Stepping Down (20 page)

Quickly,
Danny led Mark and Sharla out of the building. They stopped at his car. “Get
in.”

Mark
got in the back; Sharla took the passenger’s side.

“What
was that all about?” Sharla panted.

“There’s
something about Boomie that they don’t want to mess with,” Danny inferred.

“You
think Rozanno’s on his payroll or something?” Mark guessed.

“I
don’t know. Could be.” Danny cracked his knuckles. “Or he might be state’s
evidence, they might be building a bigger case against him—drugs,
prostitution. Bringing him in now might blow something they’ve already put
millions into. I don’t know.”

“But
what about Bria?” Mark pleaded.

Sharla
shot a dagger at him with her eyes.

Mark
ignored the jab. “This guy is dangerous. He wanted her dead—me, too,
probably.”

Sharla’s
eyes softened with the implication.

“I
don’t know what to tell you about that. All I can do as your attorney is advise
you to take the report clearing Sharla and run. We’re not gonna get Boomie off
the streets with this particular case.”

Maybe
Hernandez could rest well knowing he’d cleared Sharla’s name, but that wasn’t
enough for Mark.

Thanks
to Jonathan’s texts, Mark was able to keep up with New Vision business to some
extent. The numbers were still declining, though not as sharply. Local news had
begun to devour its next victim: a teacher who’d been caught sleeping with her
students. Like Jackson had said, they’d followed fresh blood.

The
bloggers who’d trashed him had new headlines; the commenters posted their
latest negativity. Within a matter of a few weeks, Mark’s name had been dragged
through the mud and left to dry. 

Fortunately,
he didn’t have as much time to spend on the internet. Between preparing for and
leading family devotions, teaching Amani how to do things that didn’t involve
screens, reconnecting with Sharla, and struggling through physical therapy,
Mark couldn’t have followed up on all of his Google hits if he’d wanted to.
Besides, if something really important came up, Jackson or Jonathan would let
him know.

This
Friday was one of those times. “Pastor, I’ve got a few things I need to run by
you before our next meeting. I know you’re not officially back until next week,
but could you come by the office a little early Friday?” Jonathan requested.

By
that time, Mark had come to respect Jonathan’s judgment as much as he could with
someone who still looked like he’d have to show an ID to get a drink. “Sure
thing.”

Parking
at the church lot again that early in the morning, got Mark’s juices flowing.
He’d already been in prayer for an hour at home before coming to the
church—something Pastor Phillips advised him to do when he’d called
earlier in the week to check on Mark.

“Tell
you like this, sin and pride and selfishness is like yeast – they rises
overnight. That’s why His grace and mercy got to be new and fresh every time
the sun gets up. You got no business conducting God’s business without dyin’ to
yourself fresh every mornin’.”

Climbing
in and out of Sharla’s small car was getting old. He couldn’t wait for his
appointment with the insurance representative, an acquaintance from his days at
StateWay. They could finally move forward with the claim now that all criminal
implication had vanished with Rozanno’s report. The day he got a taller
cab—whether an SUV or a truck—couldn’t come fast enough.

A
pleasant sense of familiarity coursed through his veins as he unlocked the side
door of the church and walked toward his office. The smell of plaster and
carpet still lingered, welcoming him back to that place he now recognized
wasn’t actually
his
.

He
unlocked the suite.

“Hello,
Pastor!” Jonathan greeted him warmly from across the desk.

“Same
to you.”

“You
look good, sir. Can’t wait to have you back.”

“Isn’t
this coming Sunday your turn to preach?” Mark guessed.

“Yes,
it is.”

“I
look forward to it,” Mark encouraged him.

He
hoped Jonathan’s message would be a nice addition to Jackson’s personal
testimony, shared the previous week.  Jackson wasn’t really a preacher so
much as a storyteller, and a good one at that. He’d shared how Christ changed
his life from that of a lyin’, womanizin’, juke-joint piano-playin’ rascal to a
clean man with one woman on his mind. He’d said he wasn’t perfect, a statement
Mrs. Jackson had “amened” loudly, but that God was faithful. And he trusted God
to keep working on him.

“What’s
your topic for Sunday?” Mark asked.

Jonathan
tapped a few keys on the computer and read from the screen. “To the Utmost.
Coming from Hebrews chapter 7.”

“Wonderful,”
Mark cheered. “I’m teaching my family from Hebrews this week. I’ll share my
notes with you, if you’d like.”

“That
would be great,” Jonathan sparked. “I like this.”

“What?”

“You
know, the chance to collaborate with God, then you.”

“So
long as you keep it in that order, I think you’ll be fine,” Mark advised. “What
did you want to see me about?”

