Praise The Lord
CHAPTER ONE:
"The Van, The Voice, and the Vanishing Offering Plate"
“Now if you hear me say ‘Amen,’ don’t just nod. Say it like you mean it!”
Reverend Julius Love stood at the pulpit of Mount Zion First Deliverance Church in Dayton, Ohio, gripping the mic like it was the last lifeline to his career. His voice, smooth as molasses with just a hint of fire, rolled through the sanctuary like Sunday gravy on grandma’s stove.
“Amen!” came the choir, half in spirit, half in hangover recovery.
Today was the kickoff of the Rebuild the Revival gospel tour, and Mount Zion was packed to the rafters. Old ladies in hats big enough to catch the Holy Ghost. Men with suits three sizes too loud. Ushers flapping fans with all the grace of angry pigeons.
Julius wiped his brow and caught sight of them in the back row: the tagalongs. The ones who weren’t in the choir, but never missed a stop.
- Marv, slouched with a gold tooth and a Bluetooth headset, flipping through counterfeit merch samples on his iPad.
- Trina, dressed like a backup dancer from a ‘90s R&B video, filing her nails and side-eyeing everyone in choir robes.
- Shay, scribbling in a notebook titled “What’s Wrong With Them Now?”: Therapist Notes Vol. 1.
- And Dre & Kiki, the TikTok couple, filming themselves clapping off-beat with the caption “#BlackChurchChronicles #BlessedAndPressed.”
The benediction hit, the choir belted a mighty closing number, and the service ended with shouts, shimmies, and a deacon passing around the offering plate like he was catching tips at a strip club.
But by the time Reverend Love got to the back to shake hands, Deacon Wiggins stormed in, pale as communion wine.
“Rev! It’s gone!”
“What’s gone?”
“The offering plate. The whole tray—cash, checks, even the peanut brittle
money.”
The room froze. Sister Patsy dropped her tambourine. Someone fainted dramatically into a pew. Julius closed his eyes.
Here we go again.
CHAPTER TWO:
“Holy Suspects and Hustles”
“Now hold on,” Trina said, flipping her weave like she was in a courtroom cross-examination. “Y’all mean to tell me—this church done passed around an entire plate of money, and now it’s just… poof?”
She leaned against the choir robe rack in the fellowship hall, smirking like she was watching a soap opera. Which, to be fair, she kind of was.
Reverend Julius paced the room, his long black coat trailing behind him like a judgment cloud. “Nobody leaves this church until we get to the bottom of it.”
Deacon Wiggins was hyperventilating over a folding chair. “It was at least $3,000 in there. We had a Pledge-for-the-Parking-Lot fund going. And Sister Loretta brought in a whole sack of quarters!”
“Did you check the baptistry?” Dre asked, pointing his phone at the deacon. “Sometimes people hide stuff in the holy water. Hashtag, baptized and burglarized.”
“Turn that camera off!” Julius barked.
Meanwhile, Shay pulled out her notepad. “Okay, so let’s look at potential motives. Who had access to the plate? Who passed it last?”
The choir started side-eying each other like it was a gospel-themed Clue game.
“Well,” said Sister Rhonda, “it was passed down pew three by Brother Terrence.”
All heads turned. Brother Terrence stood up—tall, proud, and deeply offended. “Don’t look at me like I’m Judas Iscariot in a pastel suit. I put in fifty dollars and a prayer request. I don’t steal from the Lord.”
Trina rolled her eyes. “You also owe me $40 from last summer’s fish fry, so let’s not act brand new.”
Marv, still scrolling, chimed in. “You know what’d solve this real quick? Security cams. I got a guy in Detroit who installs ‘em cheap. His slogan is ‘Heavenly Views for Earthly Crime.’ You want his number?”
“Brother Marv,” Julius said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “not now.”
The room buzzed with suspicion, excuses, and Sister Patsy accusing a child of being “too quiet, and therefore guilty.”
Then, as if summoned, a voice called from outside the fellowship hall:
“Ya’ll might wanna see this…”
Everyone turned. It was Kiki—still filming—standing in front of the church van. The back door was open.
Inside sat a tipped-over offering tray, a busted jar of peanut brittle, and footprints leading away from the scene.
“Looks like somebody tried to make a getaway,” Kiki said, zooming in dramatically. “In the van of salvation.”
Reverend Julius exhaled and cracked his knuckles.
“Looks like the Lord’s work just turned into detective work.”
CHAPTER THREE:
(Energetic and dramatic gospel number with finger-pointing choreography)
The choir exploded into song, half to lift the mood and half to low-key accuse each other with rhythm. The sopranos were sanctified. The altos were aggressive. The tenors looked guilty. And Reverend Julius just stood in the wings, silently praying this tour wouldn’t end with bail money.
As the music ended, Sister Loretta clutched her chest.
“I told y’all! The devil was gon’ ride this tour bus. And now he done hijacked
the offering tray!”
Shay scribbled furiously in her notebook. “What does it say about a group
dynamic when suspicion turns to song before actual discussion?”
