CONTENTS

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

SNAP, the Series

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 Mick Mooney

All rights reserved.

CHAPTER ONE

Frank parked in front of his parents' place, a beast of a house, and cut across the silky lawn, an act he had been forbidden from doing since childhood. Certain things were okay to damage—hearts and minds for example—but not the lawn. The exterior facade was considered sacred and his father expected it to be treated as such. To be sure, there was no grass greener, no house more delightful to the eyes, than that of the mighty Pastor Richard and his faithful wife Jane.

Stepping inside, he found his mother busy in her stainless steel nirvana. She took off her baking gloves, quickly embraced him and zipped back to the stove, focused on the mission at hand.

“Where's Dad?” he asked.

“In his study, dear. He'll be down in a minute.”

Frank rolled his eyes.

Sure he will.

Upstairs Richard was reviewing the numbers of that morning's Christmas service. It was always a big meeting, but for the first year in the history of Faith First Church the numbers were down—both attendance and offerings.

Down. He gritted his teeth. He had worked so hard on the preparation of this year's Christmas service. He had even brought in a celebrity preacher to inspire the crowd. That alone made quite a dint in the budget, but he had expected the offerings to more than cover the costs. He was wrong about that.

I wasn’t wrong, I just miscalculated.

He told himself yesterday, promised himself, that once the service was over he would forget about work and celebrate the day with his wife, but he hadn't done it. He'd tried, but there was so much to do, so much to think over, so many plans he needed to create. He couldn't focus on anything else and had been in his study most of the afternoon racking his mind to find a solution to this downward spiral of numbers.

He heard his son arrive almost half an hour ago, but he wasn't finished. He needed more time to think.

He looked over the spreadsheet once again. Why were the numbers down? What was he doing wrong? He was giving his whole life, his entire focus, to make Faith First prosper.

Yet the numbers are down!

His clenched fists creaked like worn-out floorboards. He needed to turn the numbers around. He needed a plan. The monthly cost of maintaining the church building, the bank loans, the salaries and the ministries relied upon growth. A slide in attendance meant a slide in offerings, and that meant more than a small strain on their accounts. It was a visible sign of decline, and decline made people reluctant to support the vision with their finances. No, a church's vision had to be always expanding, ever taking ground, forever increasing in size and influence. Without these signs of growth and success, questions would arise. Questions he didn't have time to answer.

He was the leader of Faith First. He needed to focus. He needed the unwavering support—not questions—of his congregation. Yet what he really needed, more than anything else, was rest. Not for his body, but for his inner man. His mind felt like a hamster on a giant church-growth-wheel. He was exhausted, constantly exhausted.

First find a way to get the numbers up, then allow yourself to rest.

Yes, he would find a way, he had to—there was no other option. He numbed his anxiety, determined to press on.

He stood up and walked to the window. His house backed onto a large man-made lake, purpose-built for the community. A sparrow flew effortlessly across the surface with its wings gracefully outstretched. He mimicked the bird, outstretching his arms, and took a few deep breaths.

He loosened up and began to style his hair with his left hand, though it already sat perfectly. He'd worn the same hairdo for the past ten years. Short back and sides, combed from the left to the right. He dyed his hair, too. Tranquil Brown. Once every month, after his regular hair cut, he would spend a secret hour in the bathroom. Nobody knew about this, not even his wife. In fact, Richard refused to admit he was going gray, even to himself, denial being one of his most powerful companions when required. A 42-year-old man should not be going gray. It was a sign of weakness. No, gray didn't belong to Richard, not a chance.

By the time he made his way downstairs the food was already cold.

His wife, in her usual fashion, ushered the family to the table. She was more comfortable when there was food between them; in their relationship, there was always something between them. Her blonde hair fluttered here and there, following her constant movements. She was pretty, a natural beauty, though she had somewhat of a mechanical tick to her as she paced around the table ordering and rearranging the food and serving utensils.

Richard eyeballed his son as they shook hands. They exchanged greetings and wasted no time getting started with the meal.

After a short and awkward time of small talk, Frank blurted out, “I've been thinking a lot about my faith the past few months, and I've concluded that I don't think I know Jesus.”

“Of course you know him,” Richard responded coldly, without looking up.

What an odd thing for Frank to say.

Odd, because as a family they never discussed their faith on a personal level that involved doubt in any way. They prayed together before dinner, listened to worship music together, talked about the next great church program coming up or the one that just past. They talked in general terms about faith quite a lot, standard religious talk was never lacking, but talking about their doubts? No, that kind of talk never took place at the Mighty Pastor Richard’s table—not until now.

