THAT OLD TIME RELIGION
The Lee family had left their cabin up the road and were on their way
to church. They were all out this Sunday evening, old man Lee, sober
for once, his wife, Scipio, a heavy, solemn-looking boy of thirteen,
Julius, Theora, Thomas and Ezekiel. Mother Lee had evidently long
since given up keeping all her children’s clothes in repair. Her
boys’ garments were few and ragged. But upon her little girl she had
attempted some embellishment. Theora’s crinkly hair was tied with a
piece of bright cotton cloth, and on her feet were shoes and stockings.
The family caught up with Granny and Hazel, and the mother felt a
sullen resentment at Hazel’s dress. The child wore her blue coat,
and a dark blue hat with a grey quill. She nodded pleasantly to her
neighbors, but kept close to Granny’s side. She was afraid of old
man Lee whom she had seen one night staggering past her home, and his
children seemed dull. Granny, who had a kindly word for everyone,
talked with the mother, and Hazel watched the deepening twilight.
It was a pleasant walk to church, along the road and then through the
open fields. At a turn to the west the new moon shone before them, a
clear bow in the deep blue sky. Hazel stopped to look at the lovely
crescent; but she was recalled to earth by hearing a sharp voice call:
“Where you going, Scip? Stop your mooning and help me with Zeke.”
Scipio had been looking at the moon, too! She watched him with
awakening sympathy as, moving past her, he picked up his little
brother. As she hurried to join Granny she found herself by his side,
and turning, and nodding her head toward the moon, she said in her
clear, distinct voice: “It is pretty, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Scipio.
The church was small, and when they entered the bare room was more
than half filled, so they took their places near the door. The only
light was furnished by two kerosene lamps, and in the corners of the
room were strange shadows. As the black men and women and children
continued to come the place grew crowded and the air became close and
full of an uncleanly odor.
“Move up, Hazel,” Granny said, for the child was at the end of the
bench and there was space for one more on it.
Hazel moved up reluctantly, dreading a seat-mate, but Scipio, who had
been standing, slipped in at her side. She felt relieved.
The minister, a portly man in a long black coat, mounted the platform
and the congregation began to sing:
“That old time religion,
That old time religion,
That old time religion,
Is good enough for me.”
They did not rise, but remained in their seats swaying a little back
and forth. It was strange minor music.
After the singing, the minister prayed and read from the Bible, and
then he began to preach. He gave as his text:
“Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation
of Hell?”
He began by drawing a picture of heaven, the dwelling-place of the
saints. He measured the thousand furlongs of the city; he depicted the
streets of gold and the gates of pearl; he garnished the walls with
chrysolite, beryl and amethyst. His voice at times was low and soft,
and then suddenly it became loud and dramatic, and almost shook the
little building. Hazel awoke from her absorption in his manner to note
his words when he called out:
“And the building of the wall was jasper.”
“There,” she thought triumphantly, “I was right that day and Charity
was wrong. Jasper isn’t something to eat.”
She was wholly unaccustomed to hearing the congregation take a
spontaneous part in the service, and was amazed at their frequent cries
of “That’s so,” and “Amen.”
But the preacher did not mean to dwell long this evening on the
celestial sphere. He was concerned with showing his hearers the terrors
of the underworld. In a few moments he depicted them as standing in the
lake of fire and brimstone, burning, burning, not for a day but forever
and ever. The flames seemed to leap up as the minister shouted: “And
the devil will reach out for you, ye generation of vipers, he’ll reach
out for you across the flames, and he’ll catch you and draw you into
the burning lake.”
“Lord save us!” “Please have mercy, Jesus,” came from the moaning crowd.
Hazel was aghast.
“Come to the Lord and be saved,” cried the preacher. “Be saved by the
blood of the Lamb!”
A change came over the congregation. The moaning ceased. From different
parts of the room arose calls of “Yes, Jesus,” “I’s coming, Lord.”
Women began to sway back and forth, crying loudly for salvation.
