Suddenly the large wood and stained glass–lined doors swung open to reveal the main sanctuary, and what a sanctuary it was. Just as I had envisioned, tambourines were clanging, church hats were waving, Jheri Curl juice was slinging, and the very foundation of the church seemed to be shaking. The congregation was swaying, the bass was thumping, the musicians were jumping, and the choir loft was rocking from the strain of what seemed to be a thousand extremely overweight choir members waving and flailing their bright red and gold church robes.

They were having what we used to call “sho nuff chuuuch.” It was the kind of church that made you wonder why you ever stopped going to church. The kind of church that made you want to rush out to purchase a James Cleveland or Walter Hawkins or Mighty Clouds of Joy CD. It was a Holy Ghost induced, spirit-of-God back-flipping produced, shout hallelujah seduced, cartwheeling, triple somersault down the aisle kind of throwdown.

The church building was immaculate. Mosaic murals celebrating the black experience lined the walls. Rich crimson-colored velvet lined the pews. The rug was a deep gold with deep imprints from hours of indentions caused by high-heeled shouters. Over the pulpit was a thick wooden cross backlit with flashing lights that illuminated the entire church. In any minute I expected Jesus Himself to leap from the cross to cut a Hallelujah dance of His own. It wasn’t church—it was chuuuuuuch!

After nearly fifteen minutes of non-stop praise and worship, lead guitar solos, and folks falling out, the music calmed and a sharply dressed woman approached the podium and spoke.

“And the word of God said, ‘How can you hear the word without a preacher and how can he preach unless he be sent?’At this time, I’d like to ask you to stand as I introduce to some and present to others, my pastor, your pastor, the pastor and founder of The Greater House of Deliverance Tabernacle of Praise, Worship, and Miracles, Dr. Curtis P. Merewether. Are you ready for a miracle? I said, are you ready for a miracle?!”

“Yes!!” the congregation exclaimed as the entire church erupted.

Like James Brown at the Apollo Theater, Curtis entered from behind a flowing burgundy velvet curtain to thunderous cheers and a standing ovation. With calm, poise, and humility, he waved the congregation to their seats. Dressed in a loose-fitting, custom-made, black silk preacher’s robe trimmed with an African print, he looked regal. Kingly. And though it was probably not an appropriate emotion, I was getting a little excited. It was something about a man in a uniform that was sexy, especially a man in God’s uniform.