Marv snorted. “It says y’all dramatic and broke.”
Kiki checked the van again. “These footprints lead out to the parking lot, but they stop near the snack shack. Maybe someone loaded the cash into another car?”
“Or ate it,” Dre muttered, filming a slow pan of the scene like he was on CSI: Choir Scene Investigation.
Cue Song: “Whatchu Hidin’, Deacon?” – Funky Quartet Number
(Musical interrogation scene with call-and-response vocals. Each deacon
sings a suspicious solo defending themselves. Think Temptations meet Tyler
Perry.)
Back in the sanctuary, the choir took turns grilling the deacons.
“Where were you when the tray went missin’?”
“I was in the bathroom with my diabetes medicine!”
“You was gone too long for just one pill!”
“I took a nap, Sister Myrtle!”
Reverend Julius raised both hands. “Enough! This isn’t a musical courtroom!”
Trina cracked her gum. “Well, maybe it should be. Y’all got more secrets than a daytime soap.”
Julius turned to the friends. “We need fresh eyes. And Lord knows y’all got nothing better to do.”
Marv perked up. “We talkin’ detective work? Like—covert ops? Mission: Impossible but in church shoes?”
Shay nodded. “Let’s divide and conquer. Me and Trina will check with the kids who were playing tag in the hall. They always know the mess before adults do. Dre, Kiki—check the footage from your live. Marv, you distract anyone acting too nervous.”
“Got it,” Marv grinned. “Operation Amen & Investigate is a go.”
Cue Song: “Not On My Watch (Unless I Sold It)” – Solo by Reverend
Julius
(Slow, bluesy solo. Emotional. He reflects on his past scandals and how
everything seems to fall apart when he tries to do right.)
Julius sat alone in his office after everyone left to investigate. He looked at an old photo on the wall—him in his younger days, grinning with a golden mic and a packed revival crowd behind him.
“I gave up the spotlight for the pulpit… but the drama followed me anyway.”
He sat at the desk, bowed his head, and sang softly—half prayer, half confession.
CHAPTER FOUR:
“Ain’t Nobody Holy When Money Go Missing”
Interior – Church Basement – Later That Afternoon
Marv peeked around the snack shack, holding his phone like a detective with no credentials.
“Okay, y’all,” he whispered to himself, “this is where the trail ends. A busted brittle jar, glitter from Sister Denise’s shoes, and a single peppermint wrapper. Classic crime scene.”
Kiki and Dre followed close behind.
“Did you really just say glitter evidence?” Kiki asked, unimpressed.
Marv squinted at the ground. “All I’m saying is Sister Denise be throwin’ shade and sequins.”
Dre pulled up the livestream playback on his phone. “Wait... rewind. Right there. Pause. Zoom in. Is that Brother Harold walking toward the van before the benediction?”
Kiki gasped dramatically. “Harold? The one who sings like a foghorn and smells like Vicks?”
“He said he was at home sick!” Dre said. “Lying and limping at the same time? That man got Hezekiah Walker energy with Shady Boots behavior.”
Cut to: Interior – Choir Room – Meanwhile
Shay and Trina were “interviewing” the junior ushers—aka bribing them with fruit snacks.
“Okay, lil’ saints,” Trina said, popping gum between sentences. “Anybody see someone sneakin’ near the plate?”
A tiny girl raised her hand. “I saw Sister Rhonda drop somethin’ in her purse.”
“What was it?” Shay asked.
The girl shrugged. “Coulda been a wallet. Coulda been a biscuit.”
Trina gave her a look. “That’s two wildly different things, baby.”
A teen usher added, “She had that big purse—the kind you could smuggle a turkey in. She said it was for her back pain.”
Shay nodded. “Mm-hmm. The old ‘praise pouch’ defense. Classic.”
Cue Song: “I Don’t Steal, I Receive” – Sassy Gospel Funk Ensemble
(Trina leads this one, dragging suspects with sarcastic harmonies as
choir members defend themselves with extra flair.)
Back in the sanctuary, the choir was holding a “who’s-the-real-thief” sing-off. Every verse was just another accusation.
“You had your hand in the tray too long.”
“Well your robe had pockets—what’s really goin’ on?”
“You said it was a tithe, but it smelled like cologne!”
“I was just fannin’ myself with Sister Sharon’s loan!”
Sister Denise, offended, clutched her pearls. “I’ll have you know I am a woman of God.”
“You’re also a woman with a Vegas keychain and a drawer full of scratch-offs,” Trina shot back.
“Don’t you be judging my recreational salvation!”
Reverend Julius finally blew a whistle he’d confiscated from the youth ministry. “ENOUGH! If anyone confesses now, the Lord might forgive you before I lay hands—with legal intent.”
There was silence.
Then Brother Harold walked in, limping.
“Oh… hey y’all. I was just—uh—checking the van.”
Everyone turned slowly.
Kiki crossed her arms. “We got footage. You wanna go ahead and testify before we baptize you in the truth?”
Harold froze. “Y’all ever heard of a misunderstanding?”
