And the Shofar Blew (12 page)

A plain white envelope with Paul’s name handwritten lay on the desk blotter when he came into the church office the next morning. When he tore the end off, a key fell out. He read the one-line note: “I no longer feel welcome at Centerville Christian Church, and therefore resign as elder. Otis Harrison.”

Paul sat down heavily. Depressed, he sifted through the mail and saw an envelope with Hollis Sawyer’s name and return address. Probably another litany of complaints. Annoyed, he sliced the letter open with his penknife. “All my efforts to work with you have failed,” he read. What efforts? Hollis had tried to block him at every turn. Even when he’d contracted Stephen Decker to build the display cabinet, Hollis had showed no sign of gratitude. Did the old man realize how much that had cost and that the money had come out of savings he and Eunice had managed to put aside for Timmy’s college fund? He had a good mind to tell Hollis Sawyer, but his anger evaporated as he read Hollis’s last few lines. “I have loved and been a part of this church for longer than you are old, and now find there is no place for me. What can a man do when he is made to feel old and useless by the pastor? You have left me with no choice but to resign with some semblance of dignity.”

Heart sinking, Paul read the letter again. He felt Hollis Sawyer’s frustration and hopelessness and was filled with remorse. Not once did Hollis recount past arguments. Instead, he summed everything up in a way that punched a hole in Paul’s confidence. These were two of the three men who had called him to the pastorate here, and they were saying he had failed them. Closing his eyes, he asked God to forgive him. He’d never intended for these men to leave the church. He’d just wanted them to step aside. They had called him to revive Centerville Christian. All he’d ever wanted from them was their backing in his efforts. Instead, Otis and Hollis had criticized and fought him on every front. Now he had to find a way to deal with the inevitable gossip about why two elders had resigned and left the church.

At least he was now free to fill their posts.

Let me find men who are like-minded, God—men who will help me make
Centerville Christian the center of worship I know it can be.

He prayed for more than an hour and ended up feeling drier than he had when he started. Sometimes he felt as though his prayers bounced off the ceiling and landed back in his lap. He opened a drawer and took out the church roster. He jotted down the names of men who shared his vision. Two stood out as though the Lord Himself had put a light on them. Both were transfers from other churches, where they had served as deacons and elders.

Marvin Lockford and his wife, LaVonne, lived twenty minutes north of Centerville, which put Marvin within easy commute of the church. He was manager of a local branch of a nationwide real estate firm, and was listed as one of their top salesmen. “We were looking for a congregation as on fire for the Lord as we are,” Marvin had told Paul when they discussed membership six months ago. He and his wife had sat right in this office and talked about their faith and service before coming forward the following Sunday during the worship service.

“Frankly, Paul, Centerville Christian was dry as bones the one time we attended,” Marvin had told him. “They had an old man in the pulpit who rambled, and they were singing hymns from a hundred years ago. So we made the commute north. We liked the other church well enough, but it was too far away to get involved in any of the programs. And we miss being involved. We like to serve. When we heard Centerville Christian had called a new pastor, we thought we’d give it one more try. So here we are, happy as clams.”

And they were generous with their financial support.

Paul put a star next to Marvin Lockford’s name.

The next one who struck him as being a prime candidate for eldership was Gerald Boham. His wife, Jessie, was a school nurse at one of the high schools south of Centerville. Gerald was a financial planner who ran his business out of his home. He had run a big firm in Los Angeles, but decided it would be better for his clients and his family life if he set out on his own. Apparently, he was doing well; he’d just purchased a Jaguar.

If these two men would agree to serve as elders, Paul knew he would have men working with him instead of against him. Marvin and Gerald were exactly the kind of men he needed to keep the church growing.

Paul tapped his pencil, wondering if he should call the other pastors and ask for some kind of reference. But what would they think if he asked for references and did a background check on a Christian brother?

He needed more than three elders to manage operations now. Centerville Christian hadn’t had deacons in the last ten years because of small membership. The elders had done everything from the down-and-dirty work, counseling members, and planning functions to managing the financial end of the church. The church was filling up, and he needed men who could paint, plumb, build cabinets and shelves, change light bulbs in the high ceiling of the fellowship hall, and take on some of the gardening work like mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges. He had more important things to do. It would be an added bonus if the men organized and taught adult Sunday school classes, and their wives taught the children.

Deacons would save money by not having to hire a professional—money better spent on a sound system, educational supplies, new praise books for the pews, banners for the walls, new cushions for the pews, and a VCR for videos for the growing number in the youth group. Paul had done most of the menial work himself. Of course, Samuel Mason had helped as much as he could for a man in his late seventies, but when he did, Paul had to suffer through his sermonizing on one subject or another. Paul had to tune out the old man so he could get through the work faster and move on to more important things. Custodial jobs took time away from what Paul knew he should be doing—studying and teaching, spending more time meeting important people in the community, building bridges from the outside world into Centerville Christian Church.

