12
Sunday Night | Oldenburg Rural Chapel
To Thomas’s great surprise, Paul and Patricia Pierce followed through on the installation service, and even Jimmie Johnson, the denomination’s executive director, showed up to make it official. It seemed as if every member of the five bodies had made it, and 230 filled the pews.
A makeshift kids’ choir sang, as did an adult ensemble. Two soloists performed, and an old farmer played “I’ve Got a Mansion Just Over the Hilltop” on, of all things, a handsaw.
Mr. Johnson read a couple of kind letters from parishioners in two of Thomas’s former churches, then had to excuse himself for a trip that required him in Illinois by the next morning. Thomas assumed no one else gave that more thought than he did, but it would prove portentous.
Grace gave her testimony, telling how she was led to Christ by her father—also a pastor, now in heaven—when she was a little girl. “And I’ve never looked back. I used to wish I had a dramatic story like some who were saved out of lives of sin and degradation. But I’ve learned over the years that it’s just as much a miracle of God to have been born into a wonderful family and never really stray. Oh, I was a sinner in need of God, but now I’m thankful I didn’t have to suffer through deep pain or cause my parents heartache.”
Thomas detected a strange silence at that last comment, a stillness even in the body language of the crowd. People had been attentive enough anyway—Grace was easy to admire. But perhaps many had wayward children. He couldn’t put a finger on the response. Maybe he had imagined it.
Grace finished by telling how she and Thomas had met on a blind date at Bible college and how their life of service to God had been all and more than she ever could have hoped for. “We believe being here is a divine appointment, and we look forward to worshiping with all of you.”
Thomas breathed a sigh at the applause, grateful she had changed her mind about publicly asking for prayer for their daughter. He admired Grace’s transparency and agreed that often it was good to show that pastors’ families were normal too. But when she had raised the subject that afternoon, he had counseled her to let the people get to know them a little better before revealing that their own daughter was going through a rough patch of searching.
When finally it was Thomas’s turn, he ran through Paul’s counsel on his way to the pulpit. Boorish as the man was, and wrong as he may have been about Thomas shortening his sermons, he was likely right that tonight was not the time for a message. He simply said “a few words,” as the euphemism went, thanking one and all, briefly giving a testimony remarkably similar to Grace’s, and finishing with an anecdote that people always seemed to appreciate.
“When I was in grade school,” he said, “I came down with rheumatic fever and spent three weeks in the hospital and the rest of the summer and a month or so into the fall in bed. I never felt that ill, and frankly I enjoyed the attention, but I believe something during that time made me a pastor. My mother sang with me, prayed with me, and read the Bible with me and to me. But more, she urged me to begin memorizing not just verses but also chapters and even books of the Bible. I continue that practice to this day. After first learning the entirety of John chapter 3, I memorized all four Gospels, most of Paul’s epistles, and all of the so-called postcard books of the New Testament.
“I recommend memorizing, believing that the Word will never return void. Psalm 119:11 says, ‘I have hidden Your word in my heart, that I might not sin against You.’”
Nearly everyone stayed for pie and coffee downstairs, and while Thomas enjoyed standing with Grace and shaking hands and trading pleasantries, he hoped she didn’t notice that Patricia was keeping her distance. Paul was nowhere to be seen.
“I hope it doesn’t appear rude, Thomas,” Grace said, “but I’m going to need to sit down.” He quickly found her a chair. “I haven’t seen any of the elders,” she whispered as the receiving line continued.
“I’m sure they’re around somewhere,” he said, noticing that occasionally one of the leaders of the other congregations was summoned to slip away too.
When the crowd finally thinned, Thomas looked forward to getting Grace home. She looked pale and exhausted. But finally Patricia Pierce approached, all business. “Paul asked if you both could meet with the elders before you left.”
Touhy Trailer Park
“You’re moping around here like you lost your best friend, Brady,” his mother said. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothin’.”
Truth was, he was dreading a call. And when it came, he rushed to beat his mother to the phone. Tatlock.
“Time’s up, Brady. I’m waiting at the Laundromat.”
Brady dumped his last four dollars and thirty-eight cents into his jacket pocket. He had begged and tried to borrow and even thought of stealing, but he’d had no luck. He had interviewed at Leon Dennis Asphalt & Paving, which bordered the trailer park to the east, and was waiting for word on a job. But the Hispanic foreman had laughed when Brady asked if the job—provided he got it—could be worked around his school activities and maybe include a $200 advance.
“Weekday evening hours only, eh?” Alejandro had said. “Come back at seven on Monday and I’ll let you know. It won’t be much. Maybe just cleaning up around here.”
“I’ll take anything.”
The only source Brady hadn’t tried for the $200 was Stevie Ray, so he stopped there on his way to the Laundromat.
