Stepping Down (13 page)

Wherever
Sharla went, she sure is taking a long time to come home. If she doesn’t come
through that door in a heap of sweat from working out and with a couple of bags
of something-or-another as evidence of shopping, I will have to check with the
IRS to make sure she doesn’t have a job I don’t know about.

He
hoped no one from the media had stopped her.  Mark had gone so far as to
turn off all ringers on the house phones. The reporters and ambulance-chasers
somehow actually thought he would give them an inside scoop for a story or a
scenario that might lead to a wacked-out lawyer representing him. No matter how
many times he told them that there was nothing to report, they kept calling.
“What’s your relationship with Bria Logan?” “Is Bria Logan your child’s
mother?” “Pastor Carter, why would anyone want to kill you?”

He
could end the phone calls with the simple flip of a switch. But the blogs were
merciless. There was no way to stop people from slandering him in cyberspace.
People were comparing him to fallen ‘80s televangelist, Jim Baker, calling him
a “pulpit pimp” and saying he had to be a con artist because he’d also been an
insurance salesman. Someone, perhaps one with sense, had linked an aerial photo
of his house, saying that obviously the Carters weren’t “rich”. To which, there
were several replies from other people that pastors often have more than one
house.

People
posted that they knew for a fact he drove an Escalade, but there was no mention
that the car was going on ten years old or that he’d bought it before he was
ever a pastor. Comments ranged from “leave God’s people alone” to “I wouldn’t
be surprised if he was gay or one of those black-power reverse racism
preachers.” Of course, several women posted that if Mark was gay, they wanted
the opportunity to “turn him back straight.” To which one man wrote, “Please
don’t. He’s hot! LOL!”

They
laughed, they joked, and applauded the accident as though it were punishment
from God. They made nasty comments about Sharla’s curvy thighs and even made fun
of Amani, saying he looked like an alien.
An alien?

He’d
read a lot of stupid stuff online, but that one took the cake. Who did these
people think they were to read an article full of speculation and then comment
so negatively? What gave them the right to judge him and his family from clear
across the country? And these weren’t all the watch-dog types, either. When he
followed their profiles back to their Facebook pages, most of them claimed to
be Christian. They had families of their own. Children Amani’s age. Why were
they—his brothers and sisters in Christ— slandering him instead of
praying for him? Really, even if he were guilty, prayer would still be in order.

Even
if they weren’t Christians, whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?
The American way?

Out
of curiosity on one semi-intelligent blog post about the Pastor Carter
incident, Mark left an anonymous comment stating that people should not hold
pastors to a higher standard. He added, “God will, of course, but the most
important thing for a Christian to do is to grow in the knowledge of God through
Christ.”

In
just a few moments, the replies started pouring in: “Pastors are shepherds”,
“Pastors keep the flock in order”, “Pastors have to be held to a higher
standard, or else they’ll lead the people the wrong way.”

He
politely thanked them for sharing their thoughts, then exited off the web. Mark
promised himself for the fifth time since Rev. Jackson left the other day that
he wouldn’t go back on the internet and research himself. But with his best arm
still healing and no way to get out of the house, he didn’t really know what
else to do with all his free time. Even ESPN had gotten boring to him—a
sure sign that he was going down.

Examining
the books on Sharla’s bookshelf, he hoped to find one that might pique his
interest. Nothing. He’d read all the magazines twice. He even got the urge to
make dinner, but gave it up when he couldn’t open a jar of mayonnaise for the
sandwiches. He’d have to ask Sharla or Amani to put mayonnaise in an
easy-to-open plastic container.

The
list of things he needed her for was growing every day. Earlier, he’d done his
very best to shave with his left hand. He stopped halfway through the massacre,
so frustrated that a few choice words slipped out. He needed an electric
shaver. It wouldn’t cut as close, but it would have to do.

Of
course being right-handed, Mark had known that it would be hard to cope without
his dominant side. But he had underestimated how difficult it would be to make
concessions with his left. He looked forward to rehab so that he could get his
life back.

