The Preacher’s in the Pulpit: Old-Time African-American Preacher Tales

“The preacher’s in the pulpit … just trying to save Souls”

Bo Carter [Bo Chatmon] “Tell Me Who’s Been Here?”

The preacher in African-American history and folklore has had an unprecedented influence in the direction that this culture has gone. Undeniably, preachers have directed the mores and morals of their respective communities. But as a result of having this power over the people, preachers have also come under heavy scrutiny and have, on occasion, become the butt of many jokes. This ability to laugh at themselves has helped the community to survive and has produced a great body of stories and anecdotes. With the preacher up in the pulpit looking down and judging everyone, it was no wonder that he too would be judged. And when you say the word, pulpit … its pronounced pull' pit … like Detroit … with the emphasis on the first syllable.

My paternal grandfather, Elder John Lindsey Rucker, was a minister and later the Bishop of the Church of God, Sanctified. It’s always said like that … Church of God, Sanctified. Once, when we were on stage in a storytelling performance, I turned to my wife Rhonda, (who was raised Methodist), and asked a “rhetorical question” (which is the way you do it when you’re in a fundamentalist preacher mode … sort of like asking for an Amen from your Deacons)—I said, “You know what Sanctified means don’t you?” And she answered without breaking stride, “Yeah … it means that you all think that you’re better than everybody else.” It was said in jest but it got such a good laugh that now I mention that incident in telling the story in most concerts.

As the preeminent Bishop of the Church of God, Sanctified, John L. Rucker took the Nashville–based church and spread it far and wide to such diverse areas as Chicago and Detroit, as well as to the foreign shores of Haiti and Jamaica.

Bishop John L. Rucker and his wife, Luola, had twelve children, six girls and six boys. It must have been some sight around that breakfast table with so many mouths to feed. Only one of those twelve children became a preacher like their Papa. His name was Charles Boyd Rucker, but everybody called him “C. B.”

Taking a Road-trip with my Father and my Uncle C. B.

My father, James David Rucker, Sr., was a teetotaler, a policeman, and Head Deacon of the church of his brother, Elder C. B. Rucker. Most of my father’s friends were members of the church, and he would hang out with various ministers and deacons. He had a “special” preacher friend who he called “Rev.” One day he informed me that he and I and Uncle C. B. were going down to Greenville, South Carolina, to visit “Rev’s” church. I had assumed that “Rev” was an Elder in the Church of God, Sanctified, which was the church that my grandfather, Bishop J. L. Rucker, had helped to found. Imagine my surprise to discover that “Rev” was the pastor of an “independent” church called The Fire Baptized Church of God. “Ooh … weeee!” I thought, “I’m glad I didn’t get baptized in that church!”

But things got even stranger. Even though my church was a fundamentalist church, with folks singing out loud along with the choir, and had an occasional shouter in the congregation who would stand up and wave a white “hank’chi’kiff” in the air and say, “Amen!” we were pretty sedate as far as fundamentalists go.

Anyway, when the church meeting got going in full swing, folks broke out the tambourines (which would happen in some of the “sister” churches in the body … but never in mine!) … Anyway the noise level rose, and many folks shouted and moaned and banged away on the tambourines, and then an until-now unseen set of drums began to play (again in some of our churches, but…) … Folks began to moan and sway and began testifying and then … I noticed a man walking among the crowd with...