Godless (34 page)

Alex searched
his wife's eyes for any hint of doubt. Tamara had said three times that she supported his decision. But the moment of truth had arrived. In a few minutes he would exchange a steady paycheck for a clear conscience. Resignation, he agreed, was the best course of action. And, despite uncertainty over how he would provide for the family, an inexplicable sense of confidence had taken up residence where nagging timidity had lived for the past year.

He felt the change during Sunday's sermon. Alex delivered the kind of message he should have preached long before. Rather than indirect, vague references to respecting elders he told the congregation what they needed to hear.

Volunteering for the Youth Initiative is not heroic. It is suicide.

Coaxing parents to volunteer is not a prudent financial move. It's a violation of the fifth, sixth, and tenth commandments.

Remaining silent in the face of evil is not pastoral sensitivity. It's implicit consent.

Alex even told the congregation about the letter. “I don't want any of you to be surprised,” he had said, “when you read in the news this week that I wrote an open letter to our elected officials challenging them to uphold human dignity rather than expand the transition industry.”

The look on Phil Crawford's face during that message should have struck fear into Alex's heart. But it hadn't. Alex had already decided his next move. The church deserved to know the real reason he was leaving. It might, he hoped, prompt some to reconsider their own choices. Perhaps even their own worth.

“Are you ready?” asked Tamara, tightening her grasp.

He squeezed her soft hand. “I am. You?”

She nodded bravely.

“Then here we go.”

They walked through the same office complex Alex had entered nearly every day since becoming pastor of Christ Community Church. He glanced at Mrs. Mayhew's empty desk.

“Well,” he said with a chuckle, “I guess this is one way of getting rid of an incompetent assistant.”

Tamara gently slapped his shoulder in rebuke.

“Truth is,” he added, “I'm going to miss her. She can't keep a confidence, but she does care about people.”

As they approached the conference room they noticed the lack of mingling camaraderie. It had been trumped by an awkward hush of tension. Phil Crawford, the lawyer, and five members of the board sat along with a gentleman Alex didn't recognize.

“I don't believe we've had the pleasure,” he said while extending a hand toward the stranger.

The man ignored the offer.

“This is Freddy Baxter,” said Phil tepidly. “He asked to join us for part of the meeting this evening in order to clear up the…um…misunderstanding that triggered a lawsuit against Christ Community Church.”

“Not a misunderstanding,” the man objected. “Your church caused a real mess for me and my—”

“Please, Mr. Baxter,” interrupted the lawyer, “let's not jump to conclusions. We invited you here as a good-faith gesture to discuss what happened. I promise, we'll get to the bottom of this situation and, hopefully, avoid a prolonged ordeal in the courts.”

Alex looked toward Tamara. She looked every bit as confused as he was. Both took seats at the conference table. “I was sorry to learn of your mother's diagnosis,” he said to the man. “She's a delightful person.”

The man huffed. “My mother is sick and, thanks to you, will probably suffer more than she needs to.”

Alex looked toward the lawyer, who remained silent. Alex understood. Let the pastor, a man who has been asked to resign, take the fall.

“May I ask why you blame me for her illness?”

“Not for her illness. For her decision.”

“Her decision to live?” asked Alex, prompting an agitated wriggle from Phil Crawford.

“Her decision not to volunteer.”

“I see,” said Alex. “So you think I'm to blame for your mother's view on suicide.”

Freddy Baxter appeared to resent the statement. “There, you see,” he said accusingly, his eyes shifting back to the lawyer. “He equates transitions with suicide.”

“Now, Pastor,” interjected the lawyer, “it would be best if we avoided moral judgments while discussing such a difficult, personal decision.”

“Actually,” said Alex, “difficult, personal decisions are exactly the time to discuss moral judgments.”

A sudden sound summoned all eyes to look toward the door. Brandon Baxter was entering the room. “Sorry I'm late, everyone,” he said. “I just learned of this meeting about an hour ago.”

