And the Shofar Blew (19 page)

He planted his feet, his face darkening. “I doubt you could even imagine some of the things I’ve done in my lifetime.”

“A pastor’s wife hears more than most priests in a confessional, young man, and you need to know the truth. Nothing, I repeat,
nothing
you have ever done is too much to be washed away by the blood of Christ. He loves you. He died for you.”

“I’ve been in prison.”

“So have we all.”

His laugh mocked. “Not the same kind.”

“The walls we build around ourselves can lock us up tighter and longer than concrete and steel. Now, listen, dear. If God could create the earth and the universe and everything in it, do you really think your sins can defeat Him?” She held his gaze. “Never. I say never. Christ Jesus has already proven His love for you.” She smiled up at the man tenderly. “Not to mention the fact that He’s the one who brought you over to us so that you could hear what He has to say to you personally. He whispered in your ear and you responded. That tells me He’s chosen you to hear His Word. Now He’s leaving it up to you to choose Him.”

Three Harleys roared outside. A worn-down look came into the man’s eyes. Face hardening, he headed out the door. Eunice watched as he swung his leg over his Harley and put on his helmet. He raised his head as he pulled his motorcycle back. His gaze met hers in a piercing look as his black-booted foot went down hard on the starter. The Harley roared to life.

“Is he going to come to our church?” Timmy stretched to look out the window.

“We can hope, Timmy.” Lois waved. The biker gave a slight nod before turning the bike and speeding toward the freeway on-ramp heading north. She rumpled Timmy’s hair. “If he does, you make him feel welcome. You say hello to him and sit with him. All right? That man probably has a lot in common with one of Jesus’ disciples, Simon the Zealot. Do you remember him?”

“No.”

“No?” She looked across the table. Eunice blushed. She hadn’t spent much time on the disciples. She concentrated on Jesus.

“Well, Simon was a Zealot.”

“What’s a Zealot?”

“In our day and age, a zealot would be a terrorist, someone who plans and carries out acts of violence and murder for political reasons. Zealots were sometimes called Sicarii because of the curved knives they carried.”

The waitress took their order.

Timmy knocked over the paper-wrapped sugar cubes and started building again. Lois watched, amused. Eunice felt uneasy with her surroundings. “Paul is going to be furious with me for bringing you here.”

“You didn’t bring me. I brought you. Besides, we needn’t worry. David will have his head so full of plans for building the church that neither one of them will even wonder where we went or what we did. Assuming they will even be at the parsonage when we return.”

Eunice had never heard Lois speak with such cynicism. She studied Lois as her mother-in-law looked at the patrons dining at the long counter and in the tight booths and clustered tables. Her smile was wistful. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a place like this. I’ve grown too used to church functions, conference centers, club restaurants, and private homes.”

“The same is true for me.”

“A pity, isn’t it? This is where Jesus would’ve come to eat.”

Eunice saw the sorrow in Lois’s eyes. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

“Oh, nothing. And everything.” She smiled faintly. “What’s bothering you, my dear?”

“Nothing. Everything.” She shook her head. “As afraid as I was coming in the door here, I look around, Lois, and see how much these people have in common with our parishioners. They come in for service. They sit for an hour, expecting to be waited on. They nibble at what Paul teaches them, and then they ride off to life as usual, nothing changed.”

“And you’re the waitress?”

“No.” She laughed bleakly. “I’m the jukebox. Drop some money in the plate, tell Paul what you want to hear, and he’ll make sure I fill the requests.”

“And the rest of the time?”

“Entertainment and background music. CCC has become a spiritual truck stop.”

“Why aren’t you writing songs anymore?”

“There’s no time.”

Lois’s face softened. “Oh, Euny.”

“That doesn’t matter, Mom, but Paul spends hours perfecting his sermons. He never speaks longer than fifteen minutes because someone told him people like short messages. Speak for any longer than that and the men start thinking about the football game they’re going to miss if they don’t get home soon, and the women are making shopping lists. A thousand other things consuming their thoughts. So he works fifteen hours on fifteen minutes of preaching that never gets deeper than their earwax.”

