Yesterday, the history of a portrait became more
meaningful, on more levels than I ever could have expected.
When Steven Small called to ask if I would draw the pastor
of his church in time to surprise him for Christmas, I groaned inwardly. I was already overbooked. They wanted a BIG portrait – the largest I’d
drawn of a single subject – and they wanted it fast, neither of which was
welcome at that particular stressful time for me. But there was something about Steven’s warm,
friendly voice and the way he described the Apostolic Church of God and their
beloved pastor.
“We’ll be presenting Dr. Brazier with the portrait in two services of about 3,000 people each,” Steven told me, encouragingly, hopefully. Charmers like Steven are what get me in trouble. I wavered – partly because of the business sense of that kind of exposure (when have 6,000 people seen one of my portraits at once?) – and partly because it just felt right.
I gave in, and I was rewarded in so many ways.
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| Dr. Byron Brazier |
I often receive poor quality source photos, but Dr. Byron Brazier’s
photograph was perfection… crystal clear and full of wonderful expression. I loved drawing him and finished it promptly.
Steven came to my home to pick it up and I hugged him when he left. He was that kind of guy. His team was thrilled with the portrait and later
he sent a photo of the beautiful framing they chose.
Knowing what I know now, how I wish I could have been there
to see the Christmas presentation.
A couple of weeks later, Steven told me that Dr. Brazier liked
my work so much, he wanted me to draw the previous three pastors, including his
adored predecessor who had led the church for fifty years. That one would be a particularly important
portrait, Steven explained to me, because not only was the previous pastor beloved
to the church, he is also Dr. Brazier’s father.
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| District Elder Walter M. Clemons |
I began working on the portraits of ACOG’s first two pastors,
emailing my progress. Choosing the photograph
of Bishop Arthur M. Brazier took a little longer as he was so very important to
his congregation. He’d passed away in 2010 at the age of 89,
leading his church even through illness.
The quality of the photograph was a little dicey, and we needed to tweak
the portrait to get it just right.
Steven was apologetic in asking for adjustments, explaining its
importance. “He was like a grandfather
to me,” Steven told me, “and I wasn’t the only one. It has to be just right.” We were very happy with all the drawings in
the end.
These were large portraits of
men whose dignity and integrity showed on their faces. I did my very best to capture each man’s
strength and wisdom. When Steven picked
up the portraits, I wondered again if that would be the end.
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| Elder Ahart F. Medders |
Instead, it’s been the beginning. I was welcomed into their history.
My family was invited to attend the presentation of the
portraits. Again, there would be around 3,000 people at each of two
services. “You’ll be my guests,” Steven
said with his usual warmth.
Unfortunately my husband and sons had sports and travel
commitments. I asked my mom to come with
me instead. I had a feeling that I
needed a witness to what was about to happen.
The first service was at 9 am on the south side of
Chicago. My mother and I are NOT morning
people. One of the joys of being my own
boss is sleeping until I wake up. But we
managed to pull ourselves together and drive an hour or so to the beautiful
brick church on Dorchester. Steven had
assured us there would be plenty of parking, but it was PACKED. An ocean of cars in every direction, parked
in several lots, on side streets… and we were a half hour early. We wedged ourselves into a hidden, skinny
space and walked through the doors.
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| This lot was full. And the one across the street. And the one across the other street. |
I have deep respect for faith. My parents taught Sunday school when I was
young. Our Lutheran pastor infused his
sermons with personal stories and laughter.
He came to our house for dinner.
When he left our church, his replacement was more stern, less
engaging. My father was working so hard
at growing his small business, that Sunday became another full work day. I lost touch.
My questioning, critical, skeptical mind never found a spiritual place
to call home. More than anything, I
believe in love. That’s how I think of
God.
“Praise the Lord!”
Each and every member of the church enthusiastically greeted us with the
church’s official hello, “Praise the Lord!” reaching out to clasp our hands in
welcome. It almost felt like a wedding, a
celebration. Everyone was resplendent in
three piece suits, sparkling jewelry, high heels, beautiful dresses, fedoras,
furs. Steven hadn’t arrived yet, so we waited
for him and watched the joyful parade of fashion. This was an EVENT. We watched as people embraced and kissed and laughed
together like an enormous family.
We were the only white faces in a sea of color.
All day, the face of each person who saw my mother and me
brightened in welcome. We were obviously
different, but they were so happy to see us.
It was humbling. I wasn’t quite
sure how to respond to each “Praise the Lord!”
I said hello and good morning and squeezed the friendly hands extended
to me. I looked into each set of eyes and
prayed my own prayer of hope that they’d know my heart was full of love, even
if I didn’t know quite how to respond the same way.
Steven took us to meet Dr. Brazier and to see the framed portraits. When I draw someone, I spend hours and hours
examining every line and nuance of a face.
When I saw Dr. Brazier, I felt like I knew him and he treated me like an
old friend. My mom and I were seated on
the feather soft couch in Dr. Brazier’s spacious office while the portraits
were unwrapped… they’d been delivered from the framer just that morning. The photo had not done them justice. The beautiful silver carved frames with grey
and red mats took the 19x24” portraits to an even grander size. I’d never seen my work in such elegant
framing. I was speechless. Just kidding, you know I never shut up, but
it was dazzling. Dr. Brazier sat down and
chatted with my mom and me for a bit, then we were ushered to our seats like
VIPs.
