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Positive Thinking
On Sunday morning the Reverend Adam Leeds faced his
congregation with renewed spirit.
Although his wife Cora was not present in the pews and, indeed, had not
been present for several months, he thought of her now with rekindled hope. He looked forward to the day when he
would see her sitting once more in the church. Tomorrow morning, when he committed her to the Alcoholism
Treatment Center at the county hospital, her road to recovery would officially
start, though in his heart it had already began.
His sermon, which was inspired by Norman Vincent
Peal’s positive thinking, was a mixture of Peal’s philosophy, new age
Christianity, and psychoanalytical thought. It’s feel-good message appealed to many of the younger
members of the congregation, but had mixed reviews among the older set. The very title of his church, “Our Lord
and Savior’s Independent Christian Church,” belied the liberal Christian and
new age message Adam was developing for the church. An ordinary Baptist or Lutheran would not have recognized
his topic “The Positive Force of Faith” as even being Christian had he not
mentioned God a few times.
Despite criticism from conservative Christian radio
hosts and televangelists, Adam had received moral support from various liberal
organizations in town, including the Young Democrats of Los Angeles and the L.
A. Chapter of The Business Woman’s League of America. Looking out at couple of dozen long-time members of the
congregation but only a handful of new faces, he wasn’t saddened by the bad
press or dwindling numbers. After
all, the faithful were still present!
His favorite people in the church, he often told his wife, were the
sinners, not those blue nose holdovers from the old church, who resisted
change. In this latter group there
were doctor Eugene Waterford and his wife Millicent, longtime supporters and
contributors of the old church.
There were the Royce, Breckenridge, and Lindley families, whose
respective patriarchs, James, William, and Philip had also donated large sums
of money to the congregation.
Among the younger couples—the sinners, there were Sheila Hightower and
her boyfriend Patrick Smalley, who lived together in blissful sin, but found a
haven at the Our Lord and Savior’s Independent Christian Church. Leona Bliss, the organist, for that
matter, who admitted to being a Lesbian, joined the church after her divorce
from an abusive husband forced her intro a confrontation with the Roman
Catholic Church. One would have
thought that Adam’s church was a haven for lost souls, especially with his
scandalous wife, had it not been for the balance of the righteous against the
sinners in the church.
Thus,
by traditional Christian standards, would such families as the Waterfords,
Royces, and Breckenridges be weighed against these reprobates in the group,
Adam thought idly, while waiting for the organ prelude to end. After the sermon, he would meet with
the elders of the church to discuss the future of Our Lord and Savior
Independent Christian Church. The
inevitable confrontation he had dreaded for many months was like a shadow on
his sermon. His anticipation for
this meeting caused a quiver to appear in his voice. His eyebrows twitched at times, and his hands trembled as he
fumbled with his notes.
“God
is good, though life is hard,” he began in a tremulous voice, looking out at
the small group of worshipers with roving eyes and unsure gaze. “We can’t blame
Him for everything that goes wrong in our lives, though we should give him
credit for many things that go right.
We must take responsibility for our human frailties and not run to the
Bible every time something goes wrong.
Each time hard luck befalls us it’s not punishment for some
misdeed. Much of our misfortune is
brought on by the choices we make.
When you bet a large sum of money in Las Vegas and lose, whose fault is
it? When you invest poorly in the
stock market, how can you blame anyone but yourself? The people you meet, the roads you take, the choices you
make— these are guided by self-interest or occasionally unselfish motives, but
if you fail at these selections, it is the motive that is evaluated by God…”
From this point on, the word God was mentioned only
two more times, as Adam’s sermon turned into a variation on the positive
thinking theme of Norman Vincent Peale.
“Believe in yourself,” he began quoting passages
from Peale’s classic The Power of Positive Thinking, “have faith in your
abilities, and change your thoughts in order to change your world. Formulate and stamp indelibly on your
mind a mental picture of yourself succeeding. Hold this picture tenaciously and never permit it to
fade. Your mind will seek to
develop the picture. Don’t build
obstacles in your imagination. You
are what you perceive!”
At this point, as he quoted more passages, a sudden
cold breeze moved surreptitiously down the central aisle of the church. Adam’s voice grew progressively
unsteady and his words more halting after he noticed the change of ambience in
the room.
As
if summoned by this new age formula, the devil entered the chapel easily and
with familiarity with many of the worshipers in the room. Some members of the church were its
children. The list would surprise
Reverend Leeds. James Royce had
cleverly murdered a business rival by slipping an undetectable poison in his
coffee to simulate a heart attack.
Here he was now, thirty years later, a wealthy stockbroker with a large
family and wide circle of friends.