“Oh,
you may want to sit.”

Mark
blew out air. “Alrighty, then. Let me put my stuff in the office.” Mark left
the attaché behind his desk and rejoined Jonathan. “What’s up?”

“Miss
Bria has been trying to reach you. She’s left messages.” He handed Mark several
pink slips of paper.

The
pastor thumbed through them. She’d called six times over the last three days.
All of them the same: “Call me.”

“I
wouldn’t give her your number,” he said, “but I promised that I’d let you know
she called. What do you want me to do about her?”

Mark
raised both eyebrows. “I’m going to call her back.”

“Oh?
I mean, after all the trouble she’s caused, I just didn’t think, you know,
you’d want anything to do with her.”

The
confusion in Jonathan’s face required an answer. In fact, he’d been so
unquestionably faithful throughout that whole ordeal, Mark owed Jonathan a
thorough explanation.

“Bria
is Amani’s birth mother. We adopted him out of the foster care system. I think,
originally, she was trying to seduce me so that she could somehow get back into
Amani’s life. But in her efforts to get close to me, Christ got close to her.
Next thing I knew, she apologized to me, and she was trying to tell me the
truth at my car when some guy comes up shooting at us. We hopped into my car to
get away, and that’s what led to the wreck.”

Jonathan’s
mouth hung open. “Wow. That’s how it happened, huh?”

“Yep.
Now you know.”

“Thank
you, Pastor, for telling me. You wouldn’t believe how hard it was to fight back
the press, the tabloids, the members…it was crazy.” Jonathan shook his head and
pressed palms against his ears.

“Thanks,
Jonathan, for having my back. A lesser person might have caved under the
pressure. You’re alright with me.”

“’Preciate
it.”

Mark
checked his watch. “Guess I’ll give Bria a call before the meeting.”

He
slipped into his office and closed the door for privacy.

Since
the operator didn’t give him any flack about transferring the call, Mark
guessed the media had laid off Bria, too, thank God.

“Hello,”
a dim voice creaked.

“Bria.
It’s Pastor Carter.”

“Hi,
Pastor. I’m so glad you called.”

Mark
had to listen carefully to make out her words. “I’m so glad you’re doing
better,” he replied cheerfully.

“How’s
your arm?”

Mark
smiled. Given her injuries, his arm wasn’t worth discussing. “Getting better
every day. You?”

“Me,
too. My swelling has gone down. And I can sit up pretty good.”

Somehow,
Mark knew what was coming next.

“I’m
ready to see Amani, now that I don’t look like a monster anymore.”

A
mixture of emotions flooded Mark’s body. She had no idea how much Amani wanted
to meet her, too. Nor how much Sharla dreaded their reunion. There was also the
question of how it might go with Lisa in the room. Was it a set-up?

“Hello?”
Bria sputtered.

“Yes.
Um…yes. I’ll bring him to you. I’ll call you first, okay?”

“Okay.
Thank you.”

“You’re
welcome.”

Kit
was early that time. Had his good church suit on with his briefcase and
presentation folders ready to roll. As soon as Jackson turned the agenda over
to him, he eagerly distributed them to Mark, Marshall, Jackson, and Jonathan.

“Before
anyone says anything, hear me out. Straight?”

Though
he’d asked for everyone’s agreement, Mark knew Kit’s request was aimed at him.
“Okay.”

“Theta
Phi Mu is Houston’s most active African American fraternity. Take a look at
their numbers on page two.”

Mark
flipped through the manila folder and skimmed the numbers. Over twenty thousand
likes on their Houston area Facebook page. Five alumni chapters throughout the
metroplex consisting of almost four thousand active members.

“Granted,
a city like ours has many organizations with active members,” Kit adlibbed,
“but they’re not just four thousand men. They’re four thousand
college-educated
men, which equates to better-than-average jobs, higher-than-average
salaries, greater-than-average influence in the community. Plus their wives,
who tend to have those same qualities. These are the kinds of connections we
need for New Vision, the kinds of members we need to attract if we plan to get
back on our feet and fly.”

Marshall
nodded. “Looks like you’ve done your homework, Kit.”

“Thank
you.” He smiled. “What I’m proposing is actually on page six. A networking
symposium hosted by New Vision and Theta Phi Mu fraternity here at the church.
We’ll have workshops and roundtables for established and potential business
owners. We’d have booth spaces available for rent so vendors could showcase
their products, too. It’s a win-win for everybody involved.”

Presented
in the “community effort” vein, it sounded harmless enough. But Mark had a few
questions for Kit. “How will this further the cause of Christ? What makes it
any different than if the fraternity had partnered with a recreation center or
the chamber of commerce?”

