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At 9:30 yesterday morning, I knew that I was not in my synagogue for three reasons:
• The services not only started on time, but one minute early.
• The people in the jammed pews were perfectly silent.
• Most of the men were dressed in three-piece suits, and a number of women even wore white gloves.
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[See photo of Bernard Parks, right, with former Mayor Alan Corlin,center, and Planning Commissioner John Kuechle at Saturday’s Pancake Breakfast that Mr. Corlin hosted in Mr. Parks’ honor.]
Coming from a world of casual, where “shh” probably is the most frequent injunction, it was a pleasure of towering proportions to enter the Prosperity Missionary Baptist Church, 6006 Main St., in South Los Angeles.
Let me tell you, this is Baptist territory 40 blocks from downtown. A moment before arriving at my destination, I drove past the True Samaritan Baptist Church, followed by the St. Paul Baptist Church. When I parked a half-block away from Prosperity, I was directly across from the Greater Mt. Calvary Baptist Church, where, it appeared, they also were getting ready to pray.
Streets Were Empty
On a typically sunny, unassailably unflawed Sunday morning in South L.A., praying is the historic custom of the neighborhood.
Driving from downtown into the kinds of culturally rich, plain-loving, modestly adorned hometown neighborhoods that used to dominate America 50 and 60 years ago, I felt at home— and very welcome — even though I was visiting for the first time.
Except for ethnic vendors dispensing libations and snacks at one-block intervals, the sun-splashed sidewalks and streets, trod every day by the fiscally pinched, were deserted.
Cruising, I passed by more churches than cars or people or infamous liquor stores. It was refreshing to participate in a neighborhood where residents take their faith as a serious commitment rather than a random hobby.
Meanwhile, at Church…
In honor of its 60th anniversary, the Prosperity Missionary Baptist Church invited L.A. City Councilman Bernard Parks, candidate for the County Board of Supervisors, to make a presentation.
At my synagogue, the dress is respectful but not striking. Except for the rabbi, you would have to scour to find one necktie. At Prosperity, every worshipper, man, woman and child, was dressed beautifully, as if they were going to visit God. Unlike, ahem, some of my friends, the Prosperity community knows how to read a clock. When Pastor Terrance Phillips calls services for 9:30, that does not mean “approximately” or “when the mood strikes you.”
Twenty minutes before services, I met Pastor Phillips who came to Prosperity when it was 52 years old. “The mission of the church,” he said, “is to reach lost souls for Jesus Christ.”
Now, about inviting Councilman Parks to make a presentation nine days before Election Day: Is Prosperity making a political statement?
“This has nothing to do with the election,” Pastor Phillips said. “Mr. Parks was invited because he is a leader in our community. We have invited other politicians as well, (Councilperson) Jan Perry, Mayor Villaraigosa, even Gov. Schwarzenegger. This is just to help us celebrate. It doesn’t have anything to do with politics.”
Gifts to Assist
In the vestibule of the church, every worshipper was welcomed by white-gloved, extraordinarily polite lady ushers. They offered three accoutrements, a fan touting “Parks for Supervisor,” an orange hymnal sheet and a packet of tissues.
I was escorted to the seat of my choice in a utilitarian sanctuary that, happily, was the antithesis of grandiloquent churches of the world that offer 200 Separate, Compelling Distractions for the Terminally Bored.
All walls are a pale blue without any adornments to tempt worshippers away from praying and singing. Illumination is furnished by lighted balls, six in all, dangling from ceiling chains.
The choir loft rose, stadium-style, before us, with a piano and an organ flanking the altar/stage area on either side. Off to the right were a guitar and drum set to further support the congregation.
It occurred that the name “Prosperity” probably alludes to the spiritual wealth that its fortunate members feel.
At 9:28, Mr. Parks entered with a tiny entourage, and as he took his seat in the first Side Row Left, there was a slight notice, but not large. He took his seat with minimal fluff.
At the crack of 9:29, a hush came over the sanctuary. I couldn’t even tell anyone was breathing. It was stunning and impressive. The first of several speakers stepped to a microphone and briefly addressed the crowd with succinct, inspirational messages while the organ hummed in a soft undertone.
Let the Singing Begin
Now it was time for the choir to enter. As the four musicians began playing, up tempo, the congregation stood. They promptly broke into song while the 16 women and five men, faultlessly attired in dark clothing with flowers in their lapels, smartly stepped into the sanctuary to a rhythmic melody, half filing down each aisle.
More singing and inspirational messages followed. All the while, the crowd was utterly attentive and appreciative .
Twenty-five minutes along, visitors to Prosperity for the morning worship service were asked to stand, tell their names and identify their “home churches.” For the first time, I realized there was a balcony, too, so unobtrusive was it. About 10 people arose, the last being Bernard Parks. Once again, no frills. Almost inaudibly, the tall Mr. Parks stood and announced, “Bernard Parks, St. Bernadette.”
There would not have been any more or less fuss if I had stood. By now I was convinced, that Pastor Phillips had meant it when he said the occasion was not political.
Mr. Parks presented a commendation on Prosperity’s birthday. He spoke briefly, conversationally, about the civil rights progress of the past half-century, how glorious freedom felt. “We can go to any church we choose,” he said. “We can ride on any bus and sit where we choose. We can sit at any counter that we choose and order.”
Pausing for a Commercial
Detouring briefly, he said he hoped the people of Prosperity would choose him for Supervisor on Nov. 4, and while they were voting — “even before you brush your teeth or shower” —cast a vote for Barack Obama, too. That brought the lone roar.
For posterity purposes, Pastor Phillips, who is partly as tall as the rangy Mr. Parks, was asked to pose with the candidate. Good naturedly, the choir, observing from above, said that the pastor looked far too short beside the candidate. And so he took a long step up onto the altar, which put him at Mr. Parks’ eye-level. The congregation, appreciating the dilemma, laughed warmly.
In less than five minutes, Mr. Parks’ portion had been completed. He vanished, with minimum comment, through the nearest door, onto a campaigning candidate’s next Sunday morning church stop.