Hazel looked at Granny. The old woman had forgotten her.
“The devil shan’t get us in the burning pit,” shouted the preacher.
“No, Lord,” said Granny.
“Lord save us,” shouted old man Lee in front.
Hazel grew frightened. She felt suffocated and wanted to get away.
Glancing at Scipio she saw that he sat as stolid as ever, unmoved
apparently by all that was going on about him.
“Scip,” she whispered, “I want to get out.”
He looked at her frightened face, and, taking her hand, butted with
his head until he had made a way through the crowd of people standing
between them and the open door. Then they passed out into the night.
The little moon was setting behind the trees. The air was fresh and
cool, but not chill. Above were the peaceful stars.
“The heathen are burning,” shouted the preacher, “and every day the
devil pours on fresh oil and the flames mount higher and higher to the
sky.”
“Scip,” said Hazel with a quick breath, “do you believe in hell?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Scipio.
“You don’t believe what he is saying? You don’t believe God will put us
in fire to burn forever and ever?”
“I seen a lynching once,” Scipio replied. “It were just like that, they
poured on oil.”
“Oh, don’t,” Hazel gasped. She seized his arm with her two hands;
“don’t,” she cried.
After a moment she whispered, “But it didn’t last forever. He died?”
“Yes, ma’am. He died.”
“And wicked men burned him, and it was only for a few minutes. God
wouldn’t make him burn forever and ever.”
“Don’t you fret,” said Scipio. She had let go of his arm, but he knew
that she was trembling. “They-all is sure they’ll get off. They’s sure
the devil won’t catch them. There’s my pa, he ain’t done a stroke of
work this week. Been crazy drunk. But he’s got religion. Hear him
holler!”
“I don’t believe it’s like that, Scip,” Hazel said very earnestly.
“Religion is being good and honest and pure in heart.”
A man approached the children as they stood a little apart from the
throng about the door.
“Howdy, little ’un,” he leered, lounging up to Hazel. “You’s a pretty
trick.”
Hazel caught Scipio by the hand.
The boy moved forward into the light, leaving the little girl in the
shadow. He held her hand tight.
“Let her alone,” he said.
“Deliver us from the fire of hell and take us into the kingdom of
heaven,” called the preacher.
“Amen, Hallelujah,” came out upon the night.
The strange man advanced another step toward Hazel. Scipio stood still,
his chin forward like a bulldog. The man muttered a curse and turned
away.
A hymn was sung and the service broke up. Granny was among the first to
leave the building.
“I’s glad to find you, child,” she said as Hazel came up to her.
“Where you done gone?”
“I felt faint, Granny, and came out to get a breath of fresh air,”
Hazel explained.
At that moment old man Lee called roughly to his son, “Come here, you
lazy hound,” and moved as if to strike him.
Hazel started forward. “Please don’t blame Scip, Mr. Lee,” she said.
“He’s been taking care of me.” And turning to the boy she added: “Thank
you, Scip.”
Something in her speech, perhaps the unfamiliar “Mr. Lee,” quieted the
old man. He turned away from his eldest son who went to help with the
baby.
Hazel was silent on the way home, for she felt that this time Granny
could not share her thoughts. The old woman was happy at having seen
her friends and hummed a hymn. Perhaps, had Hazel given her her
confidence, she would have said that hell was just a place to scare
people with: that the Lord never meant the devil should keep anyone
there.
They reached home before the Lees whom they saw coming slowly behind,
Scipio with the baby in his arms.
Granny gave Hazel a good-night kiss, but the little girl did not go at
once to bed. For some time, wrapped in her warm shawl, she sat at the
window, looking out upon the stars. They rested her perturbed spirit.
At length, a smile lighted her face. A new thought had come to her.
“My own father wouldn’t have hurt anybody,” she whispered. “Not even if
they were wicked. And God is my Father in Heaven.”
And comforted, she knelt and said the Lord’s prayer, and asked God
to bless her mother and Charity and Mr. and Mrs. Perkins and Granny
and--and Scip.