Relentless (23 page)

A few days in jail was as much as Deacon Burton could handle. Getting out on bail was a blessing he didn't take lightly. He was home and there was nothing better. The sound of a basketball hitting the pavement was loud going through the net as Deacon Burton scored on his thirteen-year-old son. He slapped his sixteen-year-old a high five sealing his victory. “You guys keep playing. I'm going into the house to get a drink. These old knees need a break.”

His youngest son, a chiseled image of him, stopped Deacon Burton before he got to the door.

“Hey, Dad, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what is it?” Deacon Burton turned to make eye contact with his son.

“Are you going to prison and leave us?”

His droopy, light brown eyes burrowed right into Deacon Burton's heart. “No, I would never leave you guys. You know I love both you boys and your mother very much. I—”

His son flung his body into his dad's and clutched his neck. “The kids at school keep saying you're going to prison, and I'll never see you again.”

“Listen, we believe and trust God, right? God will work this thing out. It's just a mistake, and it's not for you to worry about. I don't even want you to think about it. That's my job. You keep going to school, having fun, and don't think about what people say. You listen to what I'm telling you. Okay?” Deacon Burton brought his son close. They pounded fists and then both snapped their fingers representing the special handshake they'd concocted when his son was a little boy.

Standing in the kitchen, peering out of the window at his boys, Deacon Burton considered his son's question with a heavy heart as he grabbed the container of juice sitting on the counter. The high-pitch shrill of the phone on the countertop broke his concentration. He considered not answering it. He knew it wasn't someone from the church calling. His role as a deacon was suspended until this mess was cleared up. He was told the decision wasn't personal; it was just the best thing for the ministry in light of the publicity. Yet, the call could be important. So, he picked up the cordless phone and greeted the caller.

“Deacon Burton, I'm glad you answered. I called earlier this morning and didn't get anyone.”

“Attorney Hayes, sorry about that; I was outside with my boys. What's going on? Is something wrong?” the deacon asked in a deeper tone.

“I know you've been unsuccessful in contacting Maxwell Montgomery, but I really need you to try again. He's critical to your defense. He can establish you as someone who helped him bring this case to justice instead of being one of the guilty parties. With you holding a key role in the ministry and having signed tons of financial documents, it will be a real challenge to prove you didn't know anything about the zoning violations or any of the other criminal actions.”

Deacon Burton stopped pouring orange juice and schlepped from the kitchen into the half bathroom around the corner. He closed the door. After a quick peek out the window to ensure that his boys were still outside, he responded. “I've called his office constantly. He hasn't returned my calls. I've gone to his office twice, and I was told he was in a meeting both times. I don't know what else to do about him. Mr. Montgomery told me he would help, and I trusted him.” Deacon Burton pushed out a heavy sigh, closed the toilet lid, and dropped down to sit. “My wife and I put up our house to come up with my bail money and your fee. We can't afford to pay Mr. Montgomery and you too. Maybe that's what he wants, money. I don't know, but I can't go to prison. I just can't.”

“I strongly suggest you keep trying. Maxwell Montgomery is an influential man in this city. If he'll speak on your behalf, I'm confident you can avoid jail time. You have to find a way to reach with him. I'll be in touch.”

Deacon Burton yanked the phone from his ear and pounded it into the palm of his hand. He trudged from the bathroom to his family room. Focused on his boys playing outside, he began to calm down. He scanned the wall plastered with pictures. His wife called it the family wall of love. He moved closer and relived every memory. With his fingertips, Deacon Burton traced the edges of the frame holding his wedding picture. He didn't want this legal problem hanging over his head and hurting his family. There had to be a way to reach Mr. Montgomery. His eyelids were pinched together tightly as he prayed silently. A few minutes later an idea offered him a bit of hope. His gaze combed the room for a notepad with no luck. He hurried to the kitchen and ravished drawers until he found a pen and paper.

Deacon Burton put on his reading glasses, sat at the table and his ink pen soared across the paper. He now had a two-page letter conveying his desperate message to Maxwell. After reading the letter over and over and making changes, it was ready.

When he wife arrived home later that afternoon, he approached her. “I wrote a letter to Maxwell Montgomery. You know the attorney Sonya works for, the one who said he would help me. Tell me what you think. I don't want to come across angry or demanding. Though, I do need his help.” Deacon Burton didn't want to worry his wife so he didn't tell her about the call from his attorney. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and began to read:

Deacon Burton's attention left the paper and dashed straight to his wife's eyes. He tried to offer her confidence with his calm demeanor.

“It's a good letter,” she said. “But—”

“But what?” he asked.

“Well, it sounds like you're desperate.” He could no longer look upon her worried countenance.

“Maybe I am.”

“What's going on with the case, Steve? What aren't you telling me?” his wife asked touching his arm.

Pastor Harris turned into his driveway and used the remote control over his visor to open the garage door. Headlights shined on the door as it slid up. He sat in the car staring at the neatly organized garage with his fingers gripped firmly around the steering wheel. Five minutes passed, and he hadn't moved. His wife opened the kitchen door leading into the garage and calling out to him. “Renaldo, what are you doing? Park the car and come on inside. It's getting late.”