“What’re you, kidding me?” Stevie said. “If I had two hundred bucks I’d throw a party. We live paycheck to paycheck, and the band barely breaks even. If I had it, I’d loan it to ya, but I don’t.”
Brady trudged to the Laundromat with a tingle up his spine as if he’d been summoned to the principal’s office.
Oldenburg Rural Chapel
“I’ve asked my wife to take the minutes,” Paul said as Patricia followed Thomas and Grace into a small classroom. Paul sat behind a table, flanked by other Oldenburg elders and a representative from each of the other congregations. No one would look him in the eye but Paul, and the outside elders didn’t look happy.
“This joint meeting of the circuit elders shall come to order,” Paul said.
“Excuse me, Pierce,” a man from Colfax said, “but I need to say again that there is no official circuit, thus there can’t be a joint meeting of our elders. This meeting was not announced, and there was no published agenda, so this is nothing but some personal vendetta.”
“Duly noted,” Paul said. “Thank you, Mr. Robert’s Rules of Order. Patricia, please put that in the minutes.”
“If there can’t be a meeting, there can’t be minutes,” the protester said, rising. “I’m not going to be part of this, and, Reverend Carey, if I were you, I’d not subject myself to it either.”
The man stormed out.
“We still have a quorum,” Paul said.
“What’s going on, Paul?” Thomas said.
“All in due time.”
“I’m out of here too,” another said, and he and the two other outsiders left.
“All right, no problem,” Paul said. “Patricia, this is now solely a meeting of the Oldenburg elders, all present and accounted for.”
“Well,” Thomas said, “I am as curious as I can be, but must I remind you that I also am an elder here, and this is the first I’ve known of this meeting?”
“Excuse me, sir,” Paul said, “but you are out of order. For the purposes of this meeting, you are here as the pastor and not as an elder.”
“Um, pardon me, Paul,” a younger elder said, “but officially I’m the secretary. As your wife is not an elder—no offense—shouldn’t I be taking the minutes?”
“Fine,” Paul and Patricia said in unison, and she made a show of slapping her notebook shut and putting away her pencil. But she did not leave.
The other elders looked as if they would rather have been anywhere else.
“Okay,” Paul said, “meeting’s called to order and all that.” He bowed his head and closed his eyes. “Lord, lead us in these difficult talks, and may we do Your will. Amen.” He looked up. “Pastor Tom, we got us a problem.”
The Laundromat
“You bring my money?” Tatlock said.
“No, but I brought a down payment.”
“How much?”
Brady emptied his pocket onto the top of a washing machine and had to catch a stray rolling penny.
Tatlock laughed. “Four bucks and change? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Listen, Mr. Tatlock, and just hear me out. You’re right, I did steal from you, but I know it was wrong and I’m sorry and I owe you the money. I’ll get it—I swear I will. Thing is, I didn’t even spend it all. I had your money, but now it’s missing.”
“Someone stole the stolen money?”
“That’s right. But I’ll do anything to keep you from calling the cops, because I’m watching out for my little brother, trying to get my grades up so I can stay in the school play, and I’ve already applied for another job. If I get it, the first two hundred is yours, and I mean it.”
“You’re in a school play?”
Tatlock sounded both skeptical and curious, so Brady told him all about it.
“Now you see, Brady, this is the kid I thought I was hiring. You seemed thoughtful and industrious enough. I like that you care about your little brother. And I appreciate your admitting you did wrong. But actions have consequences. I’m not giving you your job back, and I’m not going to recommend you for any other job. But I will do this: as long as you bring me at least forty dollars a week, every Sunday night, same time, right here, until your debt’s paid, I won’t report you.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. I really do.”
“I want you to learn from this, Brady. You don’t get away with stuff in life. You can make something of yourself. I’ll never forgive myself if going easy on you makes you think you can pull something else like this.”
“Believe me, it’ll never happen again.”
Brady left, seething. Oh, it would happen again all right. He just wouldn’t allow himself to be found out next time.
Oldenburg Rural Chapel
Silence hung in the tiny classroom before Paul Pierce suddenly became parental, his voice low and calm. “Pastor Tom, I know you’re a man of the Word, that you care about the Scriptures and doctrine. I’ve noticed from day one your well-worn Bible and that you can quote from it by memory. I wonder if, as we get into the matter at hand, you would favor us by reading aloud 1 Timothy 3:1-5.”
Oh no . . .
“First Timothy happens to be one of the books I have memorized. The passage says, ‘This is a trustworthy saying: “If someone aspires to be an elder, he desires an honorable position.” So an elder must be a man whose life is above reproach. He must be faithful to his wife. He must exercise self-control, live wisely, and have a good reputation. He must enjoy having guests in his home, and he must be able to teach. He must not be a heavy drinker or be violent. He must be gentle, not quarrelsome, and not love money. He must manage his own family well, having children who respect and obey him. For if a man cannot manage his own household, how can he take care of God’s church?’”
