Date: Thu, 1 Nov 2007 19:01:24 -0400
From: Sequoyah Pendor <sequoyahs.place@gmail.com>
Subject: Sage of the Elizabethton Tarheels--Chapter 31

Saga of the Elizabethton Tarheels
Chapter Thirty-0ne

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Chapter Thirty-one

Justin came home from work so tired that he more or less just collapsed in
his chair. After he had caught his breath, he told me that he and
Mr. Sanford had talked about his job -- his future job --
again. "Mr. Sanford made it very clear he wanted me to be co-manager of the
downtown store. The Sherwin-Williams store will be moved next week or
Easter week and Mrs. James and I will be in charge of the furniture side of
the business and Mr. James the paint store.  Mr. James -- my co-manager
Mr. Sanford calls him -- and his wife will be developing the decorating
business. Mr. Sanford thinks I might become more and more involved in
interior decorating. Can't you just see Ms. Smith's son helping
Mrs. J. Richy Bitch select furniture for her boudoir? We'll see."

When he said Easter week I suddenly realized what next week was and said,
"You realize next week is Holy Week? The prom is Holy Saturday."

"I do, but I plan to think of it as Easter Eve. Problem for you?"

"Well, no, I guess. I mean if I think about it that way," I responded as I
kissed him. "Babe, you really do look exhausted."

"Close to it. I tried to handle deliveries and managing the store both
tonight and both jobs were really demanding. Mr. Sanford came by just
before closing and finally realized I can't start learning management and
still handle deliveries -- scheduling as well as a lot of the actual
deliveries. I told him you were thinking about a job and might be
interested in taking over my delivery job. He said if you were, have you
come by Monday. You'd be at the new store and I'll be moving to the old one
so I'd not be your boss."

"Sure, so I guess the two of you are determined to really piss off Adam."

"Look, if Adam says anything to me, which we know he won't, I'll point out
that the two stores keep him in the lifestyle he enjoys. He has made it
very plain to his dad and everyone else who knows him that he has no
interest in the stores and never has had. I mean, we were handling
deliveries last summer until football practice started and he just simply
didn't come back when the season ended. His dad, I'm sure, couldn't depend
on him and, I guess, just got tired of fighting him. Should he suddenly
develop an interest, I'm sure his dad can find a place for him, but I'm not
holding my breath.

"Actually, Mr. Sanford started to say something about Adam today, then
changed the subject. I don't know if that was because he remembered what I
said about his putting Adam down or if he was about to say something and
realized it was not something I needed to know. Right now I don't -- if
you'll pardon my French -- give a flying fuck about Adam's or Sanford
Furniture's homegrown problems. What I'm interested in is a good, long, hot
shower." "I'll be glad to assist," I said, and Justin responded with a huge
Justin melt-your-heart smile.

Justin may have been tired, but the shower must have refreshed him! Before
we left the shower, we both had rock-hard cocks, but when I reached for his
he said, "Just cool it, Lover Boy," and stepped out of the shower. After we
had dried each other, Justin said, "Now I'm ready to play. To the
playground!" He grabbed for me, missed and I caught him, picked him up and
slung him over my shoulder."Think your body needs loosening up after the
hard night at the store?" I asked. Justin answered by reaching down and
pinching an ass cheek then patting it. Before we left the bathroom, I got a
large beach towel from the linen closet and flopped it over my shoulder
---with Justin. When I reached the bedroom, I took a bottle of massage oil
-- thoughtfully provided by the Florida friends -- from the nightstand and
popped it in our microwave for a matter of seconds, while still carrying
Justin over my shoulder.While the oil was warming, I carried Justin to the
bed where he spread the towel and, as soon as he finished, I dumped him on
it and went for the oil. I checked the oil's temperature, then poured a
small stream down Justin's beautiful hard back and started massaging his
shoulders. When I reached his ass, I poured another stream of warm oil over
his cheeks, then into his crack. I massaged his ass cheeks and when I slid
the sides of my hands through his crack and over his rosebud, Justin
started moaning. After massaging his ass, I worked on the tight muscles of
his thighs and calves, helping him relax them. I finished with his back and
he turned over. As I massaged his arms, well-defined chest, hard stomach
and legs, I made sure I didn't touch his cock and balls, saving them for
later. His cock did jump when I ran my hands down his inner thighs, but
that's as close to his cock as I got.

