Everyone knows that males are
angry. It just goes with the
territory — young men of color
and old men of no color — ass-
uming that white, which contains
all colors of the spectrum, means,
sociologically speaking, no color.
But an angry, elderly, female
pastor of a small parish made up
primarily of elderly people, rallied
the troops, energized the gender
base, the frustrated, unrecognized,
generation of those who had stood,
quietly, behind their men all those
years with smiles plastered on their
faces all the while knowing they
could run circles around the guys
and called them to join the “Sewing
for the Savior” group, which they
knew no self-respecting old guy would
join, so they could plan their coup,
bloody or not, their ruthless revenge
on the men. The men fled; the women
cheered victory and even Jesus, the
pioneer of women’s liberation —
think this Mary and that Mary and
every Mary in between and, later, all
the Phoebes, Lydias, Priscas, Junias,
Julias, etc., etc., etc. — slipped,
during the passing of the peace, into
the fellowship hall for a cup of
coffee appearing only as Sophia and
the Holy Spirit.