Mark
carefully positioned himself in the corner of the couch so he’d stay upright.
He turned off the television and sat in silence for a moment before it occurred
to him that he was actually home alone with no Sharla, no Amani, no
distractions from church, nothing pertinent on the to-do list. He’d already
done the micro-exercises the physical therapist printed off and recommended he
do on his own, since it was clear he wouldn’t have insurance to pay for
services any time soon.

Now
what was he supposed to do with himself?

And
where on earth was Sharla?

Mark
got a text from Jonathan: Get well soon!

He
decided to return with a phone call because, God knows, he desperately needed
to interact with a human being. “Hey, Jonathan, how is everything?”

“Great,
Pastor, just great.”

“Uh
huh.” Mark wondered how could that be, especially since the founding pastor was
officially on reduced-pay, in light of a bogus scandal. “Jonathan, could you
email me the week’s numbers?”

“Oh,”
his voice dropped, “Pastor Carter, I really don’t think you want to see those.”

“Yes.
I do. That’s why I asked.”

Jonathan
sighed. “Yes, sir.”

“When’s
the next advisory meeting?”

“Tomorrow.
Ten a.m.”

“Why
are we meeting on a Friday?”

“Sir,
I can’t answer that question.”

“Listen,”
Mark said, “I’m going to check with my wife’s schedule to see if she can bring
me. If she can’t, you come get me.”

“Awesome.
But sir, your arm. Should you be out?”

“Thanks
for your concern, Jonathan, but it’s an
arm
, not a brain. Anyway, First
Lady keeps me in tight bandages and a sling. I couldn’t move it if I wanted
to.”

Jonathan
managed an uneasy laugh. “Yes. I understand. I’ll wait to hear from you about
whether or not your wife is bringing you.”

It
sounded like a good plan until later when he told Sharla about it. “Absolutely
not.”

“What?”

“No
way are we going to risk infection. Honey, you have metal screws in your arm,
you’ve got a section that’s still an open wound. The less you get out in public
and risk infection, the better.”

“But
baby, I’m getting cabin fever here,” he came close to whimpering.

“No.
I’m not taking you, and you can tell Jonathan to save his gas money. I’m not
going to have you going to the meeting, then your arm starts hurting and you
have to take a pill, then you need to hurry up and get back home because you’re
getting sleepy and you need to lie down. Absolutely not.”

She
swished on back to their bedroom. Mark noticed her empty hands and perfect
hair. Again, he wondered where she’d been—especially since she’d returned
with such a nasty attitude.

“I
won’t hold it against you if my arm falls off!” he yelled to her.

“No!”
she hollered back.

Who
does she think she is?
But despite his outward dissent, Mark knew he was blessed to have a wife who
made such a fuss over him.

He
saved face with Jonathan by saying that something else had come up. It wasn’t
actually a lie. Something
had
come up—his wife’s veto.

“Pastor,
maybe you could join us virtually,” Jonathan suggested. “You could use the FaceTime
app on your iPad and I’ll connect using mine.”

“Oh.
So, like a videoconference?”

“Exactly.”

“That’ll
work. Email me the agenda and the numbers. I’ll figure out how to use the app
thing on my wife’s tablet by tomorrow.”

Mark
fiddled with the app for a while and decided that his office was the best place
to set up shop for the meeting. Then he opened the agenda Jonathan had sent
him. Immediately, he realized why Jonathan had been so persistent about Mark’s
attendance.

Jonathan’s
image was the first to appear onscreen. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,”
Mark replied. “Can you see and hear me, too?”

“Loud
and clear,” Jonathan confirmed. “I’m going to set the camera up at the table
where you’d normally sit. How’s that?”

“Excellent.”

The
streaming video bounced around before settling in a spot that gave Mark a clear
view of the men surrounding the table. “Where’s Kit?”

Rev.
Jackson answered, “He couldn’t make it tonight.”

“You
didn’t answer my question.”

Marshall
obviously wasn’t used to videoconferencing. He gave Jackson a silly smile that
he probably wouldn’t have if the pastor was physically present in the room.

Mark
put him on the spot. “Marshall, where’s Kit?”

“Uh…he’s…”
Marshall’s eyes darted to the other men for help. When they offered none, he
came clean, “He took off today.”

“I
see.” Exactly what Mark thought.