William Breckenridge, though miserly to his family and friends, had
given a sum of money to the church as a form of guilt offering for molesting
his daughter for so long. Now that
his daughter had been dead all these years, it was as if it had never
happened. But Satan remembered
this dreadful man, who had remarried, started a new family, and commenced
molesting another child. It also
remembered Patrick Smalley who had talked his girl friend into getting a late
term abortion. Many years back
Patrick had also disposed of a fellow sailor, who disappeared one stormy night
at sea. Like Royce and
Breckenridge, he had shed no tears after the crime nor did he show sorrow or
remorse beyond the fear of getting caught.
In his own special category, was the illustrious
Eugene Waterford, himself, who had, through business dealings, broken and
destroyed many men. Though not the
greatest villain in the group, he was the greatest hypocrite in Satan’s
mind. Here they were—Waterford,
Royce, and Breckenridge—amongst the more tepid souls, these high standing
charlatans who would criticize their shepherd for not managing his flock. Patrick Smalley, who appeared to have
no conscience at all, attended the church only for the benefit of his companion
Sheila Hightower, whose painted face belied days of weeping for her aborted
child. These lost souls setting in
the pews, whom Satan recognized as its own, comprised a rogues’ gallery in Our
Lord and Savior’s Independent Christian Church.
The remainder of the congregation were
unaware of Royce, Waterford, Breckenridge, and Smalley’s sordid past. Keeping to themselves, most churchgoers
minded their own business. They
had heard enough scuttlebutt about Sheila’s abortion and Leona’s lesbian
lover. Ironically, it was the
rogues’ gallery and their wives who were the greatest source of rumors. To avoid these gossipmongers, many
respectable churchgoers avoided the cliques gathering after the service. They were especially weary of hearing
about the antics of the pastor’s wife.
Though their patience had been worn thin, most of the young members and
many of the older folks, who were holdovers from Hugh Thomas’ ministry, still
liked Reverend Leeds. They wanted
to trust him and give him another chance.
It was only lately that their pastor had been experimenting with new age
themes. His enthusiasm remained
infectious. Though his thinking
might be misguided, his heart was in the right place. Perhaps, they murmured amongst themselves, his lapse into
new age rhetoric and humanism was but a passing phase, and this experimental
psychobabble was but a prelude to a greater theme.
This morning, however, the babble had
worsened. The lapse appeared to be
permanent. It was becoming
increasingly difficult to feel the Holy Spirit in this church. Perhaps, many of them reconsidered,
it wasn’t just a fluke or passing phase. Reverend Leeds really was an apostate as some members
claimed. For most of the
congregation, until hearing today’s sermon, the label “New Age Christianity”
seemed the best fit. A few
well-read churchgoers, such as Amy Sullivan, had seen traces of scientology and
even existentialism in earlier sermons and yet the pastor had always returned
to Christian themes. With the
introduction of Norman Vincent Peale, it was difficult to even recognize
Christianity in his words. It was
a religion without moral imperative.
A philosophical system based upon positive thinking, not faith, seemed
to be replacing God’s word. This
time the pastor had gone too far!
The looks on the faces of the elders, Adam noted as
he cleared his throat, ranged from puzzlement to irritation. A few seemed embarrassed with his
topic, while members such as Patrick Smalley were simply bored. The small number of children in the
chapel squirmed and fussed, oblivious to the sermon, while their parents looked
on with troubled expressions. Who
was Norman Vincent Peale? The
younger churchgoers murmured amongst themselves. Was this just another new age guru or liberal theologian
cited to make a point? Surely, the
pastor was reaching some point and must find his way back to scripture through
this philosophical morass. There
was, in fact, the devil sensed acutely, an intense hope in many of their faces,
which was much like the reverend’s naivety since Satan had entered his
life. The Lord, they clung to the
belief, still abided in this house.
In spite of all the evidence given to him of its presence in his own
house and even now in his church, Adam still thought it was God. Thanks to his efforts, many of the
younger members in the congregation didn’t believe in the devil anymore, only
man’s spiritual frailty and psychological compulsion to commit sin. Against this novel theology—sin without
guilt and belief without Satan—the elders of church had aligned themselves,
though some of them scarcely believed in God at all.
“What
is the old adage?” It whispered faintly behind the reverend’s ear. “…. Ah yes,
the greatest trick of the devil is to convince men that I don’t exist…. I exist
Adam, even though members of your congregation know me not. Isn’t it ironic that Waterford, Royce,
and Breckenridge, with so little faith, see the devil in your words?”
Almost
all of the college students who had been frequenting the church lately were
absent this morning. With such a
‘feel-good mentality,’ what purpose was there for even coming to church? There was no fear of hell whatsoever in
Adam’s sermons—only the importance of confronting life’s issues: being a good
spouse, a good parent, or having a working relationship with God. Now, with the introduction of Norman
Vincent Peale’s philosophy, positive thinking substituted faith as the mental
healer, family values were replaced by emphasis of upon one’s self, and Satan
was no longer a factor in their lives.
