Itâ€™s the last Sunday in August, in an old historical neighborhood, in Memphis, Tennessee.
of this neighborhood sat the only church. The church was a very tiny old house, made in a shotgun style. .
The church was named after the historical neighborhood, Annesdale Cherokee Baptist Church.
Annesdale Cherokee Baptist Church consisted of families that resided in the area. My family had been .
attending this church for over one year. My mother especially enjoyed the church services. This .
meant that every Sunday morning, she made sure that we all got up and dressed our best for church. I .
often wondered, â€œWhy must we go every single Sunday?â€.
At Annesdale Cherokee Baptist Church, they practiced and taught many of the traditional Baptist .
doctrines. One of their teachings was that of the Old Time Revival. Revival always started on the last .
Sunday night in August and it would last one entire week. My mother told us, on many occasions that .
when revival started, we had better be on the mourning bench. Just the very thought of going to sit on .
this â€œMourning Benchâ€ for a whole week terrified me to death. No one had ever taken the time to .
explain to me the whole concept of this mourning bench thing.
On this particular night, when we arrived on the church grounds, I could hear the music pounding from .
the organ. My cousin Chris, and I waltz right down the center isle, straight to the front of the church and .
took our seat on the mourning bench. As I began to take my seat, I could feel my heart racing. I felt as .
if I were a lion cub, about to be eaten by starving wolves. I watched nervously as the preacher approach .
the front of the podium. As he began to speak, he shouted out.
â€œWho, in this house tonight wants to be SAVED?â€ he shouted.
By this time everyone in the church was standing, hands raised high in the air. They were shouting to .
the top of their lungs.