Walls That Divide: One Man's Sacrifice to Tear Them Down

By J. Alan Teague

Heir-apparent, super-star leader of the African American megachurch founded by his father, Joshua risks his career, his family, and his life, for the Muslim woman he loves, and the neglected people of the dangerous, inner-city neighborhood where he grew up, and where the people are under the daily threat of poverty, crime, and violent white supremacists.

Strong women surround Joshua, including his daughter, who is bold and wise beyond her years; his daughter's beautiful, intelligent, Muslim teacher, who sparks new life in Joshua, which he had lacked since the death of his first wife ten years earlier; his mother, and sister-like friend, who each give Joshua the kick in the ass he needs to do the right thing. Together, these strong women try to guide him safely past the dangers he faces, from without and within.

Joshua receives unexpected help from the homeless men he is sacrificing to serve. They are homeless, not helpless, and provide invaluable support when Joshua needs it most. Even a hate-filled white supremacist is not out of reach for the power of love and sacrificial service.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Alan Teague
• Release date: Sep 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005239145

J. Alan Teague

I love a good story. Getting one out of my head and onto the page is one of life's greatest satisfactions. But even greater was telling bedtime stories to my kids. They loved my made-up stories much more than any book and insisted on them. Coming up with something fresh and interesting was challenging at times, but now I cherish those memories.When I'm not writing novels, I enjoy creating websites, recording audiobooks, acting in commercials, and riding my bike along the Danube.

Book preview

Like a delicate flower pushing through stony ground in a barren landscape, a newly blossoming hope was growing in the neglected, inner-city neighborhood. But just as the fragile flower could be crushed under foot by a careless traveler, the spirit of hope was fragile, and could be snuffed out in a moment. To the people’s shock and dismay, their anger and sorrow, that had just happened. The hopeful expectation the community had just begun to enjoy was ripped from their grasp. Violence had crushed the fragile flower of unity, and the people, so recently filled with exuberant exultation in celebration of its rare beauty, were left with only the barren landscape.

Police tape kept the once hopeful crowd from the area where the bodies had lain, but nothing blocked their view of the crimson halo of blood that had pooled around their hero’s head, and which remained after he had been taken away. And nothing would erase the memory of what could have been.

A young Latina police officer was questioning an elderly gentleman who said he had seen everything from the beginning. Sir, she asked as she looked into his eyes trying to gauge his mental state. Can you tell me your name?

The man hesitated for a moment, trying to steady himself while looking around for a place to sit down but finding none. Joe, he said.

Joseph? the officer asked.

He nodded his head, then mumbled under his breath, A coat of many colors.

Seeing the officer holding her pencil at the ready after writing his first name, the old man said, Washington.

Okay, thank you, Joe. Now, can you tell me what happened, from the beginning?

Before he answered, he got a faraway look in his eyes as he tried to recall a memory from the past. "Yes, I remember. I waited outside the church until I heard the choir singing Just as I Am." He continued to search for a place to sit down.

Excuse me, what church? she asked. Officer Anna Lopez was hoping this would be a quick and easy interview, but that hope was rapidly disappearing.

Joe turned his head, searching for something, then said, Right over there. Do you see it? He pointed toward a church steeple that rose above the other buildings making it visible from several blocks away.

Mr. Washington…

Call me Joe. Mr. Washington was the father of this country. He had been telling the same joke for more than half a century, but on this day, it was completely without humor.

Joe, can you tell me what happened? she asked as she made eye contact, trying to focus the old man’s attention on the tragedy that had taken place.

I’m trying to tell you what happened, but this story didn’t start here, today. It started at that church, right over there, he said, pointing in the direction of the steeple. It used to be a beacon, a source of hope and help in this community, but it’s been closed for a long time now. I don’t know what year it was, but Ronald Reagan was President. Have you ever heard of him?

Joe, please, I need for you to tell me what happened here, today, Anna said, and she immediately felt bad for letting her impatience show.

I can tell you what happened, but you won’t understand it unless you know the whole story, Joe said. Isn’t it important to get all the facts?

Officer Lopez let out a sigh of resignation and looked around for a place where she and Mr. Washington could get comfortable so he could tell her the story which he seemed to believe had its beginning decades ago. She was interrupted in her search however when the old man went wobbly in the knees and reached out to her for support.