“Well…”
Kit stalled, “since the fraternity is not a religious non-profit organization,
they really can’t, you know, say anything in a way that makes it sound like
they’re proselytizing. But many of them, I’d say most of them, are Christians.”

Marshall
dove into the conversation, “Not everyone’s a preacher, Pastor. In the real
world, people have to be careful of what they say. Separation of church and
state.”

“I
get that,” Mark readily acknowledged. “But if it’s taking place
at the
church
, the separation is forfeited.”

“Okay,
we’ll open and close with prayer,” Kit conceded. “They still do it at
graduations, so I’m sure we can get away with it.”

Get
away with prayer at church?
Mark kept that one to himself and moved on to his main concern. “What about the
fraternity itself? Will they hang banners and advertise themselves at the
event?”

A
crooked grin punctured Kit’s face. “Pastor, I’m sure they’ll say or do
something to bring honor and recognition to the fraternity.”

Mark
couldn’t have said it better himself. “That’s precisely where the problem lies,
Kit. No fraternity, no sorority, no worship of Greek letters and gods and
secret societies should take place in the house of God. What people do outside
of church is on them. But I won’t bring that inside
these
walls.”

“Are
you serious?” Kit laughed.

“As
serious as I’ve always been about this issue, Kit. Don’t act brand new,” Mark
laughed as well. Even before he’d made the decision to make Christ the vision
for New Vision, he’d come to that conclusion and made his entire staff aware of
his stance. Why Kit wanted to push it now was anybody’s guess.

Mark
felt the tension multiplying. He sensed that Kit and Marshall were on the same
page. Jackson and Jonathan hadn’t uttered one word. At that point, the only
thing coming from their side of the room was the ticking of the wall clock.

Not
that he could be persuaded otherwise, but Mark decided to ask them for their
input. “Jackson?”

“I
don’t know enough about Greek groups to know what’s what. I gave my
granddaughter four hundred dollars so she could pledge in college. Other than
that, I got nothin’.”

“Then,
obviously, you saw nothing wrong with it,” Marshall deduced.

“I
saw nothing at all,” Jackson spoke for himself. “She’d been watching a whole
bunch of old episodes of
A Different World
; next thing I knew she wanted
to attend a black college and pledge a sorority. She got a job, worked for some
of the money during the summer, I gave her the rest. If your granddaughter’s in
college, doin’ good, not pregnant, when she asks for something, you give it to
her.”

His
humorous anecdote loosened the stiffness in the room.

“Amen
to that,” Marshall concurred.

“Jonathan,”
Mark asked, “what’s your position?”

All
eyes focused on the youngest man in the room. Jonathan shook his head. “No, I
don’t know a whole lot about them, either. I have a friend who was going to
pledge, but decided not to after…you know…it all started.”

“Too
weak, huh?” Kit leered.

“No,
actually
she
read through the Rho’s books of rituals and chants and
hymns they gave her and decided she couldn’t do it.”

“Wait
a minute – my granddaughter is a Rho. What kinds of rituals?” Jackson
urged Jonathan to spill the beans.

“I
don’t know. It’s all secret stuff,” Jonathan said.

“Naww.
Young folk ain’t got no better sense than to put everything online these days.”
Jackson sat up in his chair. “Go on the internet and pull up a ritual book for
the Rhos. I’ll bet we can find something. Shoot, I paid four hundred dollars. I
got a right to know what my money went toward.”

Jonathan
flipped open his iPad and tapped the screen. Seconds later he announced, “Got
it. Let me print it off. I’ll be right back.”

Jonathan
darted from the room, toward the main office.

“The
Rhos are
not
Theta Phi Mu,” Kit objected in the meanwhile.

“True,
but my point is—it’s important for everyone in this room to understand
where I’m coming from.”

Kit
puffed up his chest, then expelled a huge gust of air.

“I
want to know
exactly
what the words are,” Jackson fussed, caught up in
his own drama.

Jonathan
returned, laying a copy of the sorority’s lyrics in front of each man.

Rho National Hymn

Rho, dear Rho,

Our faith we pledge

For the love and grace

Bestowed by thee.

With faith in God and Mind and Heart

To serve thee is our aim.

Carrying out the great commands

Of heaven and earth.

That the praise of Rho

May be sung.

Always.

Rho, dear, our own.

Rho, dear Rho.

The bond of sisterhood

That we live to be.

We cherish thy teachings.

Your light shines

Across the world.

That thy glory, thy honor,

and praises be sung

Always.

Rho, dear, our own.