“Let’s
pray.” Jackson took over, opening their meeting with a request for guidance and
understanding. “First thing is to look at last week’s numbers.”

Mark
switched his attention to Amani’s computer. Jonathan reviewed the data,
pointing out the most significant stats. “Attendance was down by approximately
thirty percent, offering by forty-five.”

“How
many came to Christ?” Mark asked.

“One
in each service, sir,” Jonathan said.

There
must have been something about viewing the men from a different perspective
that gave Mark even more insight, because that camera told it all. “Why isn’t
this information in the report, like we discussed?”

“I
was…later advised not to,” Jonathan reported.

“Advised
by whom?”

Rev.
Jackson intervened, “We’ve decided that information can’t actually be
determined. Some people accept Christ while sitting in their seats, without
ever coming to the front altar.”

Jackson
had a point, but Mark needed to make his. “If I
ask
for a report, I
expect to have it.”

“Duly
noted,” Marshall spurted with a mocking expression that was amplified by the
underside of his chin, which Mark happened to be able to see well.

Mark
wondered how being gone for a little over a week could usher in such
disrespect. One man talking crazy, another man didn’t even show up for work.

Rev.
Jackson charged ahead with the agenda. “Understandably, the numbers aren’t
good. But we’ve had setbacks before. We’ll bounce back. Amen?”

“Amen”
from all.

They
reviewed the bids for choir robe cleaning and decided on a new company that was
trying to gain traction in the community. The process for the children’s
baptism program had been revised so that the children didn’t have to attend
four classes before professing Christ publicly.

Rev.
Jackson read the next item on the agenda. “Partnership with local chapter of
fraternity, Theta Phi Mu, to host an event at New Vision.”

“That’s
a no,” Mark quickly stated.

“Well,
I think we ought to table it for now since Kit isn’t here. This was his idea,”
Rev. Marshall said.

“It’s
a no today, and it’s gonna be a no tomorrow, next week, next month, period,”
Mark made himself perfectly clear.

“Pastor,
I don’t think you understand. We’re in a
crisis
,” Marshall stressed.
“New Vision is being dragged through the mud. We
need
to partner with a
well-known, well-respected organization to let the community know that we’re
still the place to be despite the smaller numbers and all the…you know…the
scandal you’ve put us in.”

It’s
a good thing the meeting was taking place on a couple of tablets instead of in
person. Mark wanted to yell in Marshall’s face so hard, spit flew out, “You
know me! You know I haven’t done anything wrong!”

But
thanks to God’s infinite wisdom, the setting had been altered.

“Rev.
Marshall, even though this is a scandal, the best thing we can do is assure the
congregation that nothing scandal
ous
has actually taken place.
Furthermore, even if I had done something scandalous—which I have not,
for the record—but if I
had
, that wouldn’t necessarily be a reason
for members to leave their God-appointed posts in the church.”

“Yeah,
yeah, I get all that,” Marshall jived. “What I don’t get is why you have a
problem with Theta Phi Mu. What—you wanted to pledge when you were in
college and they wouldn’t accept you?”

Mark
wasn’t sure if Rev. Marshall really thought that was funny or if he was
insulting Mark double-time by pretending to forget the fact that his pastor
hadn’t gone to college. Again, the cyber-space between them had served its
function well.

“It’s
got nothing to do with this particular fraternity or any Greek letter
organization, for that matter. Maybe
Jonathan
doesn’t know, but
you
and especially
Kit
know where I stand about keeping the exalting of
Greek letters and the exalting of Christ separate. We don’t mix the two at New
Vision.”

“Like
I said, that’s Kit’s thing,” Rev. Marshall bowed out of the battle. He must
have known there was no way he could win that one.

Rev.
Jackson resumed the lead, covering the next month’s budget requests. Then
Marshall discussed the temporary redistribution of salaries. Mark listened
quietly, waiting for the bottom line. “Pastor, since we’re all going to be
taking up the slack while you’re…out indefinitely…we propose to reallocate
thirty percent of your salary.”

