And the Shofar Blew (14 page)

By the time Stephen arrived at the Christmas cantata, the fellowship hall was packed. He stood in the back corner, along with half a dozen others who, like he, had had to park six blocks from the church. The way he saw it, if the membership of Centerville Christian kept growing like it was, the powers that be were going to have to consider building a bigger facility to accommodate the flock. This pen was becoming too small.

He could relax now that he had found a space to stand. The air smelled of pine mingled with gingerbread. The hall looked like something from an old-time Victorian Christmas card with pine-and-holly garlands tied with red velvet bows on windowsills, podium, top of the piano, and front of the stage.

Everyone quieted when Pastor Paul entered—elegantly dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and black tie—and announced the cantata. Paul’s prayer was a bit long, but eloquent as always. He looked downright regal as he nodded his head and then took a seat in the front row. Stephen wondered why Timmy wasn’t sitting with his father. The boy was perched on a chair between Abigail and Samuel Mason.

When Eunice entered, Stephen caught his breath. Her blonde hair hung down around her shoulders. She was wearing a single strand of pearls and a long black dress. Stephen swallowed hard and spent the next hour watching every move she made, relishing the pure pleasure of the experience from the dark back corner of the fellowship hall. He had never seen a woman so completely, inwardly, outwardly, breathtakingly beautiful.

This was her third Christmas cantata, and each was better than the last. More sets, more singers, more cookies, more punch, more decorations. More work! When the performance was over, Stephen lingered in the back. He’d save his congratulations for later. The choir members in their costumes were mingling with those who had come to listen and watch the show. People had to draw back quickly when LaVonne Lockford passed by, glittering wings flopping. Stephen almost laughed. She looked more like a giant mutant fairy than an angel.

Now that the show was over, thanks and congratulations offered, the flock stood grazing at tables laden with Christmas cookies and hot apple cider. Eunice was smiling, Timmy at her side, but Stephen recognized fatigue when he saw it. At a guess, he’d say the adrenaline rush had worn off and collapse was near at hand. Paul was busy serving punch to the mayor and his wife.

Stephen made his way through the crowd. His gaze met hers, and he felt a shock of awareness heat his blood. It always caught him off guard. He hoped she didn’t have a clue how much he admired her. He didn’t want her to put up walls and withdraw from their friendship. “Hey, sport, how’re you doing?” he said to Timmy. “What do you say we go get a gingerbread cookie before they’re all gone? Unless your mother nixes the idea.”

“Mommy?”

Smiling, she ran her hand over his slicked-back hair. “Go ahead.”

Stephen took two cookies and filled an extra cup of punch, but when he turned, he saw that Paul had signaled his wife to join him with the mayor. Eunice rose from the chair where she’d been sitting with the Masons and threaded her way through the crowd to shake hands and offer greetings to Paul’s illustrious guests. When Eunice looked around, Stephen raised his hand so that she spotted him. He pointed down. Timmy was still safe at his side. She smiled and beckoned.

“Do you want to meet the mayor, Timmy?”

“No. I want to go back and sit with Sam and Abby.”

Dead set on that, Timmy took off. Stephen shrugged and pointed again. Timmy was already sitting between the Masons. Stephen followed and handed Abby Mason the cup of punch he’d poured for Eunice. “Quite a crowd tonight.”

“Over three hundred,” Samuel said. “Some standing.”

“I was one of them.”

“We were here an hour early or we wouldn’t have gotten a good seat,” Abby said.

Samuel put his arm on the back of Timmy’s chair. “The fire marshal was here and chewing his nails. If he wasn’t a member of the church, he’d have to cite us for violations.”

“Might be better if they put on the performance two days running.”

Samuel nodded. “I think so.”

“Too bad we don’t have a bigger church building.” When Samuel raised his head, Stephen grinned and lifted one hand. “Not that I’m looking for work, mind you. It was just a thought.”

Abby smiled tightly. “A thought I’m sure has occurred to Paul Hudson.”

“Abigail. We wanted growth.”

“Growth, yes, but—” Samuel cleared his throat. Abby closed her parted lips and said no more.

Amused, Stephen drew a chair from one of the rows and sat with them. He looked between the two elderly people. “I’ve never seen that happen before.”

“What?” Samuel said, bemused.

“A man able to silence a woman without saying a word.”

Abby slapped his knee. “You’d do well to take a few lessons from my husband instead of trying to stir up mischief.”

Stephen grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

“My wife is seldom quiet for long,” Samuel said with a chuckle.