Justin was very relaxed, which was great. I didn't expect he'd want to wait
for sex and was prepared to give him what he wanted, but he said, "Your
time, Babe," as he got up to microwave the oil, his hard cock pointing the
way.Justin's strong hands worked miracles on my body as he massaged the hot
oil over my back, then my front. After he had done a prince of a job on my
feet, he moved back up my legs, finally running his oil-slick hands over my
inner thighs. After massaging me, Justin was still hard, but definitely not
as hard as he had been or as I was. I soon changed that when I poured a
stream of warm oil over his cock and gave it a couple of strokes and he was
a dude with a royal hardon.I reached out and pulled him on top of me and,
as I did, his hard, oil-slick cock slid between my oily thighs, pressing my
hard cock between us. As he moved to kiss me, his body massaged my cock and
it felt good... really, really good. A huge grin spread across Justin's
face as he started slowly sliding up and down on my slick body and, in
doing so, thrusting his cock in and out between my thighs. "Damn, that
feels good," he said as he continued sliding up and down my body.

"My cock definitely agrees with you," I grinned back.To make sure we did
not get sore from the rubbing, Justin reached for the oil and leaned back
on his legs, his cock pointing straight at me. He squirted more oil on my
belly, between my thighs, and finally over his cock and balls. When Justin
leaned forward, his cock slipped between my thighs easily. He grinned as he
slid up and down, thrusting his cock between my thighs, massaging my cock
between our bodies. Suddenly I felt Justin thrust deep and hold it, his
fingers digging into my shoulders as I felt his hot cum between my legs. As
he continued to pulse, he again moved up and down my body causing my seed
to join his.When our climax was over, I pulled Justin's lips to mine for a
long, deep kiss. He rolled off of me, reached for the towel he had dropped
on the floor, and we cleaned up. Well, at least he wiped off most of the
oil-cum soup from our bellies, cocks, and my legs. After he tossed the
towel on the floor, Justin started kissing me on the chest, nipping at a
nipple and tonguing it, knowing what the result would be. Sure enough, even
though we had just experienced skyrockets-in-the-sky sex, it wasn't long
before I was as hard as before and so was Justin. Justin reached into the
nightstand and took out the lube and the largest toy from our friends in
Florida. He was kneeling between my legs, which he raised straight up in to
the air, and started doing magic to my rosebud with his finger and the
lube.

As I said before, having something inserted in my ass was not my favorite
activity but, for some reason, this time it really felt good. Justin bent
my knees, pressing them against my stomach, forcing my ass in the air,
spreading my cheeks, exposing my asshole. He then started inserting the
dildo very slowly and, as he did, I realized that there was practically no
pain involved -- a new experience. Justin had about half the toy inserted
when he started moving it in and out slowly while gradually increasing its
depth. As he continued, he leaned over and kissed my ass cheeks. Justin
continued moving the dildo in and out as he grasped my pre-cum dripping
cock and started stroking it slowly. Suddenly I felt an electric charge
shoot through my body when he hit the sweet spot inside, something I had
rarely experienced before. Justin's slow stroking had brought me to the
very edge before he hit my pleasure spot and that shoved me over a cliff
into a body-and-soul shaking orgasm.

It took me a while to come down from the high Justin had taken me to and
when I did, I returned the favor. After we had cleaned up -- and changed
the sheets on our bed -- we nestled in each other's arms and were soon
asleep, relaxing in the afterglow of tremendous lovemaking. Sunday was Palm
Sunday and a big day for St. Paul's, and St. Thomas', the Lutheran church
in town. In years past, Asbury United Methodist had been a part of a Palm
Sunday processional down main street, around the town square and back to
the three churches which were in the same block. This year, as last, Asbury
would not be part of the procession.