“And probably goes in one ear and out the other with weekly regularity. Wait until the Christian schools start teaching courses in advertising. Then we’ll probably be having three-minute commercials for God.”

Eunice’s laugh broke. “I’ve never heard you talk like this.”

“Comes with age and experience. God allows us to suffer the slings and arrows of our own stupidity.” She rested her arms on the table. “Does Paul listen to you anymore, Eunice? Do you get
your
fifteen minutes? And don’t give me a shrug. What you say to me won’t go further than this table. I want the unvarnished truth.”

“No. He doesn’t listen to me.”

“Does he listen to anyone?”

“Other than Dad, you mean?”

“His father is a given, but what about others? His elders? Close friends in the church?”

“Paul spends a great deal of time with Gerald Boham and Marvin Lockford.” His handpicked, yes-men elders. “And he has lunch with Stephen Decker every week or two.”

“Who is Stephen Decker?”

“He designs and builds high-end houses and office buildings.”

“Oh.” Lois closed her eyes.

The waitress brought their meals. Lois joined hands with Timmy and Eunice and prayed quietly. Timmy picked up his hamburger and tried to get his jaw to open wide enough to accommodate it. Euny laughed and cut it in half, took out half of the lettuce and some of the onions, and pressed it down for him.

“David is considering retirement.”

“You’re kidding! I never thought Dad would ever retire.”

“Things change. Sometimes for the better.” Her expression was enigmatic. “He should step down.” She stabbed a tomato wedge. “It’s high time.”

Eunice couldn’t imagine David Hudson retiring from the pulpit for any reason.

Lois gave her a bright, if somewhat brittle, smile. “Of course, things could always change again. We’ll just have to wait and see what the Lord decides.” She asked Timmy how he liked his hamburger, and then how he liked school, who his friends were, what he liked to do for fun.

The sun was going down as they walked the mile back into town. Timmy skipped along the sidewalk to the corner and back. Lois chuckled. “He’s covering twice the distance we are.”

“He’ll sleep well tonight.”

Lois took her hand. “About David retiring. David would be annoyed if he knew I’d mentioned it to you.”

“I won’t say anything.” She doubted anything would ever come of it, but if talking about it disturbed Lois, Euny would never mention it again.

Lois squeezed her hand before letting go. “I’m very glad Paul married you, Eunice. You’re the daughter of my heart.”

When they reached the parsonage, a note had been scribbled below Lois’s. She handed it to Euny. “Can you decipher this?”

“Paul’s taken Dad to the Centerville Golf Course clubhouse for dinner. He left the number in case anyone needs to get in touch with him.”

“And I suppose he wrote
fly
at the end because he was in such a hurry.”

Eunice laughed. “That’s an
I,
Mom, not an
f.
It means ‘I love you.’ ” Lois removed her windbreaker. “Nice that he goes to such lengths to let you know.”

Stephen put his pencil down and straightened. Raising his arms, he stretched, trying to ease the cramping in his shoulders. Looking over the sketches and ideas, he grinned. He hadn’t had this much fun in years!

He glanced at his wristwatch. Three in the morning! Tapping it, he got up and checked the clock on the microwave in the kitchen. It said the same thing. He was going to have a hard time hauling himself out of bed at six so that he could get to Sacramento for an eight o’clock meeting. He opened his refrigerator and took out a piece of cold pepperoni pizza. Might as well pull an all-nighter, then stop at a Starbucks and toss off a couple of espressos. He took a soda from the fridge door.

Paul Hudson probably had no idea of the seed he had dropped. Nor that it had taken root and was consuming Stephen’s imagination. What sort of church could he build in order to glorify God? One question overflowed into another until Stephen found himself researching, calling other architects he knew, ordering books on churches across the nation and around the world. He studied everything from chapels to glass cathedrals.

Samuel Mason talked about living a life that glorifies God. What better way to accomplish that than to build a church that would stand and proclaim His name to everyone who saw it? Of course, it would take money, lots of money, to build the kind of facility he was sketching. But the congregation was steadily growing. As was the church budget.

Polishing off the soda, Stephen crushed the can and tossed it into the recycling container in the corner. He finished the last bite of pizza, tossed the pizza crust into the trash, washed his hands, and went back into his home office.

