Down from the Cross (17 page)

By the time he finished his conversation with Brian, Jane had already started working at the computer, bringing his fan database up-to-date, and the spell that had come over them both had been broken. It was back to business as usual.

She finished her work and hurried home to fix supper for her mother and tend to her needs before heading back to the church for the second night’s performance.

To her amazement, when she arrived at the church at six o’clock, she saw a number of panel trucks parked around the side door, with uniformed men scurrying in and out. The logo on their uniforms and the trucks said “Superior Audio and Video Services.” What were they doing there? This close to performance time?

“Can you believe what’s happening?” one of the wardrobe women asked while she sewed a new button on a costume. “They’ve actually installed huge television screens in the church gymnasium and the fellowship hall to take care of the overflow crowds. Last night alone, Pastor Congdon said they had to turn away over eight hundred people, and that did not count all those who called begging for tickets. Isn’t God good?”

Jane nodded, trying to take it all in. “Yes, He is.” She walked hurriedly up the steps to the gymnasium, meeting Pastor Congdon on his way down. “Oh, Jane. Glad you’re here. Guess you’ve heard about the big screens they’re setting up. After last night’s performance and that wonderful article on the front page this morning, plus all the television and radio coverage we’ve gotten, the chairman of our board called an emergency meeting, and they voted to have the screens installed to take care of the overflow crowds we’re expecting all week. Isn’t that great? Just think of all the additional people who will see our cantata and be touched by the Lord.”

She frowned. The magnitude of what was happening was overpowering. “But can we take care of all those people? Do we have enough counselors?”

“It won’t be easy. My secretary has been on the phone all day, calling those who are qualified to be counselors and asking them to be here every night. Plus, don’t forget we have a counselors’ class going on right now, and although those people haven’t received their certificates yet, they’re trained and ready to go. That should give us at least another fifty. In addition, of course, there are the people like you, who sing in the choir, who are also qualified to lead them to the Lord. Beyond that, we will just have to leave it all in God’s hands. Good thing we just added that new parking lot. We’ve even had to call on our college-age group to help the other guys direct traffic!” He headed on down the stairs after once again thanking her for bringing Keene to them and asking him to sing Jim’s part. She leaned against the banister and stared off into space.
Lord, when You do something, You really do it in a big way!

Even though they had expected it, people filled the sanctuary long before curtain time, with both the gym and the fellowship hall holding capacity crowds, some folks even sitting on the floor. Jane kept an eye out for Keene, but knowing he was probably in makeup, she went ahead and dressed in her costume. Though she had hoped to be over her jitters by now, she still found her hands shaking at the thought of singing before such tremendous crowds. But hadn’t God come through for her the first night? Calming her and giving her courage? Of course He would do it again. After all, she was doing it for Him, and she knew He would never let her down.

Like she had done the night before, Jane stayed in the wings whenever she was not required onstage, watching and listening to each scene. The scene in which the religious leaders brought the harlot to Jesus especially touched her this night, when they asked Jesus what should be done with the woman who had been caught in sin. Those men were trying to trap Jesus into answering and condemning Himself by His own words. He knelt and wrote in the imaginary sand, and Jane’s heart stirred. When Jesus stood and took the harlot’s hand, giving her a tender and loving smile, and said, “Neither do I condemn thee. Go and sin no more,” Jane was not able to hold back her tears. How could Keene go through this scene and still ignore the truth of God’s Word?
Don’t you see, Keene? Don’t you get it? God loves you and is willing to forgive you of your sins. Why, oh, why don’t you let Him?

Once again, when the pastor gave the invitation, the front of the sanctuary filled with those seeking forgiveness. With so many to counsel, Jane and most of the other members of the choir moved in to help. The leader assigned her to those in the church gymnasium. But when she passed through the lobby on her way up the stairs, she caught sight of Keene, surrounded by his many fans, smiling and signing autographs, and she felt such a burden for this man.
Why couldn’t he have been one of those kneeling at the altar?