Her voice yanked him out of his trance, though his brain didn't process what she was saying. He took his foot off the brake and let the auto roll into the garage. Once inside, he stopped at the kitchen countertop and scooped up the mail. He sifted through it on his way to his study where he dropped down into a chair. His wife joined him minutes later with a jeweler's catalog in hand.

“I finally found the new wedding set I want.” She gave a slight grin. “I think I'm worth the upgrade after ten years,” she stated and tapped her finger on the rings that had captured her interest.

“Good, sweetie,” Pastor Harris replied without glancing at the catalog. He peered straight ahead while he rubbed the tips of his fingers back and forth over his chin.

“What's wrong?” She closed the catalog and set it on his lap.

Pastor Harris's hand fell from his chin to the catalog. He glanced at his wife in silence and then shared what was tugging at his heart. “I drove by Greater Metropolitan tonight on the way home. Their Wednesday night Bible class used to be just as packed as Sunday morning service; not tonight or last week either. The parking lot wasn't overflowing. There weren't any parking attendants directing traffic and only one section of their multilevel parking lot was sparsely occupied.”

“I heard a woman at the beauty shop today talking about how many members have left the church. They've gone from multiple services on Sunday with thousands to holding one service that isn't full,” his wife replied.

“The Citywide Ministers Council met today. The interim senior minister at Greater Metropolitan told us the church has suffered a devastating split in membership. They're fighting over this and that. When a shepherd falls, the sheep run astray, lost. Half of his church has given up on Bishop Jones.”

“The other half is staying loyal to him and the ministry. Either they don't believe the charges or they're going to support their pastor no matter what he does,” his wife interjected. “You just don't know what to believe. It's awful.”

Pastor Harris rolled a pencil back and forth between his fingers. “The gossip is swirling about other things that might have been going on but weren't uncovered. Sadly, Bishop Jones's arrest was enough for many to deem him guilty.” Harris snapped the pencil in half. “This situation will have a devastating effect on the church and our community.”

“I want you to hear something.” His wife reached across the desk for the phone, dialed into their voicemail, and pressed the speaker button.

“Pastor Harris, this is Sister Lisa Houston. I was a member at Greater Metropolitan until recently. I can't believe the den of iniquity that was brewing over there. I know the case hasn't gone to court yet, but the fact that drugs were found in the church is just too much for me. I find it hard to believe Bishop Jones didn't know what was going on with those drugs and swindling those folks out of their businesses. He has his hand in every aspect of the ministry. It's a shame. Anyway, after twelve years of being a faithful member, I was so distraught over this craziness; I had to take a couple of weeks off. I just didn't want to go to—” A sharp beep cut off the message. Pastor Harris looked up at his wife with a pinched brow.

The bubbly female voice came to life again. “Oh, I guess my message was too long. Well, anyway, I've been out of church a few weeks now. I seriously considered just being done with church. I mean, if you can't trust a bishop. This whole thing just snatched the taste buds right out of my mouth. I couldn't even eat. Anyway, I'm looking for a new church home. Please call.” She rattled off a phone number. “I've known your wife for years, and I've heard nothing but good things about your ministry. I'd love to hear from you.”

Pastor Harris pushed himself up from his chair and sat on the edge closer to his wife. “I'm glad she didn't just give up on church. That's one of my biggest concerns about this chaos. I don't want people to be soured on church in general. Yes, people make mistakes, but we can't judge a whole institution based on one individual's shortcomings,” Pastor Harris told his wife dropping his head.

“I know, hon,” she offered, sliding her hand over the top of his while rubbing a small black mole as she often did. “Who's taking over the pastoral role permanently?”

“There is so much internal conflict among the assistant ministers for the position that it has caused more dissention in the church. The situation is disheartening and shameful. If Bishop Jones is found guilty, someone within his church organization will step in and make that decision. From what I hear the governing church body over him is reluctant to name anyone from that church to the position. I think they may want someone with a fresh perspective from outside Greater Metropolitan.”

A loud ding sounded off in the kitchen. “I hope you're hungry. I warmed up your dinner,” she told him as she stood.

“I am, but let's pray first. I know God is going to step in and heal this situation at Greater Metropolitan and its congregation,” Pastor Harris stated, taking his wife's hands. They prayed that God would intervene and show forth His power, grace, and mercy. They asked that the ugly shadows of sin wouldn't have a lasting impact on the body of Christ. Pastor Harris closed his prayer gripping his wife's hands firmly and hoping Bishop Jones hands were clean. “Lord, strengthen Bishop Jones and his wife. Encourage their hearts and be their source of strength. As leaders, we are held to a higher level of accountability. And that is a level only you can judge. Amen.”

The scripture in Matthew chapter seven came to mind and he couldn't shake it. There were many who claimed to know the Lord and to do works in His name, but in the end Jesus said, “I never knew you. Depart from Me, you lawbreakers!” Bishop Jones and the other leaders from Greater Metropolitan were in God's hands now and He knew the whole truth.

Pastor Harris washed his hands at the sink. “Honey, I'm hungry. Let's eat.”