The reverend cringed as Satan circled his head.
“According to Norman Vincent Peale,” his voice
droned to the congregation, “there’s a tendency in human nature to become what
you visualize yourself as being.
If you see yourself as tense, nervous and frustrated and that’s your
image of yourself, that’s what you’ll be.
If you see yourself as inferior and hold that image in your thoughts,
the image will, by the process of intellectual osmosis, sink into your
unconscious mind, until you become what you visualize. If, however, you see yourself in a
positive light (organized, controlled and believing in your talent and
ability), that is what you’ll become.”
Several
members of the congregation found their heads bobbing forward sleepily while
listening to this theme. Patrick
Smalley, to Sheila Hightower’s disgust, was now sound asleep. Most of the churchgoers in the audience
continued to wonder what this had to do with God, while three of the
elders—Waterford, Royce, and Breckenridge—were muttering protests to
themselves.
******
A young college student, Amy Sullivan, now
caught the devil’s attention. Like
many members in the audience, she had no doubts on whether or not the reverend had
crossed the line. After studying
the disapproving frown on her face, Satan could almost read her thoughts, which
conveyed the most visible expression of agitation in the room. She was shocked and dismayed with his
sermon. Between frowns, sighs, and
intakes of breath, she stared in disbelief at the pastor, sharing her disgust
with other members she could make eye contact in the room.
For different reasons—boredom, confusion, or
irritation—the reverend was losing his audience. This lackluster and boring new age theme would not do,
thought the tempter as it wound invisibly around the vestibule and looked down
from the ceiling above Adam’s head.
“What you need Adam is a new religion, not a new philosophy of
religion,” It murmured unheard to itself. “You are—how did that mad revelator
phrase it?—neither hot nor cold, but lukewarm. With this ‘feel good,’ controversial message you’re
alienating everyone in your church!”
For
a vastly different reason Amy disapproved of his message too. The petite brunette turned to her
friend Jolene Frick, who had completely lost interest in the sermon several
moments back, and whispered into Jolene’s shell-like ear: “Norman Vincent Peale
wasn’t even a Christian!”
“Of
course he’s a Christian,” responded her friend groggily, “if Reverend Leeds
said he was.”
“He
never said that,” Amy whispered back irritably. “You’re not paying attention,
Jolene. Why do you even come to
church?”
“All
right, I’m listening. What did he
say?” Jolene obliged with a yawn.
“It’s
not what he said, it’s what Peale said. It sounds like the stuff that Reverend Leeds is talking
about now,” explained Amy, reaching down and pulling a printout out of her
purse. “If this just doesn’t beat all, Jolene,” she murmured excitedly, waving
the copies in front of her friend’s blue eyes. “I’m taking a course on
Twentieth Century religious thought—talk about coincidences—and look what I
found on the web!”
Jolene,
a shapely blond and stark physical opposite to Amy in every way, looked at the
sheets laid onto her lap with a blank stare and made a face. “What’re you reading this for,
Amy? Are you studying to be
preacher now?”
“Shush!” Millicent Waterford’s ashen face loomed
over the back of the pew. “Have you no respect?”
At
just that moment, the reverend was exhorting to his audience “…. Be a beacon to
others by your example. Words
cannot replace good deeds and positive thoughts…”
Amy ignored Millicent. Her dark eyes flashed with annoyance as
she considered what Jolene had just said.
Her dense friend knew very well that she was a business major at
USC. To block out the noise, Amy
cupped her hand over Jolene’s ear. “It’s an elective course, dummy. My professor’s made the case that
Norman Vincent Peale was a false prophet.
I’m going to take this to his class tomorrow morning. Peale, who influenced countless liberal
theologians, claimed that he was a Christian, but the fact is he wasn’t a
Christian at all.”
“That
tickles,” Jolene giggled aloud at the excited bursts in her ear.
“Shut
the hell up!” Mister Waterford whispered shrilly this time
At that point an irritated murmur rippled
through the pews. Eugene
Waterford, whose only reason for attending the church was his long-standing
friendship with the previous pastor and his wife’s insistence that they support
the flagging church, had cared less about hearing Adam in the past. This new theme preached by the
minister, however, had caught his attention. It didn’t sound like religion; it sounded like
philosophy. He was also annoyed by
the young women’s conversation during the service. That would never have happened during Reverend Thomas’
sermons. Had he overheard their
conversation about the current minister, he would have perked up his ears and
eavesdropped instead of being so belligerent. He had never liked the strange young cleric and his fancy
ideas about the church. This
morning it had been decided by the elders in the church, at Waterford’s
insistence, to meet with Reverend Leeds after the service to discuss the
problems with the church. Eugene
also planned on taking him to task for this outlandish topic. Where did he think he was anyhow—on a
college campus or Pershing Square?