She barely saw him Tuesday and Wednesday. With the studying and memorizing for
Down from the Cross
behind him now, he was spending most of his time closed up in his room, working on the new opera. Friday afternoon, he appeared in the office doorway saying he had an appointment and volunteering to drive her to the church that evening. She accepted, hoping to get another chance to talk to him about God’s Word. If he didn’t accept Christ soon, he would be on his way from Rhode Island, headed back to New York, and she would never have an opportunity to witness to him again.

On the way to the church, he chattered endlessly about the positive publicity the media had been giving their production and how many churches had been contacting his New York agent about him doing the same type of thing for them.

“I told my agent to let them know I don’t plan to make a habit of this sort of thing,” he said with a chuckle, maneuvering the BMW into a parking stall. “This was a one-time deal, and I only did it because a friend asked me to.”

“It must be very gratifying to know you’re in such demand.” Although her words were meant to be a compliment, with the inflection in her voice they did not come out that way.

He turned off the car and stared at her. “Was that a left-handed compliment?”

She forced a teasing smile. “I only meant… well… I have been answering your phone, you know. I am definitely aware of how many invitations you get. Brian keeps me well informed, too. He takes every opportunity to remind me you did this against his advice.”

He chucked her under the chin. “Brian works for me, remember?”

She laughed with an exaggerated, “Touché! How well I remember.”

Leaning closer, he asked, “Aren’t you going to wish me luck with tonight’s performance?”

“No.”

He tilted his head quizzically. “You’re not?”

“No, I don’t believe in such a thing as luck. Good or bad. Nothing with God is happenstance.”

“Oh? Knowing you, I should have realized that’s what you’d say.”

Again, Keene delivered a flawless performance. So did the choir and the soloists. Not that Jane wasn’t still nervous. She was. But by now she knew her faith in God would see her through, and it did.

While standing onstage, watching Jesus serve the disciples at the Last Supper, Jane nearly lost her composure. The scene took on a reality she never expected. Knowing Judas was going to betray her Lord, she wanted to shout out to Him, to tell Him Judas had negotiated His life for a few coins, barely the price of a slave. But while Jesus sang to those assembled, declaring His love for them, she kept her silence. It was only a pageant. There was nothing she could do to change history, and even if she could, she would not want to. It was necessary for God to send His only Son to earth to die for the sins of man in order to redeem them. Judas, though he was a betrayer, was part of that plan.

Later, when Jesus led His disciples to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray and they all fell asleep, she wondered how those who were a part of that closely knit group, the ones who should have loved Him most, could have slept so easily knowing He would soon be taken from them.

She watched Judas betray Christ with a kiss, identifying Him as the one the soldiers were after, and the way Peter cut off one of the soldier’s ears. She could not help it. She sobbed openly. How it must have grieved God to see His Son treated this way. Peter denied his Lord three times. How many times had Keene denied Him? Did Keene even care how many times he had denied God’s call on his life? Did he not realize God had sent him to this very place, at this very time, that he might learn about Him and accept Him before it was everlastingly too late?

Clothed as Mary, Jane stood in the dressing room and lowered her head, once again praying for Keene’s salvation.

In My own time, child. In My own time.

Although Keene stayed in his room all morning and Jane had very little contact with him, she knew something was wrong. She sensed it. She could feel it in her bones.

A little before noon, when she asked him what he’d like for lunch and he told her, “Nothing,” she knew she’d been right. An avid eater, Keene never missed lunch or any other meals. With two more performances to go, she knew he needed his nourishment.

“But I don’t want any lunch,” he told her in a firm tone when she knocked on his door for the third time. “I told you, I’m not hungry.”

She turned the knob and pushed it open a bit, unsure how he would react to her invading his privacy. “Please, Keene, would you at least let me fix you a bowl of soup? I noticed you had a can of chicken noodle soup in the cabinet when I was looking for the cinnamon.”

He yanked open the door and glared at her. “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want anything to eat!”

“Okay, okay! I get the message!” She backed away, holding her palm up between them. “I’m just concerned about you, that’s all. But if you want to get cranky about it, I’ll get out of your hair.” Lifting her chin in the air, she turned on her heel and strode off down the hall. “Just don’t say I didn’t offer!”