Later, Steven wondered at how easily Dr. Brazier acted as if
he had all the time in the world to visit with us, when he was actually incredibly
busy. The Apostolic Church of God has
20,000 members. There’s a lot going on
all the time and Sunday is big.
When we walked in the church, I gasped. It was like a theater, with grace. Soaring wood ceilings, impossibly high brick
walls, enormous beautiful birds carved above words of praise. This was worship on a level I’d never
seen. A huge main floor was overlooked
by a balcony full of happily chatting people.
The congregants sparkled and hugged and the energy bounced around. Mom and I kept looking at each other with our
eyebrows raised. I mean, wow.
We had reserved seats right in front. The praise began in song and on a professional
level I’ve only bought tickets for in the past.
Singers, musicians, choirs, soloists… 3000 people swayed in worship and
joy. Dr. Brazier spoke with passion,
reminding each and every soul present that they were never alone. Worries and pain and loneliness may make them
feel differently, but even if they were alone, returning to an empty room,
Jesus was already there waiting to lift them up. He spoke to all as if speaking to one. I cried.
A young, lovely soloist sang as if she were borrowed from heaven,
closing her eyes and letting her voice soar to a place of grace I’ve never
witnessed in person. I cried again. We were welcomed into this beautiful world of
history and culture and hope and redemption, when we’d normally just be at home
watching TV. An elderly woman wearing an
ivory brocade suit, pearls and a pretty hat repeatedly got up to dance for most
of both services. Her joyful, rhythmic steps
reminded me of dancing with my grandmother in her kitchen. I had to restrain myself from jumping up to hug
her. During a piano and organ duet, one
of the choir members leaned back in her seat, arching her back as she moved her
arms high in the air, gracefully interpreting the music with gentle hands. It was lovely, as if it was flowing through her.
In Catholic and Lutheran services, we’ve said to our
neighbors, “Peace be with you”. At ACOG,
the people turn to each other and say, “You’re important to me.”
My portraits were brought out on large easels, each draped dramatically
in red cloth. The crowd hummed with
interest. Dr. Brazier asked me to stand
to be recognized, and my heart pounded. He
told all of God’s people in the room, “This is black history month. But black history does not have to be only about
slavery or struggle. It can be about our history right here; the history of
our church.”
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| Bishop Arthur M. Brazier |
He went on to captivate everyone with the story of how the church
began, when the first two pastors, Elder Clemons and Elder Medders, lived in
the same six flat building in Washington Park.
Later, Dr. Brazier’s parents rented a room from Elder Medders, and Dr.
Brazier and his sister were born there.
He unveiled each portrait as he spoke about the church’s history and the
passion and integrity of each of its leaders.
When he removed the drape from the face of his dear father, 3000 people leapt
to their feet and applauded. Chills. He modestly revealed his own portrait that
had been presented at Christmas time.
Gesturing
to each of the men’s wonderful faces, he said, “So… all four leaders of our church
once lived in the same building, at the same time.” There was a palpable surge of delight – don’t
you love a family story you haven’t heard before?
As the unveiled portraits stood in a proud row in their regal
frames, beaming toward all those eager faces, projected on the large video
screen above our heads, in that beautiful place… I knew I’d never have another
moment quite like it in my career.
And that was the first
service.
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| We have great taste. |
Afterwards, many of the church members greeted my mother and
me. One told me my hands were anointed.
Another told my mother she was a holy vessel.
Each wondered at the talent God had given me, thanked me for the
portraits as if I’d offered them as a gift.
(I was paid well for them.) We
were embraced and our cheeks were kissed over and over. One woman was wearing the exact same dress as
me. After giggling over it, we posed for
photos together. I told her she made me
feel like I fit in. She told me if she
was wearing the same thing as me, she must be doing pretty good. I mean… oh my.
With love,
Never in my life, have I had a day of love like this, a day
of welcome, a day of acceptance and invitation.
The closest thing would be a big family gathering, but never with this
kind of power. The energy was unlike
anything else. It didn’t ebb, but grew.
Between services, we were guided into a private formal meeting
room with delicious fruit, pastries, coffee and juice served on a gleaming,
polished table. A beautiful room meant
for important visitors. And today, it was for
mom and me.
“You know,” Steven confided over our pastries with a smile, “You
might be sitting in the same seat where President or Michelle Obama once sat.”
Did I mention that Steve found me online when he saw a
portrait I’d drawn of Barack Obama?
Politics can be as personal and passionate a subject as religion. People have different views for private
reasons. Personally, I love our
president and believe in his hopeful heart with all of mine. Like him or not, you have to admit that there
was just a flow to all of this.
The second service was more passionate, more energetic than
the first. How???
When it was over, after we accepted nonstop invitations to
come back and worship with them again, Steven took us to lunch at a favorite nearby
Italian restaurant. I tried to grab the check – I mean, he’s my CLIENT, for
Pete’s sake – but Steven said that the pastor would be mad if he hadn’t taken
good care of us.
It’s Black History Month.
I was invited to be a small part of what it means to one beautiful church.
And as I write this, I’m crying again.
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| Apostolic Church of God, 1931 |