Paul cleared his throat. “Now, Tom, would you agree that if a man is not qualified to be an elder, he’s sure not qualified to be a pastor?”
“I would agree.”
“And that if a pastor kept it a secret that he was not qualified, that should cost him his job?”
Grace gasped, and Thomas put a hand on her knee.
“Of course,” Thomas said. “But I’d appreciate it if you would just get to your point, Paul.”
“Oh, I figure you know where this is going. As I told the leaders of the five congregations, Patricia and I truly wanted to welcome you and your lovely wife and throw an installation service that would honor you.”
“It did, and we appreciate it.”
“But we had hoped to surprise you. You see, we wanted to do more than just read a couple of letters from old friends and have the denomination chief make an appearance. So we—or I should say Patricia, because she’s thoughtful this way—thought it would be nice if your daughter could be here too. Patricia took what little she had learned of Ravinia—” he pronounced it with a long first I, and Thomas corrected him—“Fine. My apologies. Patricia took the trouble of tracking her down at the law school there at Emory and was ready to pay for her to come and surprise you tonight. You know what she found?”
Thomas fought to hide that his whole body was quaking. “You’re aware, Paul, that my daughter is no child. She’s twenty-four years ol—”
“Do you know what Patricia found, Tom? Your daughter, the daughter of an elder and the pastor of this church, is living with a man who is not her husband!”
“And you lay that at my feet?”
“You’re her father! How does having a daughter like that fit with the last verse you just quoted?”
Grace put a hand firmly over Thomas’s, and he set his jaw.
“No answer?”
Grace pressed Thomas’s hand harder. She spoke just above a whisper. “If you are men of God, we would ask that you pray for our daughter.”
“Oh, we have and we will. You may rest assured of that. And we will pray for you, too. But until your husband can ‘manage his own household,’ as he just quoted, he will not be taking care of our church.”
“God’s church,” Grace said.
“Same thing.”
“Frankly, sir, it doesn’t sound like it.”
“You disagree with God’s Word?” Paul turned to a skinny, bald man on his right. “Ernie, I believe you have a motion?”
Ernie looked pained and his fingers fluttered as he straightened a small sheet of notebook paper before him. “Uh, yes. Yes, I do. I make a motion that—”
“You move,” Paul said.
“Pardon?”
“You don’t ‘make a motion,’ Ernie. Let’s get this right. You move.”
“Okay. I move that the Reverend Thomas Carey be removed from the office of pastor of the Oldenburg Rural Bible Church Circuit until such time—”
“Excuse me, Paul,” Patricia whispered. “Without the other elders, we’d better just say ‘of the Oldenburg Rural Bible Chapel’ for now.”
“Well, he can’t pastor the others if he’s not pastoring here.”
“That’s up to them.”
“But I’m—we’re in charge of them.”
“Let’s just do it this way for now.”
“Fine. Let the minutes show the motion is that Carey be removed from being pastor of just this church. Go on, Ernie.”
“—until such time as he has proven he can manage his own household.”
“And in the meantime?” Paul said.
“Oh yeah.” Ernie looked back at his sheet. “And in the meantime he will be subject to discipline by the board of elders for failure to reveal that he was not managing his own household. Such discipline shall include a confession before the congregations—”
“Singular for now,” Patricia said.
“—congregation and weekly meetings with the chairman of the elders for instruction and correction.”
Thomas leaned back and stared at the ceiling. Then he focused on Paul. “If you think for one second that I am going to—”
“Excuse me, Tom, but there’s more.”
Ernie turned his sheet over. “Be it understood by these present that during the term of said discipline—man, this really reads funny—Reverend Carey’s salary shall be suspended and he shall be required to pay rent on the parsonage.”
“Did you discuss this with Jimmie Johnson?” Thomas said.
“All in favor?” Paul said.
But Thomas and Grace were on their way out.
As Thomas slowly drove back to the parsonage, Grace buried her face in her hands.
“I’m worried about you, sweetheart,” he said.
She straightened. “Don’t worry about me, Thomas. Hatred has a way of clarifying things.”
“Surely you don’t hate anyone.”
“I’m praying about that, but no, I was referring to the Pierces’ hatred of us.”
“This can’t stand,” Thomas said. “I’ll get hold of Mr. Johnson in the morning, and—”
“He’s out of town.”
“But I’m sure he’s reachable by phone.”
“This is beyond him, Thomas. You know the hallmark of the association is the autonomy of the local bodies. These people have to stand up to Paul. That’s all there is to it.”
“The rank and file probably know nothing about this.”
“You’ve worked in small churches all your life; you don’t think the phone lines are melting by now?”
“Well, hon,” he said, “I’m not about to turn and run.”
“And I don’t have the energy to stay and fight. I won’t allow you to be put through this. If there is not immediate opposition to this craziness, we’re leaving.”