Elizabethton's Asbury was either the first step for a young minister or a
place to put old ones out to pasture. With that status, you could pretty
well depend on Asbury having a new minister every four years, if not more
often. Summer before last, the Methodist conference assigned a new minister
to Asbury, Rev Bob -- not Reverend, but Rev -- who was determined to make
his exile in the boonies short. He was much into what he called
contemporary worship. Keyboards, electric guitars, drums, horns and "happy
sappy with Jesus" songs were the new wave at Asbury. Clarisa was chair of
the vestry's Ecumenical Relations committee and when Fr. DeBruhl asked her
about Asbury's participation in the Palm Sunday procession, she reported
Rev Bob had said, '"Parades down main street in queer dresses" wasn't what
he was about. As a result, Methodists were generally absent from the
procession, although several showed up and chose to walk with St. Paul's or
St. Thomas'. Among those was Miss Amy Louise Randolph, of the Virginia
Randolphs. Miss Amy Louise and her family had been pillars of the Asbury
Methodist church "since conversion under the preaching of Francis Asbury
himself," which she made sure any and all knew. Now, she said, it was hard
to tell whether it was Sunday at Asbury United Methodist church or Saturday
night at a honky tonk. When Rev Bob informed her that contemporary worship
was simply following in the footsteps of the founders of the Methodist
church, she finally rebelled and showed up at St. Paul's, stating that,
after all, John Wesley had died an Anglican so she guessed she could find a
place among them. When Fr. DeBruhl became the rector at St. Paul's -- he
was the new rector of St. Paul's since he had been around for only three
years and would be the new rector for at least five more -- he realized
Elizabethton was, surprise! surprise!, conservative. This did not dismay
him and he generally walked a safe, conservative path, definitely more in
line with Miss Amy Louise's thinking than Rev Bob's. While she was not in
favor of having Communion every Sunday and thought the 1928 Book of Common
Prayer had it over the '"new'" prayer book which was now only a quarter
century old, she decided she would be a "Methodist in exile". She found a
pew she liked at St. Paul's and settled in. Of course, having ruled Asbury
Methodist for half a century, at least, she found it difficult to take a
back seat to St. Paul's lay pope, Mrs. Walter Evans Henry, of the Virginia
AND North Carolina Henrys, but they worked out -- somehow -- a
compromise. Mrs. Henry would keep the "sacred" side of St. Paul's on the
straight and narrow and Miss Amy Louise would take care of the secular. In
church politics as well as secular, events create strange bedfellows, and
Miss Amy Louise and Clarisa had become fellow workers in the Lord's
Vineyard of social concerns.

The civil rights movement in Elizabethton was more like the gentle washing
of a beach by an incoming tide than the sweeping of a hurricane. The school
had been integrated, not out of some great social concern, but when the
black school had been condemned by the state and the white school was in
need of very expensive repairs, money dictated it was cheaper to build a
single, new school than deal with the old ones. After that, one institution
after another fell in the holy wind of change. The country club, naturally,
was the last to fall, but even there the admission of African-Americans was
a tempest in a teapot. Granted there were still only two black members, a
young doctor and a middle-aged lawyer, but then they were about the only
African-Americans who had enough money to join. On the other hand, more and
more families had African-American friends and took them to the club as
guests. Because of how it all came about, civil rights was never a major
issue, not major enough to upset much of anything. No, the big social
issues were related, not to race, but to poverty.

St. Paul's had maintained a clothing closet for years, and Asbury a food
pantry. Rev Bob felt the food pantry "degraded the poor Jesus loved" and
closed it. Well, it was closed, but combined with the clothing closet.
Clarisa and Miss Amy Louise got to know each other when the two were
combined into a single operation named A Cup of Water, but generally just
called the Cup. Miss Amy Louise was instrumental in getting volunteers to
assist those who came for food or clothing wade through the red tape
necessary to get help through social agencies. Clarisa had secured the help
of a couple of nurses who operated a free clinic once a week. Not to be
outdone, Miss Amy Louise got three lawyers to hold a legal clinic once a
month, rotating among the three and, without knowing it, the two had laid
the groundwork for a revolution in which we would all soon become a
part. It had also provided a fulcrum for moving all of Elizabethton and
surrounding area.