This was a Christian church, not the Church of Scientology. Most, though not all, of the elders
shared his views, and what Reverend Leeds was spouting this morning struck them
as the last straw.
“Should we,
as Christians use the positive forces inside us,” Adam droned on, “or waste
them in frivolous pursuits?”
‘What’s
he talking about Millicent?’ Eugene wrote hastily on the notepad he carried in
his coat. Millicent shrugged her
shoulders and replied on his pad, ‘How in the hell do I know?’
Amy
wrote on the top of her page with a marker pen: ‘What bullshit! This is a conversation quoted by the author between
Phil Donahue and Norman Vincent Peale.’ When Jolene seemed to have trouble finding the right spot, Amy growled
under her breath and wrote in bold letters next to it ‘Please read
this! Does this sound familiar?’
Jolene
followed Amy’s well-manicured finger, as though she was being fed by a
prompter, her curiosity finally wetted by her friend’s excitement.
“It’s not necessary to be born
again,” Peale told Phil Donohue during the talk show’s host afternoon show.
“You have your way to God; I have mine.
I found eternal peace in a Shinto shrine.”
When Donahue heard this, he
exclaimed “But you’re a Christian minister. Aren’t you supposed to tell me that Christ is the Way, the
Truth and the Life?”
In response to Donohue’s shocked
response, Peale sermonized “Christ is just one of the ways! God is everywhere.”
Jolene stopped reading the article, and both women
froze in their seats as they heard what Reverend Adam uttered next in his
sermon:
“Christ’s positive energy is our way to the truth,
but God is everywhere, manifested in many religions, who share His truth.”
“Oh my God!” Jolene made the connection.
“It’s drivel,” Amy snorted.
Ignoring Millicent Waterford’s warning glare, she
whispered into Jolene’s ear. “This has nothing to do with our way. I’ve been going to this church with my
mother for years, even after she died.
The old reverend of this church preached the gospel. This minister has forgotten the
gospel. This isn’t my church
anymore, Jolene. God’s not in this
house.”
This time Eugene Waterford heard everything they had
said and sat there in shocked silence.
Jolene nodded dubiously at her friend. She watched her friend bite her lip, sigh deeply and look
back at the chapel doors. ‘What
has gotten into you, Amy?’ She wrote on the page on her lap. Holding it up to her friend’s face, she waited for an answer
that never came. Amy rose up, as
quietly as possible as Reverend Leeds continued his sermon, and made a
beckoning motion with her free hand as she lugged her over-sized purse. As she reached the aisle, she could
hear Jolene stirring behind her.
Her heart was beating so loudly she could barely breath. Both women exited through the vestibule
and the chapel together. To his
wife’s annoyance, Eugene whispered what he had overheard into Millicent’s ear,
displaying the same discourtesy they had criticized Amy for.
When the two women reached the steps of the church,
Amy exclaimed in a liberated voice “My mother’s dead; this church is dead. But my mother is in heaven,
Jolene. I’m going to find us a
real church where they preach the gospel of Jesus Christ, not Norman Vincent
Peale!”
******
Reverend Adam Leeds noted, with alarm,
the departure of Amy Sullivan and Jolene Frick. Because of her mother’s attachment to the previous minister
of the church, he had expected Amy’s eventual departure from the church. Why she stayed on after her mother’s
death had been a mystery to him.
There was hostility between herself and members of the congregation over
her old fashion beliefs, and she had been absent for several weeks after her
argument with Sheila Hightower over Sheila’s partial birth abortion and refusal
to admit it was wrong. Perhaps she
had stayed on out of curiosity or the desire to reform the church by her
constant disagreements with members of the church. She had been, he reflected, as she departed with her
friend, a pain in the ass.
He was glad to see her go.
But she had taken the lovely Jolene Frick with her. The departure of Jolene, who had many
times given him fond looks and bolstered his spirits by her presence, was a big
shock to him. His voice faltered,
and perspiration gathered on his brow.
The cool, creeping breeze that he steadfastly wanted to believe was
heaven sent, immediately dried his sweat but could not mask the pained
expression on his face.
“….
And so dear friends of Our Savior’s Christian Church we are caught up in a
great movement of human spirituality in the world. It is a new age that puts demands upon us our predecessors
did not have to consider. We can
either embrace it with positive energy” “… and God’s help,” he added, after a
pause, “or we be swept aside by a new generation. The Lord will guide us, but we are captains of our
destiny. We must take charge!”
