The Lights of Tenth Street (38 page)

“But He owes us nothing. Sin is not just an immoral action—it is anything that separates us from God. And our very nature does that, day in, day out, every day of our lives. All we deserve, truly, is to be lost in the darkness for all eternity. We are more sinful than we ever dare realize.
But
, thank our Lord, that is not the end of the story. We’re also more loved and forgiven than we ever dared hope! That’s the Good News, the message we carry to the world. That through the blood of Jesus, in spite of ourselves, we have been redeemed. God loves us so much that all we have to do is accept that redemption for ourselves, to accept the trade that has already been made: Jesus’ life for ours.”

Steven stood straight and tall, his eyes flashing, feeling the surge of the Holy Spirit, the breathtaking love and power of the Almighty in that place. People were sitting forward in their seats, hardly breathing, captivated. It was electric. And it was time.

He turned a few pages in his notes, letting peace settle again upon the crowd.

“So now, let’s return to that story I told you at the outset. How would you deal with the pastor who’s living both in secret sin and in secret grief at his behavior? Put aside for the moment whether he should be pastoring the church while in that sin—as
Corinthians made clear, he shouldn’t be. But think again, in your heart of hearts, how he should be dealt with
personally
, as a man.

“Suppose, for that purpose, he is not a pastor, but a fellow member of your congregation. A well-loved, respected man with a wife and kids. He secretly indulges in graphic Internet pornography by night, and comes to church on Sunday morning. What to do?

“I can see that some of you are still skeptical that such a man should be treated gently. So I have something to tell you before you make a judgment.”

He drew himself up, cast a last glance at his wife, and cast himself on the mercy of the Lord.

“I was that man.”

He waited while the words sank in, while the astonished gasps resounded around the congregation, while the gasps turned to frozen stillness, all eyes staring.

“Less than ten years ago, my friends, I had a dreadful secret: I struggled with impure thoughts, impure desires. I was in bondage to pornography. I fought it with every ounce of my strength, but time … and again … it conquered me.”

He looked out at the dear, well-loved faces, and the tears began to come. He described how he hated himself, wanted to stop, wept before the Lord. But always in secret, and always unable to stop it on his own. He described how it nearly destroyed his marriage, how his wife uncovered his web of lies and deceit. And he described how, through the intervention of one divinely appointed friend—another pastor, who himself had had that struggle—he was brought slowly, slowly along the path to deliverance and healing.

Steven wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “It is impossible to overstate the importance of compassion and healing for those caught in this sin—like many secret sins. The very fact that it’s secret keeps it in a dark place, where Satan rules and God’s light cannot shine. But I’m telling you this story today, and revealing years of secret shame, because I know—
I know
—that many in this congregation have this same struggle. It isn’t discussed, but it’s there.

“And now, I’m speaking to my brothers out there … and to their wives and those that love them. There is hope! There is healing! But you must confess your sin, one to another, and seek help and accountability. Yes, it’s hard to set aside your pride. But there is no pride worth being held in bondage by Satan himself, tormented in the darkness. The pain will pass, and the freedom will be beyond belief. There may very well be consequences—there often are consequences of willful sin—but God will be with you every step of the way. And you will finally be free.

“I’m confessing this to you, my dear friends, to provide an example of one very important principle: Everyone has a story. The next time you feel inclined to judge
someone, examine not only yourself and your logs, but your assumptions about them. Is that unbeliever on drugs? Who knows what they have gone through. Is that woman a constant, shameless gossip? Who knows what secret insecurities she’s hiding. Is that driver on the highway rude and aggressive? Who knows what in his past has caused that rage? People usually don’t just wake up one day and decide to become a jerk or a druggie or a gossip. There are reasons. And although those reasons do not allow us to excuse them, they force us to try to understand them.

“Jesus was able to minister His unconditional, nonjudgmental love to prostitutes because He loved them, and He knew that every one of them had a story. They didn’t just wake up one day and decide to sell their bodies and flaunt God’s law. There were reasons why they fell, perhaps even reasons that would make our toes curl should we hear them. We too can have true love for the unlovable if we—with the Lord’s help—come to an awareness of our own sin, our own humility, and of the reasons for compassion to the lost and hurting among us.”

