Hades' Melody. JD Belcher

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      I never had a clear understanding of my relationship to the church. During my early years, my mother’s side of the family had passed down all the spirituality—from my great grandmother and probably whoever preceded her, to my grandmother, to my mother, and finally, to me and my brothers. I can remember listening to cassette tapes of Kenneth Copeland, Billy Graham, and Jimmy Swaggart for hours on end while riding in the backseat of the car as my mother drove around Monroeville running errands, and especially during the six-hour summer trips through Ohio from Pittsburgh on the way to Fort Wayne, Indiana to visit relatives. My mother had gone through a phase where nothing was holy. It was a time when my brothers and I were forced to watch Christian cartoons like Superbook and The Flying House. It was a time when we had to be in bed before dusk, a time when all my He-Man figures were thrown in the trash because they looked too demonic.

      On the Sabbath, she dropped us off at Sunday school in an Assembly of God Church, and as I grew into my preteens, I’d attend Episcopal services with Brian and his family, something I always looked forward to doing.

      The dry drones of the priest, the pungent incense that filled the sanctuary, and the real wine even us children got to drink during communion still couldn’t top the free cookies and hot chocolate that was provided during the meet and greet following the service. Then finally one summer at the age of twelve, I made my confession of faith in Jesus Christ before an entire congregation at my aunt Cheryl’s Pentecostal Church in Fort Wayne, publicly accepting him as my Savior.

      God had always been an important part of my life—despite periods of prodigal living—and even more so as I grew into young adulthood. For the most part, I made it a habit to pray, read, and study the Bible on a regular basis. Even while working for Facilities Management, when I wasn’t surfing the net, I often read the Through the Bible website created by a preacher named Les Feldick. He talked about Christ not only as the Son of God and Savior of mankind, but also as the prophesied Messiah of Israel. His teaching opened a new interest in scripture I never had until reading his books. He took verses from the Old and New Testaments and put them together like pieces of a puzzle, giving a big picture of what the Bible was really talking about.

      When my mother became a member of The Covenant Church of Pittsburgh (CCOP), a ministry situated on Wood Street in the borough of Wilkinsburg, just outside the city limits, I’d go with her to its festive Sunday services known throughout the city for their praise and worship. I loved to sing at the top of my lungs and clap my hands to their charismatic music in my favorite place—just above the sanctuary in the balcony. It was at that church where my true test of faith had been birthed, when I became involved in a vibrantly flourishing mentoring program called Brothers Keepers (also known as BK for short) under the leadership of a black man named Brother Leon Haynes.

      Brother Leon had all the outward characteristics of a person with power. He was six feet tall and his youthful, mahogany brown skin made him look younger than his forty-plus years. His broad shoulders remained as tokens of his athletic past as a basketball player, and he rarely was seen in anything less than a tailored suit. He had the demeanor of a suave businessman or politician—he always seemed to be shaking hands and kissing babies.

      I sensed an air of royalty about him, like he was a king with hidden treasure; in his spoil was Brothers Keepers.

      He was the executive director of Hosanna House Community Center the year I worked there, and in my opinion, he was a godly man of vision. I had heard that Hosanna House stood atop Wallace Avenue as result of a charge given to the men of CCOP in the years before its inception. As the story went, over one hundred men surrounded the abandoned, condemned school and prayed for the manifestation of a community center in response to an epidemic of gang violence, murders, drugs, poor health care, and unemployment in the Borough of Wilkinsburg and surrounding areas like Homewood and Penn Hills. One of the tools used against this culture of violence and drugs was the BK ministry. Its mission:

      Founded on the call to invest in the lives of young men whose fathers are absent for any reason, Brothers Keepers is a group of committed men from the Covenant Church of Pittsburgh who are responding to the sowing message. We are endeavoring to sow seeds into the lives of young men that will help them to one day bear fruit of conscientious men who are responsible and committed husbands, fathers, church and community leaders, and valuable contributors to society and the world.

      Brother Leon was the essence of BK. When I became a part of the program at the age of fourteen, after serving a six month probation for burglarizing a home—partly due to my parents’ separation and subsequent divorce—he was one of several big brothers who instilled those values into my young mind. I was the fresh dirt into which the seeds were sown.

      The program wasn’t exactly the cub scouts, but rather a very small step up from Shuman Center, Pittsburgh’s notorious juvenile detention center. Their plan of action was simple. Meetings were held on Wednesday evenings, and all the young men in the program—a group of about thirty members—gathered together to listen to the big brothers speak. Afterwards, we were broken up into smaller groups, each having one big brother who shared values, morals, proverbs, and lessons of wisdom from biblical scriptures, and then related them to our own lives. One Wednesday out of the month was set apart as an activity night when we all would go out for pizza, participate in recreational activities, or meet at one of the big brother’s homes. Every fifth Sunday, the little brothers in the program were required to usher at CCOP.

      It was quite a sight seeing all the older and younger men—really, men period—standing in the aisles in black suits and white dress shirts, seating the congregation and distributing offering baskets during the second worship service.

      Every year during the summer, we’d go on a major field trip to places like the Pittsburgh Zoo, Kennywood Amusement Park, and the Carnegie Museums, to see theatrical performances such as Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat, or take a big trip and travel to a nearby city like Washington, DC, or Niagara Falls. A picture on one of the original BK black and gold binders (BK also had its own colors), shows the entire group lined up in front of Niagara Falls. Brother Leon stands next to me with a large right arm raised over my head, and in the middle of the picture is the face of a man who was second in command—Brother Gilbert Duncan IV.

      Brother Gil emerged as the next leader of the BK ministry as Brother Leon became increasingly busy with the responsibilities of Hosanna House. He also shared the title of Pastor Gil, and he too was an openly devout man of the cloth, recognized not only by me but also by many others in CCOP and BK. He was a spiritual warrior and worshiper of the Lord and committed his time and energy to the cause of building men of God.

      He wasn’t ashamed of his beliefs, and his commitment to the program was ferocious; the pastor could be seen wearing his BK jacket and T-shirts during gatherings and field trips when everyone else wore civilian clothing. Brother Gil attended СКАЧАТЬ