Call Her Queen Hatshepsut

November 2009

Minister Kayak Burke, a very eager, arrogant, sexy man, moved throughout his establishment almost like a zombie. He was the CEO of a telemarketing firm, worth half a billion dollars. With a fleet of limos, moving trucks and warehouses, his net worth has exceeded one billion dollars over the last decade. He'd met some of the workers most influential leaders and dined with Kings and Queens.

He was totally unaware of the 890 members watching his every move. Several women in the assembly crossed their legs and couldn’t take their eyes off him. A few other men secretly lusted after this powerful motivational speaker, philanthropist and self-published author that has sold half a million books through the religious circles that admire him.

In his hand was the Holy Bible and on his mind was his son, life, God and a host of other unspeakable things. He was estranged from his only son. He didn't lose any sleep over his son's life choices.

His son threatened everything he was as a man, everything that he has become would shatter if the congregation found out he had a homosexual son. Even though Kayak was raised to treat others with respect, that went out the window when his son crashed his wedding so many years ago, when he was marrying Rosa, his son's only auntie, and his son's mother's only sibling.

He prided himself on setting the standard, being that he was in a position of authority. No, he wasn't perfect, but he damn sure tried to be. He was a brand, an image. He cared about people and cared about what they had to say.

Images of yesterday exploded in his mind. Back when he got married to his late wife, rest her soul, life was good. He loved his late wife with every particle of his being.

He closed his eyes as the pictures danced in the darkness.

In the past, when he married his first wife, his son was his best man.

And what a mockery that turned out to be when everyone realized his son was gay.

Opening his eyes, he approached the podium, overlooking a huge group of well-dressed members.

There were a few new faces in the crowd, and he set the Bible on the podium and chugged on the bottle of Zephyrhills water.

“Welcome, everyone. I’m glad you all could make it. A rather lovely bunch today. We all look good in the eyes

of the Lord.”

Amen.

Hallelujah, Pastor Burke.

A sea of applause swarmed him with love and understanding. He rose up his hands. “Let’s take a moment and give thanks to God. For our lives.”

People jumped up to their feet. A few women had their open palms in the air and their heads hung low.

“Praise him. Reach down in the pit of your stomach and scream your praises.”

Out of the blue a dope dealer with dread locks took off running around the church, shouting he loved Jesus.

Pastor Burke was pleased.

He raised his hands in the air and everyone became quiet. “Let’s get into the Word. I will be reading from the Book of Job today.”

Everyone sat down, gathering their thoughts and getting themselves together.

“Before I do,” he went on, a strikingly handsome man in a purple and gold robe, “I want to say a few things. There is something that troubles me about this church, our church. Some of you I am told are showing up late for Bible study and a couple of you pulled out of last week’s sermon for a Beyonce concert. When we start putting musicians before our God they become false idols.”

The church was quiet.

Power oozed from his intimidating eyes. “Let’s get it together, people. We have 6 days to go to work, go out and do whatever, but let’s keep God in mind when we do these things. We are about to collect tithes, and remember, give with a cheering heart. Don’t give out of obligation. God so loved us he gave his only begotten son. Let’s keep that as

the mental framework of giving back to the Lord. Those seeds aren’t ours. They come from God.”

A series of ushers started walking around collecting white envelopes, cash and change. Two very beautiful black women, in their early twenties, stood before the church, behind a table. As the tithes buckets came they started counting all of the money and opening the white envelopes, neatly putting ones, five, tens, twenties, fifties and hundred dollar bills in piles.

Pastor Burke didn’t believe in robbing his organization, so all money, every Sunday, was counted before the members of the body.

While the two women counted money, and the ushers collected tithes, Pastor Burke talked about hypocrisy.

“I am not a hypocrite. I do the right thing according to God. I walk a fine line,” he said, grabbing the microphone from the miniature stand on the podium and making his way down the carpeted stairs, into the main assembly.

“I have hardly done anything wrong in my life.”

His Caucasian wife, Olive Hills, a very beautiful blonde, quietly crossed her legs, closing her Bible and focusing on her husband. Her left heel dangled from her left toe. “I hardly made mistakes,” he went on, his voice rising with confidence and power. Everyone hung onto every word with respect. “God has always been number one in my life.”

Olive Hills closed her eyes, folding her hands in her lap. She was humming.

Pastor Burke closed his eyes, and thought, Lord, please erase my past.

So, I don’t have to keep up the charade.

When the two church accountants were done tallying up the funds, they collected a grand total of $14,589.89 in cash and another $3,589 from personal checks.

They were ushered into the back high tech offices by the ushers.

“God is pleased with your tithes.” One thing Pastor Burke would never do was steal from the church.

He never thought of it.