He
and Sharla could survive off of thirty percent less from the church. It
wouldn’t be pretty, but they could swing things until he was released to resume
normal duties. Though he really didn’t like the thought of fulfilling what he
believed to be Kit’s agenda—which was to get as close to “rich” as
possible through ministry—he had to admit that the proposal was
reasonable. The advisory board had always done its best to be fair, if nothing
else. “What’s the schedule?”

“Schedule?”
Marshall repeated.

“Yeah.
Who’s preaching when? I’d love to come and be fed, myself.”

Marshall
shuffled through a few papers. “I’ll do this coming week’s sermons—Sunday
and Wednesday, since it’s the first week.  Kit’ll take second, Jackson
third. We’re still thinking through the fourth.”

“I’ll
do it!” Jonathan piped up.

Rev.
Jackson and Rev. Marshall looked at Jonathan like he was crazy. Actually, they
looked at him more like he was trying to steal money from their pockets, which
would be in order if he actually stepped into the rotation.

Jonathan
took advantage of their silence. “I’ve been to seminary, I’ve studied under
some of the best preachers, had my sermons critiqued. And isn’t fourth Sunday
youth Sunday? It would make sense for me to preach then.”

The
thought of Jonathan preaching in the near future was definitely not on Mark’s
radar. Sure, Jonathan had studied and was an excellent resource when it came to
researching the context of scriptures. More than once, Mark had been able to
add insight to his sermons based on information that Jonathan
produced—that is, when Mark wasn’t downloading them from SermonDepot.com.

But
could they trust the flock to a kid?

Mark
leaned toward his iPad, which only captured Jonathan’s profile. “I have to say,
this is a surprise.”

Rev.
Marshall laughed, “Most definitely. Jonathan, you’ve only been here…what? Six
months?”

Jonathan
pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. “Yes, I understand. But this wouldn’t
be my
first
first sermon. I preached at my cousin’s funeral. I-I spoke
at my niece’s kindergarten graduation.”

Rev.
Jackson and Marshall busted out laughing. Mark had to cover his mouth.

“Whoo!”
Marshall slapped Jonathan on the back. “Aw, man, you got me!”

“Did
anybody get saved?” Rev. Jackson joshed.

Thankfully,
Mark could see that Jonathan himself recognized the humor in his statement.

“Okay,
okay. That wasn’t the best example,” he admitted, “but I came to this church
not just because I needed a job. I needed a place where I could grow, where I
could learn to run a church. And I know that preaching is part of what makes a
church run well. I gotta get my start sooner or later. Everybody does, right?”

Jackson
and Marshall calmed down long enough to acknowledge Jonathan’s addendum. That’s
when Mark, for the first time, recognized that if Jonathan had the ability to
win over two men who stood to lose money because of him, he might have a future
in sharing the gospel on a large platform.

“So,
Jonathan, do you mind if I ask you something?” Mark probed. “It’s a question I
ask every potential minister at New Vision. One I’ve never written down, one
that I ask you not to share with anyone else who might be interviewing with me
for such a position in the future.”

“Shoot,”
Jonathan consented confidently.

Marshall
tilted far back in his seat. Jackson folded his hands on the table.

“If
you died, were suddenly standing at heaven’s gate, knocking, and God asked you
why He should let you into His kingdom, how would you answer?”

Jonathan
looked at his two comrades quizzically. They stared back. Stoic. For some
reason, Mark felt his chest tightening.

Jonathan
laughed nervously. “I mean, that’s…like…a trick question. God would never ask
me that.”

“Explain
yourself.” Mark prompted.

The
camera shifted. Jonathan talked to Mark face-on. “Because that would be like me
going to my best friend’s house, knocking on the door and him asking me why he
should let me in.  That wouldn’t happen because we would have talked
earlier that day, we might have talked while I was on the way over—when I
got there, he wouldn’t do anything else but open the door wide and welcome me
in. That’s how it’ll be with me and God because of Christ. He’ll welcome me
like a friend because that’s what we’ve been all along the way.”

In
all his years of asking men and women that same question, Mark had never heard
or seen a more sincere, passionate answer. And with His unmistakable power.

Jonathan
turned the camera back toward its previous arrangement, capturing the
astonished expressions of his elders, who sat speechless.

Mark
spoke for them all. “You’re in the rotation, Jonathan.”