After
a short benediction, in which he managed to say a prayer without using the word
Lord, God or even Our Savior (the name of the church) one time, he looked up to
see the last family containing a husband, wife, and children depart ahead of
the others. The three children, a
boy of eleven and two twin girls of nine, ran out of the chapel into the
vestibule as would inmates making their escape. Their parents, as their wardens and keepers, were not far
behind. Sheila Hightower and
Patrick Smalley, who no longer talked to each other after the abortion, left by
separate aisles as did the remaining young couples in the congregation. The departure of these last vestiges of
youth in the church filled him with foreboding. Most of the other members, however, which consisted mostly
of senior citizens, remained in their seats, dour, deadpan or haggard
expressions lingering on their faces as they had waited for the reverend to
wrap it up.
Now,
as he stood at the pulpit, all of the senior members of the church wore
concerned expressions on their craggy, care-worn faces. In the past, as the exodus of members
continued at an ever-accelerating rate, he was held accountable by a few of the
elders of his flock. It did not
matter that the absent members were replenished by a new breed of worshipers,
who were far more receptive than the old; the re-growth was not fast
enough. Though he had introduced
the new format in stages, it had met increasing resistance from the elders of
the church. When his wife’s behavior
began changing so drastically in the last few months, he was openly criticized
by the Waterfords, Breckenridges, and Royces. Now, in spite of the patience most of them had shown him in
the past, he could feel their unanimous displeasure. He felt as if he was on trial. He expected the worst as Eugene Waterford stood up and wrung
his finger angrily at him.
“You sir, are no Norman Vincent Peale!” His voice
shrilled.
“Peale? You compare him to Peale?” James Royce
cried out from the pew in back of Eugene. “He’s no Reverend Thomas;
that’s who he’s not. Our old
minister would’ve held this congregation together no matter what happened at
home.”
“He
can’t even run his house,” William Breckenridge said derisively, looking smugly
at his wife. “He’s letting a drunk run his life!”
“That’s
not the issue here,” Waterford shook his head irritably. “It’s this new age
crap. Now he’s espousing Norman
Vincent Peale’s positive thinking.
I just found out from one of our members that Peale wasn’t even a
Christian. I could care less what
your wife Cora does in the privacy of your house, Adam, but I don’t like this
theme; I don’t like it at all!”
Adam’s ire rose so swiftly he could barely contain
himself, and yet he had the presence of mind to look out at his audience for
support. Only two men had stood up
to accuse him—the same two men, along with their wives, who had caused problems
in the past. The Breckenridges
remained seated in their pew. He
was gratified to find shock and dismay on the other members’ faces at what
Royce and Breckenridge had said.
“How dare you bring my wife’s name up now,” Adam
spoke as calmly as possible. “Judge me by my deeds, not my wife. Look around you at this cesspool of a
world—its self-indulgence and decay. My wife has a drinking problem—period,
which is not my fault. It’s none
of your business. I’m merely a
pastor of one small church, while our president lied, cheated, and mislead our
country. Against the impersonal,
secular government he helped create, traditional churches—a thousand quarreling
sects—are impotent. The man’s a
functional atheist, yet they love him.
There’s no other unifying, moral compass to guide people, except outdated
precepts of religion. If you
believe in my ministry and our church, you must, if you don’t accept my
message, trust my effort, if not God’s, to get my poor wife help!”
Looking squarely at Eugene Waterford, whose insults
about his wife had been done behind his back, he made a defense of his new
format: “If you didn’t like what I’m preaching, Eugene, why did you wait until
you eavesdropped on Amy Sullivan to tell me. I saw her sitting behind you and your wife, chatting with
her friend. Is it possible that,
after dozing in church all this time, you finally woke up and listened to one
of my sermons?”
“Incidentally,” he said, holding up his Bible, “this
was Peale’s inspiration, not Shintoism or Karl Marx. He was a Christian; I don’t care what Amy Sullivan
said. He just had a bigger heart
and a broader mind than people like you.
He wanted to open a dialogue between Christians and other faiths. In this divisive world and its flawed
spiritual and political leadership, what could be wrong with that? It’s what I want to do here at Our
Savior. If you want to call this
‘new age,’ it doesn’t matter, but we must embrace the changing world. I’m trying to build this church up, not
tear it down like you. Leave my
wife out of it! For your
information, Eugene, I’m well aware of some of the cruel things you and your
wife said behind my back. Jim and
Bill just have the courage to say it to my face!”
Adam had wanted to say more but paused when he
realized he said just enough.
There had been an intake of breaths and several embarrassed smiles. Dwight Higgins, the senior elder,
seemed to nod approvingly at his defense.
Though Adam could not see this tiny couple behind Eugene Waterford and
his wife, Todd and Tina Billingsley stood up and clapped their hands. With the exception of the Waterfords,
Royces, and Breckenridges, the remaining members caught their enthusiasm and
began applauding vigorously too.