He hadn’t been this jazzed about anything since . . . he couldn’t remember when.

He set the alarm on his wristwatch so he would have time enough to shower and shave before he headed north to Sacramento. Then he settled himself onto the stool, picked up his pencil, and went back to sketching. He doubted Centerville Christian would ever go for something this grand. But that didn’t stop him from dreaming.

Dreaming never cost a dime.

CHAPTER 8

A
BBY TOOK her apron from the drawer and tied a bow behind her back. “Why don’t you gentlemen go out on the patio and enjoy the last bit of sunshine while I clean up the kitchen? It’s hot enough in here without you two adding your steam.”

Samuel chuckled. “What do you say, Stephen? You think it’ll be cooler outside?”

Abby turned at the sink. “You can always turn on the sprinklers.”

Samuel opened the screen door, inviting their dinner guest to follow. “Never argue with a lady, Stephen. If you win, you just end up feeling guilty.” The younger man laughed as he pushed his chair up to the kitchen table.

It was considerably cooler in the backyard. Samuel turned on a faucet and the soothing hiss of sprinklers started. “One of the disadvantages of having an older house is the sorrowful lack of central air-conditioning.” He settled into a lawn chair beside the glass table shaded by a large green canvas umbrella.

Stephen sat and stretched out his long legs. “Ever think about adding it?”

“Every summer when the temperatures hit the high nineties.” And every time, he and Abby decided there were better places to invest their money: a Christian hospital in Zimbabwe, a missionary in Thailand. Besides, they had four fans. And sprinklers. When the sun went down, they opened all the windows and let in the cooling air.

Stephen grinned at him. “Are we going to finish the book of Romans tonight?”

“Well, I don’t rightly know, Son,” Samuel responded in mock solemnity. “Depends on how many questions you have and how long we end up talking about whatever comes up.” He looked at Stephen over the rim of his glasses. “It’s only been six months since we started Romans.”

Stephen laughed and crossed his arms behind his head. “The longer I live in Centerville, the more time I seem to have.”

“Are you running out of work in these parts?”

“No. Just not as obsessed about getting the big-money projects as I was. I’ve made enough in the last three years to give me breathing space. Time to think. Time to dream.”

“Time to spend with your daughter?”

Stephen frowned. “Not much hope of that. I called my ex to ask if I could take Brittany on a trip to Disneyland. I thought she and her new husband might appreciate a little time alone. She said she’d already made plans for Brittany to stay with a friend.”

“How long since you last saw Brittany?”

“Three weeks, and then only for a couple of hours.”

The screen door banged as Abby came out with two tall glasses of iced tea. “Something to wet your whistles.”

Stephen stood. “Why don’t you join us, Mrs. M.?”

“Sit down, Stephen. I’d rather have the heat than the gnats.” She waved her hand in front of her perspiring face. “Otis called.”

Samuel took her hand. “He’s not coming?”

“Oh, he’s coming. Said he wouldn’t miss it, but he’s beside himself about Mabel again. She’s not eating anything at the convalescent hospital. She told him everything tastes like paste. I’m going to make some peanut-butter cookies. You know how she loves peanut-butter cookies.” Her voice was husky.

“We can go for a visit tomorrow. We can drop by that Chinese place where we all used to go for lunch and pick up some chow mein for her.”

Abby nodded and went back inside the house.

Stephen watched her go. “Abby’s taking it hard, isn’t she?”

“Abby and Mabel have been friends for decades. They used to do most of the cooking for the church potlucks. They organized the family picnics and vacation Bible schools. We don’t have many close friends left.” He gave Stephen a rueful smile and sipped his tea. “It’s gotten so Abby lets me open the mail. She doesn’t want to be the first one to read about another friend ending up in convalescent care or dying.”

“It’s too bad about Mabel.”

“Mabel is tired and ready to go home to the Lord. It’s Otis who’s having the hard time. He doesn’t want to let her go. They’ve been married fifty-eight years.” Samuel looked out over the lawn to the garden he and Abby had first planted together when they were young and their children small. The roses were in full bloom along the white picket fence. “I understand how he feels.” Someone had to pass through the pearly gates first. Selfishly, he hoped he would be the first to go. He couldn’t imagine living out whatever time he had left on this earth without Abby beside him. Just the thought of losing her put a hitch in his throat. He took another sip of tea.

