younger. In addition to his imposing presence and his brilliant reputation, there were his sermons. Delivered with passion, humor, roaring indignation or stirring whispers, the sermon, for Albert Lewis, was like the fastball for a star pitcher, like the aria for Pavarotti. It was the reason people came; we knew it--and deep down, I think he knew it. I'm sure there are congregations where they slip out before the sermon begins. Not ours. Wristwatches were glanced at and footsteps hurried when people thought they might be late for the Reb's message. Why? I guess because he didn't approach the sermon in a traditional way. I would later learn that, while he was trained in a formal, academic style--start at point A, move to point B, provide