednesday, July 10, 2019

      The United States House of Representatives

      The United States Capitol

      Washington, DC

      The Honorable Nancy Polosi, Speaker

      The Reverend Patrick J. Conroy, Chaplain, U.S. House of Representatives

      O Lord, how excellent is thy name. In the mighty name of Jesus, we praise you for the liberties paid for by our sons and daughters who gave their last full measure of devotion, at Lexington and Concord, Chalmette-New Orleans, Gettysburg, Normandy, Iwo Jima, Korea, Vietnam, and the Middle East. Thank you for those who marched with tired feet and rested souls in places such as Selma and Montgomery seeking to perfect our union.

      Bless this The People’s House, of which it was said. “Here, sir the people govern.” Bless O Lord this body, its leadership on both sides of the aisle, whose composition mirrors the tapestry of America from the apple orchards of Washington State to the fragrant citrus groves of Florida, from the sun-kissed beaches of California to the lobster boats in Maine to the lakes of Minnesota to the bayous of Louisiana. Remember their families, staffs, and constituents back home, as they function as servant-leaders with the vision to see what is right and the power and the strength to do what is right, remembering the Master’s words that the greatest among you is your servant СКАЧАТЬ