Stephen leaned forward. “There’s a lot of talk about building another church.”

Samuel set his glass down carefully. Stephen must have had lunch with Paul in the last few days. “It comes up every now and again.”

“What do you think about the idea?”

Had Paul Hudson put Stephen up to asking the big question? “It takes a lot of money to build a new church.”

“Sure it does, but we have a congregation of givers and two services running full every Sunday and a full one Saturday night.”

“Yep.”

“But you still have reservations.”

“Yep, but I’ve been praying about them.” He was well aware of Paul’s conviction that the old church building wasn’t big enough—or good enough—for his growing congregation. Samuel had tried to discuss the matter quietly with him, but Paul wasn’t into discussing anything. He wanted action. He wanted to keep things “moving forward.” Every time Samuel spoke to the young pastor, he came away feeling as though he had been in a spiritual battle. Paul Hudson treated him with respect, probably due to Eunice’s attachment to Abby, but Samuel still had the feeling that Paul saw him as an old man, out of touch with the world and a boulder in the way of progress.

“Would you mind sharing your concerns with me, Samuel?”

Samuel took his glasses off and pulled out his handkerchief. “What do you need before you start putting up a building, Stephen?”

“Most projects begin with an exploratory phase and a feasibility committee. Then you retain an architect to come up with a conceptual drawing to fit the needs and land. The elders vote, the design phase begins, the architect is hired, the design team gathered, and a critical path for the work organized, and you go for it.”

Samuel cleaned his glasses slowly. “Back up a little.”

“How far?”

“Permission might be a good start.”

Stephen sat up. “Well, sure! That goes without saying. You take the idea and the drawings before the congregation and get their okay.”

Samuel put his glasses back on. He could see Stephen was excited about the idea. Did he want to be the one to design and build it? And if so, what were his motivations? He was still young in the Lord, learning to take baby steps in his walk with Christ. A building project could knock him flat on his face. Worse, it could injure him and put him out of the race. “I wasn’t thinking of the congregation.”

“Planning commission? County supervisors?”

“Someone a lot higher up the ladder, Son. You go to the Head of the church. You go to the Lord. You lay everything out before Him in prayer and then you wait and you listen and you watch. You do those things first, and when you get an answer, assuming the answer is to move ahead, then you proceed. Not before. You shouldn’t start something and then pray the Lord will come and help you finish it.”

Stephen’s mouth tipped. “What about the leap of faith everyone talks about?”

Everyone
meaning Paul. “Faith is based on knowledge.”
Not unbridled
personal ambition.

“And what about the great commission? What about expanding our territory?”

Samuel had been to services, too, and listened to week after week of Paul preaching on boldness in faith, moving forward, expanding God’s territory. He grabbed hold of every new catch-phrase. But was it really God’s territory Paul wanted to expand? Was it coincidental that his determination hardened every time David Hudson visited? Just because the father had built a church that housed five thousand members didn’t mean the son had to do the same thing. Samuel wanted desperately to give the young pastor the benefit of the doubt, but sometimes he found himself wondering which father Paul Hudson was following.

“David Hudson never had the time of day for his son,” Eunice said once. “He was too busy building his empire.” The girl had blushed and apologized for saying such a horrible thing about her father-in-law. But her short lapse in familial loyalty had given Samuel and Abby a hint of what was behind Paul’s drive for success. And all the slights and veiled insults Samuel had suffered from Paul over the past five years ceased to hurt so much. He realized the boy was still struggling for his father’s approval. The realization filled Samuel with compassion for Paul, as well as trepidation over the spiritual battle raging inside the younger Hudson. Paul seemed oblivious to it, for he saw nothing wrong in the worldly methods and thinking that were creeping into his programs and teaching. Eunice said she’d fallen in love with Paul because he had a heart for God. Samuel had sensed that in Paul, too, but right now, Paul was badly in need of open-heart surgery.