Phil Crawford flashed a false, puzzled expression. “Really?” he said with a lilt. “Sorry about that, Brandon. Must have been some sort of mix-up that—” Phil stopped short when he noticed an elderly woman following Brandon into the room.

“Hello, Freddy,” she said in her son's direction. The man appeared alarmed, then ashamed.

Ellie Baxter winked in Alex's direction with the same spark for life she had displayed when they first met in the restaurant. The day she relayed the story of her husband, Freddy's late father.

Alex rose to his feet. “Hello, Mrs. Baxter. Please, sit here.”

She accepted the offer gratefully. Alex moved two spaces, allowing room for the woman and her nephew.

Freddy Baxter made a single nod toward his estranged cousin. “Brandon,” he said coldly.

“Freddy,” came Brandon's chilly response.

Alex sensed a showdown was about to begin.

Phil Crawford spoke next. “Um, I'm afraid this is a closed-door board meeting.”

“And I'm a member of the board,” Brandon replied before Phil could continue, “who invited a long-term member of Christ Community to shed some light on a matter of pressing concern to the financial stability of this church.”

Phil, for once, held his tongue.

“Please, Aunt Ellie, tell the board what you told me earlier today.”

She fixed her gaze on her son's wilting eyes. “First, I'd like to correct a mistaken impression that I'm told prompted this evening's meeting.”

“Mother,” Freddy threatened.

Mrs. Baxter raised a single hand of maternal rebuke to silence her son.

“To begin, contrary to what my son may have assumed, he does not stand to receive any portion of my estate when I die.”

Freddy's eyes betrayed panic at the revelation.

She looked toward the lawyer. “Both my doctor and attorney were present when I made the decision. They will confirm that I was very much of sound mind and body at the time.”

All color drained from Freddy Baxter's face.

“You should also know that my decision to reject the transition option had nothing to do with the activities of, sermons from, or conversations with this pastor. Although, I must say, I greatly appreciated what he had to say during Sunday's message.”

She offered an affirming nod in Alex's direction before continuing.

“So any claim to damages my son has made can be ignored. Neither Christ Community Church nor Pastor Ware can be blamed for whatever financial problems Freddy and his wife may be experiencing.”

The man's head fell into his hands.

The board seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief at the disappearance of a threatening cloud.

“You should also know,” Mrs. Baxter continued, “that I had my lawyer draft language for a revised will. In short, I intend to leave a sizable portion of my estate to Christ Community Church.”

Phil Crawford slid his chair away from Freddy Baxter and toward the potential donation.

Brandon Baxter spoke next. “Aunt Ellie intends to give an initial contribution that is more than enough to pay off the remaining balance on the mortgage. With additional donations occurring on an annual basis until her passing, which, Lord willing, won't occur for many years.”

The woman placed her hand sweetly on her nephew's arm. “Now, Brandon dear, we don't know that.” She turned toward Alex. “I only know what someone recently told me.”

“What's that, ma'am?” asked Phil, as if suddenly enthralled.

“That God isn't finished with me yet,” she said with an endearing grin.

“Well,” said the chairman, “on behalf of the board I would like to extend my sincere thanks for your generosity. We believe the best days of Christ Community Church are ahead of us and—”

“There is one more thing,” interrupted Brandon. He appeared to enjoy cutting Phil short. “My aunt has included a stipulation on the gifts.”

The lawyer tapped a tablet and positioned himself to take official notes.

Brandon continued, “Alex must agree to continue serving as lead pastor.”

The chairman's eyes shot in the pastor's direction. Alex shrugged to indicate he'd had no prior knowledge of the suggestion. “I would be honored,” he said, “but I serve at the pleasure of the board and they've already asked me to resign.”

“Then I move that the board annul the earlier severance package offer,” said Brandon, “and instead offer Pastor Ware a ten percent raise if he agrees to continue on as pastor of Christ Community Church.”

“I second the motion,” said Roberto Wilson and Lydia Donovitz in unison.

