I’ve never been one for organized religion, so when ever I’m may be trapped in a subway car with one of those folks who seem to be touched by the spirit, I politely turn the volume on my mp3 player way up and contemplate how many times can one damn a subway car to hell between the period of time that it takes to get across the Manhattan Bridge via the “D” train. The thing is I do believe that there is a God - what his/her proper name is . . . I don’t know, but I do know that the one that I believe in has a serious problem with trying to force beliefs on others especially after a hard day of work.

I think my major problem with organized religion stems from Black folk believing that church is ultimately a fashion show and the better the outfit, the bigger the hat, the closer to God you may be. I’m not a heathen folks “I’ve been to church a couple of times. I even went to one of Atlanta’s finest ‘Mega Churches.’ So what’s a mega church you ask? Well, whenever you have to take a ticket to remember what aisle and color parking lot you left your car - you’ve probably stumbled upon a mega church. When you come upon it and it seems like the structure is larger and more gleaming than the ghetto or backwoods town that it resides in - you’ve probably stumbled upon a mega church. When you go inside the church and realize that you are so late to the service that you and about 10,000 other members of you church family have to commune with the Lord on a gigantic TV screen off to the side of the main building. . . you have stumbled upon a mega church.

So back to my memory - It seemed like this structure erupted out of the ground when we drove upon it. Inside the joint, it was gleaming! Gold plate, stained glass and Stacy Adams Kool-Aid color shoes, hats and jackets everywhere. You’d think that shoulda been a sign that this little ol’ Bronx girl wasn’t out of her league, but press on we did. So we got to the point in the service where the Pastor, reverend (what ever he wanted to call himself that day) stated to this congregation that the collection plate seemed a bit empty this service - mind you this place was able to hold at least 12,000 easy and this was service two out of three for the day - so he told his ushers to block the doors cause nobody was leaving until them plates were filled. “Oh hell nah,” I though (I’m that much of a heathen to say that out loud in a church). Why are his ushers, who happen to be 6 plus big “ol bury country lookin” ma’ma-jammas trying to fleece money out of old ladies and women with children? This was worse than a stick-up cause this hypocrite they called master (oops I mean Pastor) was doing this in the name of the Almighty. At this rate, he would have been better off saying “Brothas and sistas of the congregation, we have just installed a new shiny gold and silver plated ATM machine, so that you can part ways with your hard earned money in the name of the lord” and don’t worry that 4.50 ATM that you’re charged will most definitely benefit the good of the church’s pockets, namely mine. At least I could have respected him for the hustler he was.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to be blasphemous in any way as me and the mighty one have daily conversations on the meaning of life and if I am going the right direction that day, but if some random Negro is gonna truly be a hustler, be real and do it the smart way - them ATM fees really add up. . .