The revolution actually started Wednesday before Palm Sunday with the
distribution of the throw-away newspaper, 'The Elizabethton Town Crier.'
The-six page newspaper is worth about what it costs -- nothing. It depends,
of course, on ads to stay in business and has little of interest to local
folks beyond the ads, a story or two on the front page, the society page
and the sports page or, maybe, sports pages, depending on the season. Just
about everything else in the rag was taken from a very conservative news
service which provided 'canned' editorials, columns, cartoons, etc., most
of which had already appeared in 'The Elizabethton Bugle,' the regular
newspaper -- well, to call the 'Bugle' a newspaper is to give newspaper a
pretty loose definition -- which appeared five days a week. Frankly, since
I wasn't interested in sports or society, I seldom, if ever, looked at
"Town Crier." Clarisa, however, usually read it carefully and then prepared
a letter to the editor which was never printed 'due to lack of space.' I
guess everyone had looked at Wednesday's ads and gone shopping for Easter
clothes because I heard not a peep about the front page story until
Sunday. All the troops were called in for the Palm Sunday processional so
John -- he was coming to St. Paul's these days and finally started serving
as an acolyte -- joined Justin and me in a Sunday school room to get
vested, since the sacristy was too small for the crowd on duty. Nancy and
Louise Warren, acolytes from St. Thomas' were joining us this year, the
first time St. Thomas' had women acolytes. Susan and Bobbie were also there
with ten or so others who made up a choir for special occasions.

"Have you heard about the front page story in the weekly rag?" Bobbie
asked, as she slipped a surplice over her head.

"Are you kidding?" Justin responded. "I look to see if our ad is right and
that's it. Something special?"

"I don't know who's behind it, but the front page story was about HIV/AIDS
in our area. Seems we are outstripping the national average in new
cases. Anyway, the article ended up being an attack on gays, the Episcopal
church, and anyone else who doesn't think gays should be stoned. The
reporter -- I'd never heard of him -- interviewed a couple doctors and the
public health nurses and condensed what they had to say in a sentence or
two, 'HIV/AIDS is on the rise in our county, especially among young people,
some say straight young people.' That said, the rest of the article was
quotations and comments from preachers and a couple of others, all of which
could be summarized by, 'God hates fags and punishes them with AIDS. They
deserve to die!' Such kind Christian hearts."

As we all got lined up for the processional, Justin, who was thurifer
again, spooned incense on top the burning charcoal and since we would be
out of doors for the beginning of the procession, he was not
sparing. Immediately a blue cloud rose as Justin swung the censer. The
vested troops were ready and the procession began, moving down the street,
around the town hall and back to St. Paul's or St. Thomas' depending on
your persuasion. Miss Amy Louise was marching beside Clarisa, waving her
palm in a menacing manner as she passed Asbury. I laughed, watching her
with her palm, and Clarisa in a special Palm Sunday church hat, when I
recalled that ten years ago Miss Amy Louise would never had been caught
dead walking beside a 'colored person'.

The processional ended, of course, inside the church and the service
continued. As I said, Fr. DeBruhl was more than a little conservative and
when he climbed into the pulpit, I expected a typical Palm Sunday sermon. I
was sure I was not alone because I could see people settling down for an
eyes-open nap. My mind had started to drift even before he opened his
mouth. After the usual preliminary bit, Fr. DeBruhl said, "Palm Sunday is a
good time to look, not at the triumphal parade of Jesus into Jerusalem, but
at what was really going on. It's easy to let the Jesus parade aspect of
the event hide that, hide what was really going on. Too often we wave palms
and have a grand old time as though the original Palm Sunday was a
holiday. It wasn't. In fact, it was a civil rights march -- not about race,
but it is not only race which we use to separate the world into us and
them. It was about something else, but just as vicious and God-condemned.

"For a few weeks now I have been reading and struggling with The Last Week
by Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan, and I commend it to you for Holy
Week reading. In the picture of Palm Sunday presented by the two Jesus
scholars, I see a direct parallel to our own situation." The two point out
that first Palm Sunday was a procession in direct contrast to another going
on at the same time. While the crowd was welcoming Jesus, another
procession was marching into Jerusalem, a processional of imperial power,
economic oppression, and religious cynicism which the people did not
welcome. Pontius Pilate with the power of imperial Rome was marching into
Jerusalem." While I don't have time to go into how things got to be that
way, I'd have us realize that the Jesus Palm Sunday processional was but
one example of Jesus' identification with the poor, the oppressed, the
outcast, the marginal, unlike the procession of Roman imperial power, power
which was, in fact, sustained on the backs of those Jesus loved -- the
poor, the powerless, the marginalized."