Stephen leaned back. “Do you think we should keep the church small?”

“Depends on how you define small,” Samuel said.

Paul had complained about the elder’s caution several times over break-fast at Charlie’s. “Say fewer than three hundred.”

Samuel looked at him. “God has never been concerned with numbers, Stephen. He’s concerned with focus and the heart. Growth in numbers is a blessing as long as spiritual growth and maturity come along with it.”

Stephen nodded. “I agree, but sometimes growth comes fast. Remember, the church gained three thousand members in one day during Pentecost.”

“Yes—” Samuel smiled—“and Christ had reared 120 individuals for leadership. They had lived with Jesus, heard His teachings, seen what it meant to live by and practice faith. The Holy Spirit came upon them as they were praying together in that upper room, and it was through the Spirit of the Lord that hearts were stirred that day. It wasn’t because of a good show.”

Stephen felt his hackles rise. “Are you saying we shouldn’t have programs like this?” He jerked his head toward the stage, thinking of how hard Eunice must have worked to bring it all together.

“Not at all,” Samuel said, and Stephen felt the probing behind the elder’s look. “Clearly, Eunice’s motivation was to put together a program to please the Lord. Anyone who knows her also knows she loves the Lord and seeks to serve Him. And everyone who attended tonight heard the heart of the gospel, Jesus Christ, proclaimed in every song and scene. The birth of mankind’s Savior is the reason for celebration. Eunice is a prime example of the right focus and heart I’m talking about.”

Others joined them, steering the conversation to weather, visiting family members, holiday plans, Christmas shopping, and complaints about prices. Stephen found his attention wandering until Abby leaned close. “As babies grow, they need something more than milk, Stephen. They need
meat.”
She patted his knee as though he were a little boy. “And now that the men are talking football, it’s time for me to see what needs to be done in the kitchen.”

Babies? Meat?
Had his mind drifted so long he’d lost complete track of the conversation? Bemused, Stephen caught Samuel looking at him. He had the feeling the Masons were trying to tell him something and he didn’t have the ears to hear it.

The crowd thinned. Stephen stayed to help stow the folding chairs beneath the stage. Paul stripped off his suit jacket and helped. Eunice had returned to the parsonage to put Timmy to bed. “It went well, don’t you think?” Paul said.

“Better than well, I’d say.” Stephen leaned his weight against the trolley of chairs and rolled it into the storage space. “Packed house.”

“I told Eunice she’ll have to plan on two nights this Easter. Word will spread about the quality of the cantatas. We won’t be able to get everyone in with only one night. I had one lady come up and tell me that the performance was as good as anything she’s seen in San Francisco.”

“Maybe you ought to sell tickets.”

Paul laughed. “Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.” He straightened after locking the storage-compartment door. “The congregation is out-growing the building.”

“I was saying the same thing to Samuel Mason.”

Paul’s expression clouded. “Some people see growth as a threat. Any kind of change scares them.” He called out thanks to two other deacons who had finished stowing chairs. “Just leave everything else. Some of the deaconesses are coming back in the morning to sweep up and finish cleaning the kitchen.” Paul fell into step with Stephen as he headed for the door. “The problem is parking.”

“You could say that.” And parking would remain a problem. The church had been built when Centerville was just forming and most parishioners were within walking distance. Things were different now. Most church members were from outside Centerville itself. Some came from twenty miles north.

“I was thinking.” Paul paused on the steps between the sanctuary and fellowship hall and shrugged on his coat. “The elders increased my salary last year. It would be a stretch, but I think I could afford to buy a home in one of the new suburbs. If I moved my family out of the parsonage, we could demolish it and turn that part of the property into a parking lot.”

“Nice idea, but it’d cost more than you might think, and it would only be a short-term fix. Not to mention the trouble you’d create with your neighbors over turning that sweet little place into a slab of asphalt.” Stephen shook his head. “Nope. Bad idea all the way around, Pastor. Better and more cost-effective if you looked for property and started from scratch. Build with the idea of expanding as the congregation grows.”

Paul tipped up his collar. “Sounds right up your alley.”

Stephen wasn’t so naïve he couldn’t see where Paul’s thinking was heading. “I’ve never designed a church.” Not that he hadn’t thought about it on occasion since becoming a deacon of CCC.

“There was probably a time when you’d never designed an office building or a house either.” Paul went down the steps and started across the courtyard lawn.

“You couldn’t afford me!”

Paul laughed and waved without looking back as he headed for the parsonage where Eunice would be waiting for him.

Hunching into his leather jacket, Stephen made for his truck.