Davidson, she called to a paramedic who was standing nearby. After a short examination, he suggested they take Mr. Washington to the hospital. The story would have to wait, but in the end, it might not be necessary. Anna’s responsibility was to gather information. Other, more senior officers would piece everything together and make whatever charges were deemed appropriate.

When Officer Lopez’s shift ended later that evening, she was exhausted from the extraordinary activity of the day, and the mountain of paperwork she had to complete because of that activity. She started her drive home looking forward to a long, hot bath when she remembered Joe and suddenly found herself turning in the direction of the hospital. She stopped at the nursing station on Mr. Washington’s floor to see if it was okay to check on the old man. The answer was yes, and she found him awake.

Officer Lopez, you’re here for the story. Where is your clipboard? Joe asked.

I just came to check on you. I think we have everything we need. You should rest, she said.

I can’t sleep here. I take a little wine before bed, he said with just a hint of a smile, and they won’t give me anything. Seems wine’s not on the menu.

Seeing the disappointment in his eyes and knowing how much her abuelo loved company, and telling stories, Anna pulled up a hard plastic chair and made herself as comfortable as possible. She looked at Mr. Washington expectantly. Okay Joe, what can you tell me?

Aren’t you gonna take notes?

She had not brought her clipboard.

No, that’s alright. If I need to, I can come back tomorrow. Just tell me what you saw, Anna said.

"Like I said, I waited outside the church ‘til I heard the choir singing Just as I Am…"

Why did you wait outside? Anna interrupted.

Joe gave her a disapproving look. You know, I can tell the story better if you don’t interrupt every time I open my mouth.

"Sorry, I just didn’t understand why you would wait outside. And what is Just as I Am?"

Joe’s expression softened. He was grateful to have someone to talk to, and beggars can’t be choosers. Don’t worry about it, he said. I’m glad you’re interested. I thought you were just humoring an old man.

That was exactly what Anna was doing at first, but as Joe began to tell the story, something in his voice piqued her interest. And now she really wanted to know what he had to say, especially why he thought today’s events began so long ago.

"Just as I Am is the invitational. It was sung during the invitation. He searched for understanding in the young woman’s eyes. When he didn’t find any, he said, I can see I’m gonna have to explain some things as I go along. Just give me that blank stare anytime you don’t know what I’m talking about."

Anna’s face lit up with a wide smile and twinkling eyes. You remind me of my abuelo, my grandpa.

I know what abuelo means. Yo hablo español, un poco, the old man said in halting Spanish, surprising the young Latina.

Then Joe took a sip of water from the Styrofoam cup on the table next to his bed. He cleared his throat and began to tell his tale. At Brother Johnson’s church—he is the pastor, Brother Johnson. He is now and he was back then when the story started. And I am talking about today; don’t think I’ve lost my mind. I’m old, but just as sharp as ever, he punctuated his last few words by tapping his index finger on his temple while making eye contact with Anna.

His searching glance required a response, so Anna smiled and nodded. I don’t doubt it, Joe.

He settled back again and continued, "Pastor Johnson is all about saving souls, and to save souls, you have to preach the good news. Then you invite people to come and be saved—that’s the invitation. During the invitation, the choir sings a song to encourage people to come to the altar and be saved. That song is called the invitational. In those days, the invitational at Brother Johnson’s church was Just as I Am. That’s what they played when Billy Graham preached."

Seeing Anna’s blank stare again, Joe shook his head and said, Don’t tell me you don’t know who Billy Graham was. Well, that’s a story for another day.

Okay Joe, sorry. Please continue, Anna said.

"I waited outside the church and slipped in the back when I heard Just as I Am."

Excuse me, Joe. I’m sorry to interrupt, again, but you didn’t tell me why you waited until you heard that song. Did you want to get saved?

At Anna’s second interruption, Joe’s look was less irritated than frustrated, but it still made her feel bad. I’m really sorry Joe. Just tell the story, any way you want.

"I didn’t wait because I wanted to get saved. I responded to an invitation one time, at a Billy Graham crusade, but it didn’t take too good. I’m sad to say that wine always had more of a pull on my life than the Blood of Jesus—that’s what the