All the men he had in mind were married with children, except one. Their wives were capable women who might also be called upon to serve in some capacity in the church. Abby Mason had already drafted several of them to help in the nursery and take on teaching some of the grade-school classes, but more were needed. Abby was terrific in the nursery, but the lesson plans she gave the others were outdated. Grade-school and high school children should be hearing modern-day stories that incorporated biblical principles rather than the same timeworn tales of Daniel in the lions’ den, David and Goliath, or Moses opening the Red Sea.

The more Paul thought about it, the more convinced and excited he was that the resignations of Hollis Sawyer and Otis Harrison were blessings straight from the Lord. Their departure heralded a new era at Centerville Christian Church. No more fighting over music and the order of worship! No more comparisons with Henry Porter! No more meetings that lasted two hours and accomplished nothing!

Eunice could start up an adult choir and a children’s choir. With all her training, she should be able to organize and orchestrate cantatas that would bring in the public at Christmas and Easter. If the programs were good enough, visitors would become regulars at the services.

Lord, give me five years and I’ll make this church a focal point in the community!

Pulsing with excitement, Paul picked up the telephone. He knew church protocol said he should inform Samuel Mason of his plans before beginning the process, but Samuel might want him to seek out the other two ex-elders and try to get them back. No way! He didn’t want them back. Let their resignations stand. Let them leave the church. Good riddance. No, he wouldn’t call Samuel. Hollis, Otis, and Samuel had been a trio for years. Better if he called Marvin and Gerald first and found out if they were willing to serve as elders. Once he had their agreement, he would call Samuel. Otherwise, Samuel would want him to wait. He’d call for caution, references, background checks. He’d throw up a dozen other roadblocks that would take up valuable time. One thing was clear to Paul: This church could not function with one pastor and one stubborn old elder.

He punched in Marvin Lockford’s work number.

“Of course!” Marvin was eager to serve. “I’ve been an elder before. I know what the job entails.”

Paul called Gerald Boham, who was equally willing. “I’d be honored to serve,” Gerald said. Paul explained again that the matter would be settled as soon as the church body took a vote on it, but that he didn’t think there would be any problem with gaining members’ approval. The new members now outnumbered the ones who had been here for decades, and the newer ones would follow his leading.

Paul felt a niggling discomfort in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it was something he had eaten that morning. Or had he eaten? He went through the rest of his mail, tossing the bills into a basket, perusing the brochures on church growth instead. He jotted ideas into a notebook he kept in his top-right drawer. The telephone rang once, twice, thrice, and the answering machine picked up. He hated using it, but he had to screen his calls so that he could get some work done. If he answered every call that came into the church office, he’d be spending all of his time running around and visiting various members of the church rather than preparing sermons and lessons.

What he needed was a handpicked associate who shared his vision and was qualified to shoulder some of the load. He glanced over the financial reports. Offerings had increased during the last few weeks since he had begun writing his sermons to a seeker audience. Perhaps an associate could be the first order of business for the new eldership. But first there would have to be an increase in his own salary so that he and Eunice could move into a house of their own. It didn’t have to be very big. Three bedrooms would be nice so that he could have a home office. He’d have more time with Eunice and Timmy that way. And the parsonage would be available for another staff member and his family when they came along.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

Paul made a list of men who would be good deacons. He reached half of them before noon. When he went home for lunch, he didn’t tell Eunice about Hollis and Otis. She would only get upset, and want to know the details. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t tell her about Marvin or Gerald either. Nor did he tell her about the new deacons he’d selected. He’d tell her tonight, after he had spoken to all of them and before word spread and she heard the news from someone else. Like Samuel or Abby Mason. He’d have to prepare a roster on which the church members could vote. If all went smoothly, he would call for a church-wide meeting after this Sunday’s service. It wouldn’t take long. Everyone knew the church needed workers. And next year, he’d let the congregation nominate the deacons and deaconesses.

“Is everything all right, Paul?”

“Couldn’t be better.” He finished his sandwich and downed his glass of tomato juice. “I’m going to be doing visitations all afternoon.” A personal visit from the pastor was more likely to win agreement to serve than a telephone call. “So I’ll be late.”

“Do you want me to keep your dinner warm?”

He wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it on the table. “No.” He would go down to Charlie’s Diner and see if he could connect with Stephen Decker. Sally said Stephen ate breakfast at seven and dinner between six and seven. He gave Eunice a quick kiss. “Go ahead and have dinner without me.”

“It’s getting to be a habit.”

“It can’t be helped.”

He ruffled Timmy’s hair. “Be a good boy for Mommy.”

“Paul?”

“I’ve got to run, honey.”

“Couldn’t you stay for thirty minutes? Even a businessman gets a lunch hour.”

“I’m not a businessman.” She, of all people, should understand, having grown up the daughter of a pastor. “I have a lot of work to do and hardly enough time as it is. Did you want to talk about something specific? Is it important?”

“I guess not.”

He kissed her again. “We’ll talk later this evening.” He would tell her all his good news when it was all settled.