Sister Bliss called out from her seat beside the
organ. “Bravo, Reverend Leeds. God
will help your wife!”
“Good show laddy—you set them blue noses straight!”
the Scotsman Ian MacCallum stood up to be counted alongside of his wife.
“Yes, that was excellent Adam,” Satan whispered
icily to itself, “bully for you!
Oh, I wish you could hear me now!
But you don’t need these self-righteous hypocrites. You have me!”
Philip Lindley, normally stony faced during Adam’s
sermons, to his wife’s embarrassment, had turned around in his pew and began
scolding Breckenridge for what he said: “That was a despicable thing to say
about the minister’s wife, Bill. I
think you should apologize to the reverend at once!”
Adam had a full standing ovation as the last sitting
member, Dwight Higgins, stood up to applaud. Most of the grave expressions seen in his audience, he
understood, had been compassion, not censure at all. It appeared as if his wife’s problem had gained him sympathy
in the church. Adam looked upwards
at the ceiling now, as if he was thinking God had intervened. Satan wanted very much to frighten,
with a freak gust of wind or drop in temperature, Adam’s detractors in the
church. It could accomplish this
feat easily, as it had in Adam’s home, but it might easily backfire during this
emotionally charged hour. After
the ambience was changed in Adam’s study, the reverend believed the Holy Ghost
was in his life. Here, in what
appeared to be God’s turf, it would seem conclusive to him, and this
“miraculous sign,” though welcomed by the reverend, might frighten everyone
else in the room.
“Now,
Adam,” Eugene Waterford moved solemnly into the aisle, “the late Doctor Richard
Smedley left a great sum of money to support Reverend Hugh Thomas’ independent
church. We, the elders of the
congregation, don’t make enough money to offset the drop in tithes and the
dwindling offerings, but we have added substantially to the coffers and have a
right to be concerned about its affairs.
Your wife is an embarrassment to us too and has caused several families
to leave the church.”
Philip
Lindley, after delivering most of his objections from his seat, now stood with
the others and took Waterford to task.
“We were going to have a civilized meeting, Eugene, but it appears as
though you prefer dissention in our church. I suggest you heed Jesus Christ, Himself, when he said ‘he
who is without sin, cast the first stone.”
“What
do you mean by that?” Waterford blustered. “What the hell kind’ve crack is
that?”
“He’s
right, no one’s perfect, least of all you,” said Todd Billingsley, whose
diminutive size had kept him hidden behind the hefty Eugene until he moved to
the aisle.
Now Todd was suddenly a firebrand on Adam’s
behalf. He took this opportunity
to berate the much bigger man for being a ‘stick in the mud’ all these
years. After reeling around
angrily and charging forth several steps, Eugene looked as if he might just
attack Todd, until Philip rushed over to stand in his way. They had inadvertently struck a chord;
Waterford obviously had something to hide in his past. Fearful for the other men’s safety,
Adam stepped down from the pulpit, rushing to Todd and Philip’s aid.
“All right Eugene,” he said, suppressing a smile,
“they’re speaking in generalities; we know you have nothing to hide. You would certainly throw the
first stone!”
Almost everyone laughed at the sarcasm in his voice,
which was more than Eugene Waterford could bear. The big man found himself defending something he, himself,
scarcely believed.
“This man is a fraud,” he pointed to the reverend.
“Ever since he replaced Hugh, his sermons have grown increasingly
philosophical. Now he’s quoting
from Norman Vincent Peale. He never
talks about right and wrong. It’s
just that feel good religion—that new age claptrap sweeping the world.”
“What do you care?” Sneered little Todd. “You just
want to call the shots!”
“You’re a bully, Eugene, you’ve always been a
bully,” Philip Lindley cried.
“What’s the matter with you people?” Waterford
looked around at them in horror. “This man has corrupted our church with his
philosophy. Hugh would turn over
in is grave!”
“That’s not for you to decide,” Dwight explained
serenely, patting him gently on the arm. “That’s for all of us—the board of
elders. In his own way Reverend
Leeds is trying to help this church.
You’re not helping it by creating discord.”
“Help it?” Eugene looked at him in disbelief. “How
can injecting Norman Vincent Peale and all that new age mumbo-jumbo help our
church? You think I’m
creating discord?” “Jim, Bill, help me out here,” he found Royce and
Breckenridge’s gaze.
Breckenridge, who talked freely behind church
members’ backs, now froze in public and sat back down with his wife. But James Royce was as flabbergasted as
Eugene and stood there muttering protests under his breath.
“Are
you people forgetting the time Cora Leeds puked in the chapel,” Eugene asked in
a strained voice. “That was diss-gussting,” he emphasized the word. “And when
she went berserk during the service and made that terrible scene. The woman acted possessed. This guy has too much baggage. He’s trying to cover this shit up with
that new age, psychological crap, but he doesn’t fool me!”