And when this life is over,

Rapture our souls to thee.

We’ll forever be,

Faithfully,

Rho, dears, your own.

Jackson
exclaimed, “What in the world is this mess she done pledged to?”

“Hmmm…”
Marshall muttered, “it does sound questionable.”

“Like
I said, Theta Phi Mu aren’t the Rhos.”

“Let’s
pull up
their
song,” Marshall suggested.

“That’s
disrespectful,” Kit argued.

“Fine.
Can one of them let us know what song they’re singing every time they meet?”
Mark asked.

“If
you look on page two, you can see that they’re based on Christian principles,”
Kit spewed.

“That’s
just like saying everyone who wears a cross on their necklace is a believer.
Based on Christian
principles
doesn’t mean based on
Christ
,” Mark
maintained.

Kit
threw his hands toward the sky. “You’re impossible. I can’t deal with this
old-school, backwards thinking anymore.” He snatched his folder from the table.

Mark
couldn’t believe his eyes. Kit, a man who’d been with New Vision since its
inception, was preparing to walk away. “Kit, why are you doing this? I’ve
always taken this stance.”

“That’s
the problem! You won’t embrace the
new
thing Christ is doing in the
church!” Kit exploded passionately.

Mark
stood, his blood pumping wildly. “But the gospel isn’t new. The gospel of
Christ is timeless!”

“Everything
in the church isn’t about Christ!”

Mark
paused, hoping that the irony of Kit’s statement would hit him. “Kit, come on,
let’s pray about this. The Lord will bring us to an understanding.”

Kit
stood on the other side of the table, sweat forming on his distressed forehead,
nostrils flaring. “No.”

And
then Mark noticed the torturous gleam forming in Kit’s eyes.

Kit
blinked twice. “I’m out.”

Mark’s
heart ripped down the center as he watched a man he’d once considered a good
friend walk away from the ministry they had built together. It was Kit who had
been there to negotiate the loans with banks, review contracts, and research
the best resources and grants. Granted, Kit was a bit money-hungry, but his
obsession with the bottom line had been part of the reason the church was able
to operate so smoothly, with little waste.

More
than anything, Kit had once believed in Mark.

But
he was gone.

Jonathan,
Marshall, and Jackson looked up at Mark in shock.

“You
gonna go talk to him?” from Jackson.

Mark
gave a short-term answer, “Not now”, but he feared that the long-term answer
wouldn’t be much different. As much as he wanted to bring Kit back on board, he
couldn’t do so without compromising his own personal convictions. If other
pastors wanted to preach motivational speeches and join forces with
fraternities, so be it. But as for him and
this
church, they wouldn’t be
mixing the two.

“Guess
since that was the last item on the agenda, we can dismiss,” Jackson ventured.

“Before
we do, I just want to state for the record that New Vision is returning to its
first love—Christ. Anybody else who doesn’t feel led to stay with this
mission is welcome to leave in peace now,” Mark affirmed to himself as much as
the men still sitting around the table.

“I’m
in.” Jackson led the declaration.

“I’m
in.”

“I’m
in.”

Mark waited until
after twelve noon, which was the soonest he could call Pastor Phillips, because
before then, the older man would be in his prayer closet.

At
12:01 he typed his newfound mentor’s number. “Hi, Pastor Phillips, it’s Mark
Carter. Tugga.”

“Hello,
son! Good to hear from you!”

And
like a father might listen to his son, Pastor Phillips listened as Mark
recounted the state of affairs at New Vision.

“Well,
people—even Christians full of the Holy Spirit—don’t always agree.
The important thing is to remove all the malice from your heart, stay prayerful,
and keep doing the work of the Lord as you believe you are led. If everybody
you know go a diff’rent way, don’t you mind them.”

“But
what if, hypothetically speaking, I’m wrong?” Mark voiced. “What if God doesn’t
care one way or the other about the fraternity?”

“For
the record, I agree with you. But you got to remember what Paul said in Romans.
We free in Christ to do whatso’never we wanna do, only everything ain’t
beneficial. You got to get to a place in God where you hear Him clear as a
bell. And don’t let nobody talk you out of what you believe God told you to do.
Even if you a little off, He’ll honor your faith in Him and teach you a lesson
anyway. Didn’t we just have this conversation?”

“Yes,
sir.” His words reminded Mark of the many times he had to reiterate things to
Amani. Sometimes it seemed like words barely skimmed his ears.

“I
want you to look in Acts chapter fifteen. See where Paul and Barnabas, both of
‘em filled with the Spirit of God, had a sharp disagreement. They went their
separate ways, but they both kept on doing the work of the Lord.”