Steven closed his Bible. It was done.

And just as suddenly, he was attacked by a massive wave of fear. What was he thinking, sharing something so personal—something sexual and depraved—from God’s pulpit?

He tried to motion the worship director on to the last song, but he was frozen. They would kick him out. Another church, another family, lost. He forced himself to glance up at the congregation, the many faces, and his eyes swam with tears. This was crazy. He had to get himself under control.

And suddenly, someone stood. A couple, holding hands tightly, in the middle of the congregation. Sherry and Doug.

Everyone’s heads swiveled around, and there were low murmurs.

Steven could feel his tears hot on his cheeks, stunned at the brave action, the brave salute from faithful friends.

And then another man stood. A single man, gripping the back of his chair. Then another couple, and a woman, and a divorced single mom. Then his wife stood.

Dozens were rising to their feet. Someone began to applaud, and soon half the congregation was on their feet, applauding.

Steven could hardly see through his tears. He gestured his wife up to the stage, and she bounded up like a twenty-year-old and hugged him close.

He kept an arm around his wife and motioned for silence, wiping away the wetness from his face. The whole congregation was standing, silent, still.

“Thank you.” Steven looked across the stage and spoke in a choked voice to the music director. “I would like to change the last song, please. There’s only one that seems appropriate right now.”

And so in that place, the bride was awakened as the poignant strains of “Amazing Grace” floated to the heavens, every word heard and sung anew.

T
he voices were warm and cheerful, the smiles—as far as she could tell—genuine. Linda Hanover stuck close by Angela Dugan’s side as the younger woman maneuvered her way through the church lobby, introducing her as she went.

“Nice to meet you, Linda … Welcome … Good to have you with us today … Hope you enjoy the service …”

Linda could only smile and nod, hopelessly lost as to names and faces, uncomfortable in the unfamiliar environment. She was wearing the one nice dress she owned, although Angela had assured her that no one would care what she had on. She followed Angela to where her husband had saved them two seats. The two women sat down just as the small choir began to sing.

It was happening again. As the pastor preached, and as the choir sang its final song, Linda choked up and tried to wipe her eyes on her sleeve so no one would see. This love, this new life, was overpowering. How had she missed it all these years?

Her thoughts turned several hundred miles away, to Ronnie alone in the big city, and to who-knew-what temptations and struggles her beautiful daughter must face every day.

If only she would come to know You, Lord. Please, Lord
 …

And suddenly, without knowing why, her tears were no longer for herself.

The music was pumping and Ronnie’s night was in full swing when Marco grabbed her on the fly. He had one of the other dancers by his side, her eyes glazed from an excess of cocaine.

“We’ve had another request for the girls to double up on stage. Extra five hundred dollars tonight for the takers. Tina’s in. Want it?”

“No thanks. Not my thing.”

“Fine.”

Marco hurried over to another girl, who gave an eager nod. He gave some quick instruction to the two dancers, and they disappeared backstage.

Within moments, the stage went black, and the DJ announced the next act. Ronnie turned away as the two girls appeared onstage and every man in the audience began to hoot and cheer.

School would start in a few weeks, and she still needed some extra tuition money, but she would just have to work extra hard for it. A five-hundred-dollar windfall for the five-minute act wasn’t worth it.

She took the opportunity for a short rest and changed into a different outfit. She paused in front of the mirror in the empty dressing room, and looked at the view. She had been working out almost every day, and it showed. She looked and felt fit.

Tiffany came breezing in and began touching up her makeup. The two girls gossiped for a moment, comparing notes. Ronnie was again narrowly beating Tiffany’s take—the fifth night in a row.

As the girls went back on the floor, Ronnie saw Marco gesture Tiffany into his office. A few minutes later, Tiffany reappeared in a stunning silvery sheath dress beside a table of four men having some sort of party. The little group headed toward one of the private rooms. Ronnie growled in good-natured annoyance. Her friend was going to beat her take this evening after all.