He followed her, catching up with her when she reached the office. “Look, I’m sorry! Give me a little slack, will you?”

She spun around, knowing she had fire in her eyes. Sometimes the man drove her crazy! “Give
you
a little slack?

How about you giving
me
a little slack? I only wanted to help you!”

He tried to place a hand on her shoulder, but she brushed it away.

“Okay!” He cupped his palm against his neck. “If you must know—I have a sore throat. I felt it coming on last night and gargled with some lemon juice before I went to bed, hoping it would be gone by this morning, but it wasn’t. In fact, it’s getting worse by the hour.”

“A sore throat?” She frowned the way her mother used to do when Jane was ill. “You poor thing! What can I do to help? Did you call a doctor? Have you taken any antibiotics? What about throat lozenges?”

“I’ve tried all of those things already, and yes, I called my doctor. But my throat is tighter and sorer now than it was this morning when I got out of bed.”

She began to wring her hands. “Oh, Keene, you should’ve told me instead of shutting me out.”

“And have you worried about tonight’s performance?”

She stepped up beside him and slipped her arms around his neck. “Of course I’m worried about tonight’s performance, but it’s you I’m worried about most of all. Do you think this may be from having to perform so many nights in succession?”

“I–I don’t think so. My doctor—” He shrugged and paused midsentence. “Never mind.”

Grabbing his hand, she tugged him toward the barrel-backed chair. “You sit right down here while I go fix you a lemon gargle. Fortunately, I bought some lemons at the store yesterday when you sent me to pick up some of those bagels you like so well.”

“I know. I used one.”

“I was planning on making a pitcher of fresh lemonade to surprise you.” She pointed her finger at him. “Stay. I’ll be back in a minute.”

When she returned, she had a cup of warmed lemon juice slightly diluted with water. She handed it to him. “Gargle.”

Tilting his head with a grin, he said, “Yes, Mother.”

She watched him take sip after sip of the lemon juice, gargling after each one. “Does it hurt very much?”

He nodded, wrinkling up his face after the last swallow.

Taking the empty cup from his hand, she leaned over him. “Let me look.”

Turning away and rearing back from her advance, he frowned. “At my throat?”

She laughed. “Of course, at your throat! What did you think I meant? The empty cup?”

He covered his face with his hand, his embarrassment showing. “You really don’t want to look at it, do you?”

“Of course I do. Now open your mouth and let me see.”

Leaning his head back, he opened his mouth slightly.

“More.”

He opened it a little wider. “Keene! Open your mouth!”

She peered in when he finally obliged and screwed up her face. “It’s really red! Are you sure this only started last night?”

“Okay, maybe two days ago.”

“And you didn’t say a word about it to anyone? Not even your doctor?”

“I kept thinking it would go away.”

She leaned forward, hovering over him again. “I’m going to pray for you.”

He bowed his head and shut one eye, peering at her with the other. “I suppose I have to close my eyes, don’t I?”

“Yes, you do,” she said, giggling. Then her tone turned serious. “Lord God, it’s me—Jane—Your servant. I love You,

Father, and I come before You asking You to touch Keene’s throat and make it well. There are two performances left. If he isn’t able to sing, they’ll have to be canceled, and the thousands of people who would have heard Your Word when
Down from the Cross
portrayed the last weeks of Jesus’ life, His horrible death, and His resurrection will not hear it and acknowledge their need of You. I don’t ask You so it will glorify our church, the choir, and all those who have worked so hard on the production, or for Keene. I ask it so Your name will be glorified. That through the words and the music many may come to know You. And if it be Your will, Lord, may Keene come to know You, too. He is such a fine man, and we praise You for sending him to us and for his willingness to step in and take Jim Carter’s place. Touch him, God. Even now, heal His throat. Use the talents You have given him to magnify Yourself. I pray these things in Jesus’ name, knowing You can answer prayer above and beyond what we ask or think. Amen.”