Drama Is Her Middle Name by Wendy Williams Page A

Daddy came to town, it
was like the Fourth of July or more like Eastern Parkway in
Brooklyn during the West Indian Day Parade. There would
be dancing in the street, music (gospel, of course), baptizing,
and lots of praise.
    Ivan liked it when Sweet Daddy came to town. It would
break up the monotony of what had become the bane of his
existence. Sweet Daddy was a spectacle with his gregarious
garb and his processed hair, worn long “the way Jesus did.”
Ivan liked to watch him.
    But when he was not there, it was back to business as
usual—the long, long, long, long services and the numerous
women falling out with the “holy ghost.” Ivan hated how the
women, like Egyptian concubines, would fan the bishop. And
he really hated when the big metal tubs would circulate
around the church, taking the hard-earned money right out
of the pockets of all of the unsuspecting worshippers. His
grandmother was one of the biggest contributors. And all
Ivan would think was “There goes my ice cream money.”
    Those summers spent in Georgia at the House of Prayer
really made Ivan a cynic when it came to religion. He wasn’t
quite an atheist but he used to say to himself, “If these are the
kinds of people who will be getting into heaven, I’ll take my
chances in hell!”
    As Ivan got older, he started to search for the true meaning of life and God. He believed that there were a few ministers left who weren’t out for their own selfish agenda. As Ivan
stared at the
Ebony
cover, he reflected that Pastor Edwin
Lakes Jr. seemed to be one of the good guys. He really did care
about salvation and the souls of his congregants more than
his bank account balance. He did preach the word. He was
showing people that the true way to salvation didn’t come
through a Mercedes, a diamond, or a mansion, but more people were following the other, flamboyant preachers.
    Pastor Lakes was becoming known because the younger
generation—those in hip-hop—were flocking to his church.
He bridged the two worlds of bling-bling ministries and
down-home, word-based religion. He didn’t drive a Bentley
but he was fast becoming a star. He was handsome, handsome
in the way actor Dennis Haysbert is handsome. Pastor Lakes
was a full-size man, more than six foot three, with broad
shoulders and a booming voice. From the pulpit he damn
near looked like a black Zeus—larger than life with a singular command over his congregation.
    Pastor Lakes also had a humility that softened what could
have been a very intimidating visage. He was youthful—just
over forty—but had a fatherly demeanor that made even
Elder Jenkins, who had been attending Faith Baptist Church
in Harlem since she and Methuselah were kids, feel comfortable. Elder Jenkins hated change. She had had the same seat
in the same pew for more than forty years and refused to move.
And when the church decided to move from its small three-hundred-seat firebox to the cathedral-like three-thousand-seat space a few blocks away, she complained for months. But
Elder Jenkins accepted Edwin as her pastor without a hitch.
    Edwin Lakes had that way about him. In just a few short
years after taking over Faith Baptist following the death of his
father, he had built it into one of the fastest-growing churches
in the nation.
    Pastor Lakes earned that
Ebony
cover. And there he was
with his stately mother at his left side, his beautiful and then
pregnant wife, Patricia, at his right side and their little boy
perched perfectly in his lap.
    â€œYou look great,” Ivan said aloud to himself as he reclined
slightly in his seat. “You certainly made it, my friend.”
    Ivan tossed the magazine across the table. It landed faceup.
    Ivan, too, had made it. It had been nearly five years since
he left his position as project manager at McKenzie & Braxton, one of the largest and most sought-after architect firms
in Miami. Ivan