Samuel had tried hard to build a relationship with Paul Hudson. He was still trying. If not for Eunice and Timmy, he’d have no insights into what made Paul tick or what troubles he was facing and needed brought before the Lord in prayer. Samuel had spent more hours on his knees in prayer for Paul than for any other member of the congregation. Except possibly Stephen Decker.

“Samuel?”

“Sorry.” He gave Stephen an apologetic smile. “Just lost in my thoughts. You mentioned the great commission and taking a leap of faith.”

“A building project would accomplish both.”

If it was God-directed. “Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.” Or Paul Hudson had made it up for him with subtle prods and incentives.

“Not exactly, though some might accuse me of having a vested interest.” He leaned his forearms on the patio table, his eyes glowing. “I’ve been doing conceptual drawings for months. Just toying around with some ideas. Not that I’m trying to talk anyone into building.”

“You know what it would entail?”

“From the purchase of land to moving in, you bet I know. A building project would test the commitment of the congregation.”

“And there’s the rub, Stephen. Commitment to build a church facility doesn’t necessarily mean commitment to the Lord.” He could see Stephen didn’t understand what he was saying, but he couldn’t explain without sounding as though he were set against Paul Hudson, which he wasn’t.

“Centerville Christian is bursting at the seams, Samuel. What’s your answer?”

“I don’t have an answer. Just questions waiting on answers.” More than half of the new members were attending Centerville Christian because they had found their previous church “too fundamental and intolerant.” Paul had softened his message. He no longer taught the foundational classes. His sermons brushed over the gospel and zeroed in on the good life in Christ. He’d forgotten that God wanted followers to live a godly life. That called for obedience, and sometimes meant suffering and sacrifice. The heart had to change before a life changed, before one experienced the bounteous joy that came from a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, an indwelling of the Holy Spirit, a complete soul overhaul.

“So you’re not set against exploring the possibility of a building project?”

“I’m for taking the time to find out what the Lord wants us to do. What’s the motivation behind building a new facility?”

“We’re growing. We need more space.”

“Just because something grows doesn’t mean it’s healthy, Stephen. Cancer grows. How many of those who came to hear Paul’s preaching on Sunday morning are interested in a midweek Bible study? We need to make disciples of those who are attending now. They need to learn the Bible. They need to mature as Christians. What does God want from members of His church? How do they live lives pleasing to the Lord? How do we offer ourselves as living sacrifices?”

Stephen listened, but he had been primed. “The more people you have, the more talent you can tap for leadership.”

“And you think you have to have a big, new building to do that? The apostle Peter in the power of the Holy Spirit preached the gospel on Pente-cost and brought three thousand new members into the church. I don’t think their first order of business was a building project.”

“They gathered in the temple, didn’t they?”

Samuel chuckled. “You’ve been reading your Bible.”

Stephen grinned. “I thought it might be a good idea with you as my teacher.”

Samuel was pleased. “Yes. They spoke before the temple. They met in the corridors and on the steps and in private homes. They continually devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. They weren’t asking for pledges to build another temple. God is building the temple, one living stone at a time. You and I are talking about two different kinds of building projects, Stephen.”

Stephen relaxed back in his lawn chair. “I think I see what you mean.” He grew thoughtful.

“So, you’ve done some conceptual drawings.” Had Paul asked for them?

“Quite a few. For kicks. Better to spend an evening doing that than pouring scotch.”

“Still a struggle?”

“Always will be. It’s the thorn in my side.”

“We all have besetting sins, Stephen. They’re the trouble that brings us to our knees and keeps us depending on the Lord for strength.”

Stephen gave him a wry look. “I haven’t yet gotten to the point in my faith where I can call alcoholism a blessing.”

“You will.”

“What I’d like to know is your besetting sin.”

Samuel laughed with him. “Let’s just say I wasn’t always the cool, calm, and collected man you see before you now.”

The screen door creaked and Abby stuck her head out. “Hollis is here.”

“We’re on our way in.” Samuel stood and picked up his empty glass. “Why don’t you bring your conceptual drawings over, Stephen? I’d like to see what you think a church should look like.”

“I think I got ahead of myself.”

Samuel smiled. “Depends on who was nudging you.”

What Samuel feared most was Centerville Christian Church ending up the victim on the field of battle over Paul Hudson’s soul.