Fr. DeBruhl continued for a minute or two contrasting the two processionals
of that Sunday, the Jesus procession and the Roman one into Jerusalem, and
had he stopped there, a few would have remembered he "talked about Palm
Sunday," and that would be it. But he didn't stop there."We live in a free
country, not under the domination of a hated foreign power as did those in
that first Palm Sunday processional. We live in a prosperous country, much
more so than those first-century Jews could have even imagined. We live in
a country where routine medicine would appear nothing less than miraculous
than a healing by Jesus to those who waved palms two thousand years ago. We
live in a wonderful country which provides a lifestyle those carrying
branches that Palm Sunday would dismiss as fantasy. At least some of us do,
but some of us do not." Each week, some people who live among us, some of
our neighbors who remain invisible, some of the poor and hungry of our
community, come to the Cup for food. They are not expecting to be provided
with a gourmet meal, but simply food for their family because the cupboard
is bare. And before you start the usual protest of those with full bellies
that those who come are just lazy and want a handout, I would remind you
that judgment belongs to God and when Jesus fed the five thousand, all were
fed. They were not separated into the deserving and the undeserving. I'm
also sure that some of those work for some of you, yet do not make enough
to feed and care for their family properly." Most of us have, at one time
or another, dropped a can of something into the collection basket at the
back of the church, or tossed in a bag of dry beans and felt good about
it. Well, folks, it's not about our feeling good, it's about feeding the
hungry and just a can of beef stew or a bag of beans will not cut it."

We bring our castoff clothing to the Cup and those without are clothed and
we feel good. But it's not about our feeling good, or spring closet
cleaning. It's about clothing the naked.

It's not about having a place to get rid of what we no longer want, of
giving out of our over-abundance. The question is when have we clothed the
naked Christ because that is what we are told we should do. When we clothe
the least of our brothers and sisters, we are clothing the naked Christ."
Now I want to get more concrete." Justin leaned over and whispered, "Not
likely." Anytime the Clan had talked about a Fr. DeBruhl sermon -- which
was not often -- someone would comment that in general it was good, but
that we didn't live in the general, but the concrete. We all said at one
time or another Fr. DeBruhl needed to learn how to ground generalities, so
there was no reason to believe he would ground the generalities he had just
spoken.

"We all make fun of 'The Elizabethton Town Crier.' Most of us, if we would
admit it, do read the front page, glance at the society page and read the
sports articles. And, well, I'm sure we read the obits in the hope that the
right people died, but it's a throw-away paper and that's about how much we
value it. We all talk about, whether we believe it or not, the necessity of
a free press and the power of the press. Well, I have been here three years
and that is long enough to realize that the "Town Crier" has never
justified its freedom and has never shown any power. In the three years I
have been here, if the 'Town Crier' has published anything that makes a
difference, I missed it. That is, until this week. For the first time that
rag carried a story which may make a difference and we are all going to be
the poorer for it.

"When I saw the headlines, 'HIV/AIDS Threat to Our Community,' I thought,
'Great, maybe more people will recognize we have a problem.' I read further
and saw that the story got the facts right, what few there were, about the
rapid spread of the disease in our region. The fact that the infection rate
among young men and women is alarming, was there for all to see. The
problem was stated factually, cleanly, without apology. And recognizing the
problem is always the first step to its solution.

"That was all in the first few lines. So I read on. The next thing was the
blame game. Why was HIV/AIDS on the rise? Sex education in the schools was
exposing young people to sex. Say what? I'm not as young as I once was, but
I don't remember anyone having to expose me to sex. I pretty much figured
that out on my own. Sex education in our school is a farce. Because of the
fears of the school board, our kids are given a watered-down,
abstinence-only course by the teachers who can be roped into doing
it. Contraception cannot be mentioned because when you talk about birth
control, girls get pregnant. Yeah, sure. We live in a part of the country
where hunting is a major activity and I have never heard that teaching gun
safety got people killed. Teach about protection and the necessity for
protected sex? Certainly not! What they don't know will keep them out of
trouble. Bull! It is killing them!

"Movies and TV came in for a lot of blame, but who's to blame for what
children see on TV or watch at the movies? Parents who can barely afford
food have to have cable or a dish otherwise their children will be
deprived. And where are parents when the kids are at the movies? They are
not at the movies. They are free for an hour or two. Set limits? Parental
controls? Monitor what children watch? Can't do that. It might warp
them. But then blame TV and movies for the violence in our society and for
spread of a deadly disease.