“That’s enough,” Dwight motioned for him to cease.
“You and Jim owe our minister an apology.” “All three of you do,” he looked around at Bill.
“Come on Breckenridge,” Philip looked back from his
pew, “stand up and fess up like a man.”
Breckenridge sat there in mortification. Jim, who could give no support either,
sat back down red-faced with his wife.
Waterford, beckoning the humiliated Millicent, became the third member
of the congregation to exit the church.
******
Adam had mixed feelings about Eugene and Millicent Waterford’s
departure, especially when the quiet and unobtrusive Timothy and Ruth Tyler
followed them out the door.
“Tim works for Eugene at his firm,” Philip explained
simply.
“But that makes four more members after Amy and
Jolene left,” Tina Billingsley, Todd’s tiny wife, noted with alarm.
“Yes, it’s dreadful,” sighed Adam, “maybe I’m
the one who should leave.”
“Nonsense, Adam,” said Dwight in a fatherly way.
“You’ve gone through hell trying to hold up this congregation, but the truth is
there’s been a constant exodus after Reverend Thomas’ death. I helped build up this church, so I’ve
stuck around all these years. But
maybe you should tone down that positive thinking stuff, Adam. It works will with all the liberals and
young folks but it doesn’t resonate with us oldsters.”
“I-I’m sorry,” Adam was shaken by this news.
“That’s what this meeting was suppose to be about,”
Philip Lindley said as kindly as possible, “not that negative feedback given by
Waterford, Breckenridge, and Royce.”
“Yeah, what do you say to that Jim and Bill?” asked
Leona Bliss, looking at them from across the room.
The Royces and Breckenridges, as a foursome, had
gathered by now in the other aisle but had not yet exited from the church.
“Jim, Natasha, Bill, Ellen,” Adam called out their
names, “don’t leave us. Give our
church another chance.”
“It was my intention,” James Royce admitted, looking
around at the members, “to have Adam voted out finally so that someone without
his psychological baggage and liberal theology could fill Reverend Thomas’
shoes. He certainly hasn’t. But that’s not going to happen. Our Savior is gasping its last breath.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Bill Breckenridge said in a
broken voice.
“You sound like your throwing in the towel,” Dwight
replied, concern flashing in his dark eyes. “Come on Jim and Bill, let’s discuss this together. Natasha, Ellen, you have friends here
too. Let’s all sit down as a
family of believers. Together we
can heel this church.”
The disgruntled foursome stood there whispering
amongst themselves, apparently undecided as whether or not they should
leave. Dwight Higgins and Reverend
Leeds, with the remaining elders following reluctantly behind, walked quickly
around the front of the church toward the aisle where the four members
stood. The mutineers had turned
toward the entrance and were on the verge of exiting when Dwight and Reverend
Leeds implored them to come back.
“Hold on a minute,” Dwight waved his hands
excitedly, “let’s discuss this together.
Don’t just walk out like this.”
“Yes,” the reverend said with less enthusiasm,
“please hear us out.”
Adam had misgivings about calling this troublesome
crew back. Concerned that they
might, in fact, not leave, Satan had made a decision. It was time to shake things up. As if an ill omen had entered the chapel, a cold draft of
wind now surged through the room, forcing the unwanted foursome toward the
chapel entrance. Suddenly everyone
in the chapel discovered that William Breckenridge wore a wig. The dark mat took flight with the
draft, winding up perched on top of one of the large oak doors. His wife Ellen screamed as her own
hairpiece blew back to expose her own thinning locks. Bill’s heavyset frame had also been thrown backwards by the
gale into his wife, causing her to crash against Natasha Royce, who, in a
domino effect, likewise offset her husband James, who felt the full weight of
the other three as he slammed first onto his rear. At the end of the pile-up where Jim sprawled, the remaining
three members followed suit, cursing and fuming at each other as they tumbled
one by one onto Royce and rolled off indignantly onto the floor.
Adam, the remaining elders, and their wives had the
presence of mind to back away out of range of the gale, discovering that it was
a localized phenomenon that appeared to be blowing the Royces and Breckenridges
out of the church. Not wishing to
over do it, Satan ceased its blowing, the gale stopping as abruptly as it
began. Without a word now, the
Royces and Breckenridges stood up shakily, dusted themselves off and quietly
exited through the chapel doors.
Bill’s wig, which had remained perched precariously on top of the door,
now fell to the floor.
******
Adam searched the vaulting ceiling, his eyes falling
upon Our Savior’s full-scale wooden cross. No one attempted to stop the foursome now.
“What was that?” Cried Leona Bliss.
“It was the hand of the Lord,” exclaimed Reverend
Leeds, raising his arms as if in benediction.
“But its cold air,” said Philip Lindley, looking at
him in disbelief.