The night wound down, and only a few dancers were left on the floor. The small private party had dispersed, except for one middle-aged man whose eyes followed Tiffany’s every move around the room.

Ronnie watched her friend finish yet another table dance for him and shook her head. The man was short, fat, and had a comb-over, but he appeared to be a generous tipper.

“Ronnie!” Tiffany appeared breathlessly by her side. “I can’t believe it! Did you see that? He gave me a thousand dollars!”

“Wow! Jackpot.”

“And that’s not all.” Tiffany winked at her. “He wants me to go out with him.”

“Really?” Ronnie peeked over her friend’s shoulder and shuddered slightly. “Go for it, girl. Too bad he’s not much to look at.”

“Who cares? He’s loaded. We’re going to go get a middle-of-the-night breakfast somewhere right now. I have to kiss Marco for setting it up!”

“Marco? What do you mean?”

“Oh, he knew the guy or something. He convinced Wade to get the private room and now he’s smitten.”

“Wade? Great name, at least.”

Tiffany turned her head to check on her customer. “I better go. This could be the big time, Ronnie. I don’t think I’ll be back home tonight.”

“Be careful, okay? Call me if you have … you know … any problems.”

“Ronnie, please. I hardly think I’ll have a problem with
him.
” She made a face. “And we’re probably going to get a hotel room since we can’t go back to his place.”

“Why not?”

“Well, technically, he’s married.”

“What!”

“See, I knew you’d do that! Don’t freak out on me. He and his wife are separating. He just hasn’t found another place to live yet.”

Ronnie gave her a doubtful look. “I don’t suppose you want to come back to the apartment? I could make myself scarce …”

“Better not to have him over. That’s not how these things work.”

“Okay. Be careful.”

Tiffany gave her a secret little wave and turned to head back toward her admirer, her silver dress shimmering in the dim light.

“Well? How’d it go last night?”

“He’s made of money.” Tiffany was hurrying around the apartment, collecting her things for work. “Some big hotshot with Speed Shoes. We ate great food, stayed in a penthouse suite, and were basically catered to all day. He’s got an incredible sports car, a house in West Palm Beach, and a ski chalet in Aspen. What a life!”

“Are you going to see him again?”

Tiffany paused and flashed her roommate a grin. “You underestimate me, dahling. He’s coming to the club again tonight, and we’ll be spending all next weekend together. Marco’s giving me the weekend off.”

“You’re kidding!” Ronnie gave an incredulous laugh.

“Oh no, Marco’s really supportive. He even gave Wade the key to his penthouse for last night—apparently he had rented it for the week but wasn’t using it or something.”

“I’m not talking about Marco, silly. I’m amazed at
you!
You’re taking a big moneymaking weekend off. What’s come over you?”

“
Wade’s
come over me, Ronnie. He lives the life I want.” She finished packing up her outfits for the evening and her face turned serious. “He’s my ticket. He’s totally smitten.”

“But you hardly know him.”

“I know him well enough to know what he’ll do for me. He gave me another thousand bucks to buy some clothes for next weekend. Cool, huh?”

“I guess.”

Tiffany’s grin turned to exasperation. “Ronnie, don’t take away my fun with this! Can’t you just be happy for me? I feel like a princess who’s just found a fat, bald, and incredibly rich Prince Charming.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry I’m so darned practical. I’m glad you found a sugar daddy; I really am. But I don’t want you to get your heart involved with some guy who’s twenty years older—”

“Give me a break.” Tiffany rolled her eyes. “No heart involvement, now or later. You know that. But new clothes, new jewelry, new places … maybe even a new car if I play it right. He wants a beautiful young thing on his arm, and I’m happy to oblige! Ta ta!”

She swept out the door, and Ronnie went slowly into her bedroom to finish gathering her things for work. What was it about Tiffany’s new situation that bothered her so much? She was with a wealthy man who obviously liked her very much and showered her with money and gifts in return for her attention. What was wrong with that? Ronnie was climbing into her own car, when it hit her.