An Avalanche of Creation

Now as I pulled into the driveway of Rev. Roper's home (a surprise slab of architecture in this rather poor section of town and done in a mock style of a Frank Lloyd Wright design), I found the porch light was on, quite bright and somehow inviting. My assignment from Aunt Eloise was to find out what I could about the reasons for the revival at Rev. Roper's church. Perhaps to plumb the depths of why he felt his church needed one? But now as I tapped the bell three times, I found something else taking over my mind and soul. I wanted to find out not only why he felt the church needed a revival. But what made Rev. Roper think he was called to preach in the first place. I had been reading about Rev. Maurice Roper for years. His career, off and on, the stage of his church-SOUL OF ZION TABERNACLE-had provided many salty stories of awe, wonder, and dread in the news section of the Forest County Dispatch, and in particular, Aunt Eloise's column. Somehow the physicality of this house lent something to my shifting mind, my stirring spirit. What was it? And then the thought occurred to me that in my wanderings, I had come across the place where underground movies and experimental films are shown to either members of a secret art society, or their friends. Suddenly I was greeted by the owner, just as I expected to see the door of the minister's house leap open, I heard his grave voice before I saw his face; I was astonished, but there he was alright coming from around the side of the house. His offstage voice for greeting startled me. He had a shovel in his hand. He had been shovelling off the last layers of ice from the gang-way in back of the grayish blue house. The alarm in his voice: Oh it's you. Mister Joubert. Mister Jones, made me feel just then as if I were an intruder, a peace disturber, even a robber of his rest. I immediately recognized the small, well-built, medium-dark-brown-skinned minister from his pictures over the years in the Forest County Dispatch. His earthly figure so compact; yet his life so outlandish, intriguing, and often audacious. We sat in the front room, where I conducted my interview with the minister over cups of hot, lemon-minted tea. After sharing two pitchers of beer with Beefeater, I was glad to drink the head-clearing tea. For some reason I don't handle beer as well as I take to alcohol, mainly bourbon or scotch. I have absolutely no palate for gin. And don't serve me two Vodka Martinis, I get killer keen and heartless evil. At one point in our interview-as I found myself more than zealous in trying to discover how much you could trust those moments of spiritual ecstasy to stick to the soul-Rev. Roper addressed the problem of how high blood pressure had forced

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