“The Lord has given us a sign,” the reverend sighed
and closed his eyes.
It was the same argument that he had used on himself
when he first felt the breeze. But
Todd Billingsley and Ian MacCallum were not convinced.
“Aye laddy,” Ian scratched his red beard, “hell may
be hot, but when evil comes, she blows cold.”
“I don’t know,” Tina Billingsley shook her head in
wonder, “I just don’t know.”
“I think it was the air conditioner,” Todd, the only
calm one in the group, scanned the room. “I’ve been in this business for many
years. The controller might be
malfunctioning or the compressor could be in overkill. Any number of things could go wrong.”
“Reverend Leeds is an optimist,” Dwight sounded
condescending, “but I think Ian’s right: nothing good could be that cold. Unless we have a malfunctioning air
conditioner, we’ve got a poltergeist in our church!”
Dwight laughed unconvincingly at his little
joke. The expressions on his face
belied his skepticism. All of them
were shaken by the event. It
seemed clear to Adam that they were in denial. Shivering and pulling their coats tightly around themselves,
the group now huddled together a few more moments until the drop in temperature
created by Satan began to pass.
“Well, we’ve lost eight people,” said Tina
Billingsley with a sigh.
“Who needs them?” Leona Bliss said dubiously. “We’re
not the only ones left. A lot of
folks just went home. There’s at
least a hundred young people attending services now.
“But a lot of people didn’t even show up today,” Brenda MacCallum
reminded her friend.
“What young people is she talking about Phil?”
Carolyn Lindley muttered to her husband. “That hussy Sheila and jerk-off
Pat? Most of our new ones are
still visitors. No one wants to
join anymore. Does anyone even know
those new young people’s names.”
“Steve and Connie Morello, Ray Sanderson. . .” Todd
began reading from his notebook. “I got a whole bunch of names.”
“Fly-by-nights,” blurted Tina. “Adam is attracting
freaks.”
“That’s who you been aiming at, hasn’t it?” Dwight
asked Adam cagily. “You used to give regular, gospel-inspired, sermons,
Adam. You never were one for that
old time religion, but you at least talked about God.”
“If you folks can stand here and worry about
attendance after what we just experienced, what can I say?” Adam heaved a
broken sigh. “…. I confess: I’m a wacko and positive thinker if that’s what you
want. But don’t ask me to deny my
own eyes and senses. You may not
believe me, but this same thing happened in my home.” “…. The Lord moves in mysterious ways,” he began quoting
scripture, “his wonders to perform.”
“I believe it was a miracle,” Leona announced
supportively.
“I do to,” piped Tina, although she had a frown on
her infantile face.
“You believe?” Adam searched the two women’s faces.
“Or you think you should believe?”
There was a collective sigh in the group at this
play of words. Philip and Carolyn
Lindley, Ian and Brenda MacCallum, Todd Billingsley, and Dwight Higgins were
even less certain how to interpret this event. Was not goodness a warm, fuzzy feeling? Would God send them a sign disguised as
an arctic breeze? Again Dwight
Higgins had gently taken Adam to task with the tacit approval of the elders,
but this time, after such an event, Adam didn’t care. He was convinced of this miracle; it supported his optimism
for the future. He still had his
job, and he had learned a valuable lesson about human nature today. What’s that old saying his father used
to quote? You can’t teach an old
dog new tricks. And yet what about
Leona Bliss and Tina Billingsley?
What about all those young folks from the university visiting the
church? In their own stubborn way,
these good people of Our Savior’s Church stood by him, and he had made an
impact on the younger members of the church. But he had to return to the basics and be more subtle with
innovation. For the most part,
these oldsters were resistant to change.
“Well,” he smiled bravely at the group, “let’s have
that meeting of the minds. Are you
folks up to that now?”
“No, Adam,” Dwight shook his head gently, “I think
we should postpone our talk. We
have a lot to think about after this morning. Let’s call it soul-searching. Each of must pray for our young minister and his wife, and
also pray for Our Savior Independent Christian Church.”
A familiar chill blew across Adam’s brow, as he
shook the men’s hands and received hugs from Leona Bliss and the elders’
wives. Bolstering his spirit was
the realization: in spite of their misgivings, they were giving him a second
chance. Satan, who followed
him home, was not so certain this was good, and yet it had seen great potential
in his oratory skills. He was, in
deed, the perfect vessel. He was
young, and, unlike those old fuddy-duddies, he could change. Elder Waterford had been correct, however:
this nonsense about positive thinking had to go.
Satan whispered into the reverend’s unhearing ear, as he drove home from church, “If only you could hear me, I would tell you that the best thing in the whole world for you would be to make a clean break with this crowd…. If only I could overcome that last shred of faith in order to penetrate your conscious mind!”
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