"Or is it the Internet which is leading our children into trouble? Is it
the Internet which teaches unprotected sex is the only real sex? Maybe,
maybe the Internet is leading our children astray. But they have to have
access to the Internet and it has to be unsupervised access otherwise they
will not be able to keep up in school. Right? Wrong! Who would put a live
rattlesnake in a kid's hand and say, 'It's up to you to learn how to handle
that thing?' Yet we allow our children unlimited access to the Internet
which, like most things in this world, is neither good or bad. It is our
use of it that makes it so." And as much as we would all like to have it
otherwise, there is very little you and I can do about parents. Parents
will pretty much be the parents they will be, regardless of anything we
say. Good parents will make efforts to educate their children and keep an
eye on them. Bad parents don't and there's little we can do about that. Or
can we? Can parents not be educated, helped in the task of parenting? How
do we go about making that happen?

"But the finger-pointing occupied only a couple additional paragraphs and
granting that all said is true -- which I do not -- it was inane enough to
be ignored, as we have ignored the stuff in the 'Crier' before. But the
rest of the article, which filled half a page, I cannot and will not
tolerate without speaking out against it. As a Christian, I will not stand
by while, in the name of Lord Jesus, the so-called Christians and
self-proclaimed spokesmen for God spew out hate as they did in that
article.

"Hear this, hear this clearly, we have long ago given up the idea that God
zaps people with disease as punishment for sin. You can't have it both
ways. If God punishes with HIV/AIDS those who engage in sexual activity we
do not approve, then the other diseases in our area: number one, cancer;
number two, cerebrovascular -- stroke; number three, diabetes -- the list
could go on -- must be punishment for other sins. No, disease is caused by
germs, virus, genetics, sure, some lifestyle choices, but they are never
punishment. The young man or woman who engages in unprotected sex with an
infected partner may be infected with a number of diseases, not because God
is punishing them, but because they are not protected from infection by an
infected partner -- because of their ignorance, their stupidity. And the
infected partner is showing a total and complete lack of concern for the
sex partner. And that's what they are doing, having sex. Do not dare call
such an act of unconcern making love."The one statement I can make without
qualification is that God hates no-one, no-one. God does not hate
homosexuals or heterosexuals. God hates no-one. Hate is a human emotion, a
human invention. If there is an original sin, it is hate. In fact, I am
convinced there is only one sin, only one, and that is hate -- hatred of
the neighbor because he is different, because she is perceived as a threat,
because he has something I envy, because she is... add your own particular
prejudice. Finally there is hatred of the self because of what we do and
what we fail to do. And all that, all hatred, is finally hatred of God
because it is hatred of His creatures and creation, of what He called into
being and loves.

"No doubt that poisonous issue of the 'Crier' will continue to poison our
community. The self-righteous, sanctimonious folk of our town and county
will continue to shout 'God hates fags,' and 'HIV/AIDS is God's punishment
for queers.' No doubt other hate slogans will appear. Slogans will abound.

"Before this week is over, we will see Jesus crucified and, don't be
confused, he was crucified by hate and we crucify him again when we
hate. It is up to us to witness to the fact that hate did not and cannot
win and that love triumphs over all evil. We'll go though the usual
services of Holy Week but, while we do that, I beg of you: look at the
suffering of our brothers and sisters, the poor, the hungry, the outcast,
the neglected, the abused, and, yes, those who suffer because of whom they
love, some through no fault of their own and, yes, some who have made
unwise choices. Be especially attentive to those suffering from the ravages
of HIV/AIDS and those who love and care for them and suffer as someone they
love and care for dies, slowly, painfully." Right now, beyond announcing
there will be noonday prayers held each day next week asking God's guidance
and praying for forgiveness, I do not know where St. Paul's is headed.
Clarisa Johnson and Amy Louise Randolph have decided to do something about
the situation. They will be calling on you, suggesting ways in which you
can join in practicing love instead of hate, inclusiveness and not
exclusiveness. I hope many of you have ideas as well. I will be calling on
the vestry to create concrete responses to our concrete situations. Above
all, I'll call on you to join in the demonstration of the love of Christ
any way you can. Amen."

I was surprised when several, very non-Episcopal-like "Amens! were heard in
response.

Not the usual Palm Sunday sermon and I wasn't sure what the reaction would
be. For me, I was surprised at 'don't rock the boat' DeBruhl's
transformation into someone who had the potential of becoming a tiger.