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Category:
Inspirational
ISBN-10: B008XL13HM
Type: Fiction
A woman named Grace, her daughter Lydia, and a suicidal bum wreak havoc on one congregation’s hopes of a miracle - or do they?
Pastor Ken has a problem. It’s called membership stagnation. The miracle he asks his flock to pray for arrives with Valley View, a new housing development on the north side of town. These new and larger view homes are certain to attract more affluent families. But Pastor Ken is not the only one to take note of this influx of new money. Along with moving vans bringing new residents to Valley View, new upscale shops and smart restaurants spring up as well. Soon the town park becomes the dividing line, of not only north and south but of old and new, of well-to-do and just getting by. The church itself is on the south side of the park, amidst those just getting by. When conventional means of attracting these prosperous new residents to Sunday services fail, Ted, the youth minister, presents the solution: Rally Sunday. A morning of worship followed by an old-fashioned barbeque in the very park that divides north from south and rich from poor. But a woman named Grace, her daughter Lydia, and a suicidal bum wreak havoc on the congregation’s hopes of a miracle. Or do they
Excerpt
On the morning of Rally Sunday, the sky was overcast and the congregation assembled bit by bit. Weary from a summer of attempting to occupy vacationing children, parents unloaded their sleepy brood, carried blankets and folding chairs, sacks of charcoal, cans of lighter fluid, bags of hamburger- and hot dog buns, tubs of potato- and noodle salads, Jell-O molds, and trays of chocolate-chip- and oatmeal raisin cookies. Margie, the new music director, already legendary for her fudge brownies, brought a 9 x 13 inch pan of them.
“Harry Whitmore!” Margie protested, catching the church council president in the act of snatching a bit of her fudge from a corner of the pan. “I expected better from a man of the law.”
Unperturbed, Harry licked the chocolaty goo from his index finger. “I’m afraid I have to plead nolo contendere. Your brownies are that irresistible.”
“If you’re going to act like a little boy, I’m going to treat you like one,” said Margie. “Do I need to remove temptation altogether?”
“You’re safe from me for the moment.” Grinning, Harry sucked the last bit of sticky sweet from his finger, relishing his double entendre.
“You’re nothing but an incorrigible flirt.” Removing her sunglasses and giving Harry a sideways glance, Margie said, “Tell you what. I’ll give Helen the recipe.”
“Helen doesn’t bake.”
Margie bit her lip. She was not going to bring up the fact that being a good baker had not factored into Harry’s choice of a bride. Moving the pan out of his reach, she said, “And if thy right hand offend thee . . .”
“There would still be my wicked left. And with that I rest my case.”
“Here comes P. K.,” Margie said, wishing to put an end to Harry’s banter and to the entire topic of temptation. Pointing toward the parking lot where their pastor was endeavoring to pull a huge wooden cross from his truck, she said, “Looks like he could use your help.”
Harry moved within whispering distance of Margie’s ear. “Lord in heaven. What’s the fool up to now?” Then he sprinted across the lot, shouting for the pastor to wait up. “This year’s summer project, Pastor Ken?” he asked when he reached him.
“Idle hands . . .” The pastor chuckled. “It’s what I told my next-door neighbor when he helped me load this giant onto my truck. My neighbor is an agnostic who admits to the possibility of a creator, but doesn’t believe in the devil. Have I ever told you about him?”
“You do mention him every so often in your sermons.”
“Good, good. I’m always gratified to find that my words don’t fall on deaf ears.” Leaning his head to one side, as was his habit when he preached, the pastor said, “What it comes down to, Harry, is using the gifts God gave us. And God gave me a talent for working with my hands.”
“Wasn’t it a gazebo you built yourself last summer?”
“And the way things are looking . . .” Pastor Ken smiled sheepishly as he and Harry lifted the heavy cross from the truck bed and leaned it up against the side of the truck. Catching his breath, Pastor Ken said, “The way things are looking, my next home project might be a crib.”
“Good news on the adoption front?”
The pastor shook his head. “Better even than that. We might be pregnant.”
“Congratulations.”
“Just keep it under your hat for now, will you, Harry?”
“I’m sworn to preserve inviolate the confidences of my clients,” said Harry.
“Good, good,” the pastor said. “I’ll be letting the congregation know when the time’s right.”
Surveying the wooden cross with wonder, Harry asked, “So you decided to build yourself a cross this summer.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways. But to answer your question, Harry, my summer project this year was a new deck.” Reaching up to slap his flat hand against the arm of the cross, Pastor Ken said, “This was nothing but leftover scrap wood and now look at it.”
“Waste not, want not.”
“That. And then this idea hit me. You might call it a vision.”
Since Harry had become the church’s legal representative and president of its council, he had nixed all too many of Pastor Ken’s visions, mostly due to safety concerns. Most recently, the pastor had wanted to set one of the church’s shrubs on fire to illustrate the miracle of the burning bush. “You’re not thinking of using this cross for the children’s lesson, Pastor? You know, we can’t have a bunch of little kids climb all over it.”
“No. No. I thought if I waited until everyone assembled and the people saw me drag the cross on my back . . . What I’m trying to say, Harry, is that I want their thoughts on redemption. By using this allusion to Jesus at Golgotha, I’m reminding them that what we’re doing today is more than a cookout. I know how it goes when there’s food involved. Our congregants’ thoughts stray all too easily from heavenly to earthly nourishment.”
“True enough,” Harry said, “but then again, might some people not consider this . . .” Undignified was the word on Harry’s lips, but thinking better of it, he said, “You know your flock, Pastor Ken. Anything out of the norm makes them uncomfortable. And here we are in a public park trying to attract new members. The congregation would not want you to give the impression that ours is one of those charismatic churches.”
It had occurred to the pastor that some of his parishioners might look askance at the spectacle of their pastor bent low, groaning under the weight of this massive cross as he dragged his burden toward them. “I’m always grateful for your counsel, Harry. Yes, I did wonder about that.”
“And then there is a safety concern.” Harry heaved up on the cross, but he could not lift it very high. “This sucker is heavier than a felon’s heart. You might twist your back and the church would be liable. Tell you what, Pastor.” Harry tilted the top of the cross toward himself. “You get hold of the foot and we’ll do it together.”
As they wound their way around the parked cars and trucks, with Harry leading the way, the pastor said, “Can you slow up a bit?”
“Why don’t you set your end down? I’ll hold it up while we both take a breather.”
After he set the foot of the cross down, Pastor Ken extracted a handkerchief from his pocket. “Quite a load on a warm day,” he said, wiping his brow. “Makes you appreciate the passion of our Lord Christ, doesn’t it?”
“Look, Pastor,” Harry said, signaling the driver of a red sports car that came careening into the lot, wheels squealing. “Here comes Ted. He and I can carry it.” The two watched the youth minister as he slammed his car door shut and, responding to Harry’s SOS, trotted over to them. “Hey, Tedster,” Harry said, “give us a hand here?”
“Sure thing, Counselor. And good morning to you, Pastor Ken. What a perfect day for Rally Sunday.”
“Going to be a scorcher.” Pastor Ken congratulated himself on having worn his short-sleeve clergy shirt over a pair of khakis. “Lots of folks should be out and about. We’ve been blessed with this perfect day for bringing in the sheaves.”
“And that’s exactly what we’ll do, Pastor.” Ted, who spearheaded the organizing committee of the event, considered the giant cross. “Didn’t know we were going to have a cross.”
“Pastor made it.”
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