“Now wait just a minute,” Phil objected. “The chairman is supposed to call for a vote.”

“The chairman wants to know who supports the motion,” said Brandon.

Before Phil could react, Brandon received near-unanimous approval.

Alex looked toward his wife. She appeared to be forcing back tears of relief. Then he looked back toward Brandon, who was wearing a satisfied grin.

“Pastor and Mrs. Ware,” Brandon said, “I think I speak for the entire board when I say we owe you an apology.”

“For what?” Phil Crawford interjected.

“For ignoring his objections to the transition industry, among other things that have tied his hands.”

“I appreciate that, Brandon,” said Alex. “But I'm the one who owes you an apology. I should have taken a stand much sooner than I did. I was as much a frog in the kettle as anyone else. I figured evil was part of the world in which we live and that our job is just to do what we can to comfort the suffering.”

“That is our job!” said Phil.

“It is, in part. But we must also do what we can to
prevent
the suffering.” He paused, then released a determined sigh. “And so I need to make my own stipulation. I will stay on as lead pastor if the board agrees unanimously to sign a statement of belief.”

“Already done,” said Phil proudly. “I instituted that policy about five years back.”

“Not the statement of doctrinal belief,” Alex explained. “A statement affirming the dignity and worth of every human life, from conception to natural death. And”—he hesitated—“clarifying that it will be the official position of Christ Community Church to oppose the transition industry.”

Before the meeting was adjourned, three monumental shifts had occurred.

First, Phil Crawford threatened to resign before storming out of the room. Mary Sanchez immediately recommended accepting the offer and nominated Brandon Baxter to replace Phil as chairman. The group approved by a vote of five to one. Alex finally had an ally in the chairman's seat. He also had an official invitation to craft a statement everyone would sign at the next meeting.

Second, Ellie Baxter wrote a check that would retire the church mortgage. With no monthly payment to cover, Alex could finally hire additional staff. Possibly even someone to “assist” Mrs. Mayhew.

And finally, Freddy Baxter slumped into the chair beside his mother like a boy who had, at last, seen the error of his ways. While closing the door behind him to offer the two a private moment, Alex watched them embrace: merciful mother forgiving a penitent child.

Alex now sat beside Tamara in the car, reflecting on all that had transpired. They prayed together, thanking God for invading dark moments with bright surprises.

That's when he heard the phone.

“Hmm,” he said after glancing at the screen.

“Who is it?” asked Tamara.

“Just a second,” he said while accepting the call.

“Pastor Ware?” A voice he didn't recognize. “My name is Tyler Cain, Denver Police. I hope you don't mind me calling so late.”

“Not a problem, Officer,” he said. It wasn't the first time the police had phoned after hours, usually to alert him to some tragedy that had befallen a parishioner.

“I have someone in custody who asked me to track down your number and give you a call.”

“A member of Christ Community?” asked Alex.

“Couldn't say. He told me you would know him as Frank. He turned himself in about an hour ago. Seems pretty down. Can I give him the phone?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Alex replied.

A short silence on the other end of the line.

“Pastor?” he finally heard.

“Hello, Frank.”

“It's Matthew, actually. Matthew Adams.”

“Matthew, then.” A pause. “How are you?”

“Not sure,” he said. “OK, I guess. Scared. And a bit relieved.”

“The officer told me you turned yourself in.”

“That's right.”

“For what?”

“I…I did something…bad.”

Alex sensed a change in the man's voice. As Frank he had been elusive and frightened, a tortured soul. Now he sounded like someone beginning to locate his own humanity, calmly resolved despite anxiety over whatever might lie ahead.

“No,” Matthew corrected himself, “I've sinned. And…I'm sorry.”

Alex felt his heart warm at the sound of a soul moving toward the welcoming embrace of redemption. “I'm glad to hear you say that, Matthew. Very glad indeed.”

“I was hoping you might, if you don't mind, visit me. I'd like to continue the conversation we started in your office.”