“No, Dad, I don't,” Frank insisted.

They sat at a thick oak table. Turkey, salad, veggies, breads, and a variety of other side dishes adorned the table. Too much food, of course.

“Why in the world would you think something like that?” his father asked reluctantly.

“Because, to be brutally honest, I feel like I've been sold a different Jesus and I'm only now starting to realize it. You know, the Apostle Paul told the church to be careful they don't believe in a different Jesus. Well, I feel like that's exactly what's happened to me. I've been thinking about it this way: Based on how we live our Christian faith—as we try to imitate the Jesus we follow—our own behavior should be a good indicator of how we believe Jesus acts, right?”

Richard nodded, though he wore a concerned look on his face.

Frank continued, “And if that's so, then the Jesus I've grown up with and been taught about is a Jesus who acts like a Pharisee: he's obsessed with keeping his religious reputation in prime condition, he prays in public for all to see, he's known as a dedicated tither . . . you know what I'm saying? But I don't want to mimic a Pharisee Jesus. If I'm going to have any faith at all, I want it to be based on the real Jesus. Do you get what I mean when I say I'm not sure I believe in the real Jesus?”

“No, as I stated, I don't,” Richard replied. “On the contrary, I'm certain you do believe in the real Jesus, because that's the only Jesus I preach, and you've been a part of my church your whole life.”

“How about some dessert?” his mother asked. Neither one of them answered.

“Dad, I'm just trying to be honest to myself, and honest with God.” He paused to take another mouthful of turkey then quickly continued, “If we can't be honest about it, what's the point of our faith? It's good to question things.” He locked eyes with his father, “you should try it sometime.”

Richard cleared his throat loudly and pointed at his son, “Listen-very-carefully: I'm the Senior Pastor of God's church. It's my job to understand the Lord. I do it full-time, so perhaps you should just trust me when I say you do know the real Jesus. End of story.”

Frank pushed his plate away from him, leaned back in his chair, and said, “Sorry, I can't blindly trust you, not on this.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, I can't trust you. I've realized if I have any hope of discovering the truth, I can only trust the Spirit of God in me.”

Richard grinned in disbelief, he shook his head and then started tapping on the table. His eyes didn't leave Frank's. They all sat there in silence, till Jane whispered, “I think I overcooked the turkey.”

Once again, Richard pointed his finger at his son, “Let me make something perfectly clear for you . . . The reason Christians have a pastor is so they can be told what the truth is. In your case, I'm not just your father, I'm your pastor, too. That means I'm your spiritual authority and I'm telling you the truth, that's my job—and your job is to listen. You need to trust your pastor; it's the basic biblical foundation for your Christian life.”

“Actually,” Frank said, pausing to cough under his napkin before continuing, “I really can't find that in the New Testament, either. In all my searching, I found nothing about Christians requiring a personal pastor.”

Richard sat there in silence, his mind aflame with indignation. What was this, anyway? An attack by his own son? Was he not allowed to switch off and simply enjoy his meal without someone attacking his work for God?

In any case, he knew Scripture would settle the issue. It always did.

“Ephesians 5:14, 'For God gave firstly apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors and teachers for the building up of the body.' It's quite clear in scripture,” he grinned at his son, “or do you ignore what the Bible clearly says?”

Richard gave Frank a proud look that said: I win.

Frank rocked back and forth on his chair. He took another bread roll from the table and dipped it in the gravy.

“So, tell me, then,” Frank said, “who is your personal evangelist?”

“What? I don't have a personal evangelist,” Richard replied.

“Okay, so who is your personal prophet?”

“Frank, you're being foolish now.”

“Or your personal apostle? Who is it, Dad?”

“I don't have a personal apostle. I'm not part of a cult, for heaven's sake.”

“So why do you think Christians should have a personal pastor, but not a personal apostle, prophet or evangelist? They're all part of the same Scripture you just quoted. If you want to use that Scripture to support your theology, that Christians need a personal pastor, you have to say the same for them having a personal apostle, a personal prophet, and a personal evangelist, too . . . Or do you ignore what the Bible clearly says?” he asked, trying not to grin.

“Okay, that's enough,” Richard said.

“So you won't answer my question?”

“Would anyone like some dessert?” Jane asked.

Richard shook his head at his son. “I never pay attention to critics of the church, even if they're family.”

“Just answer the question. Why should a Christian have a personal pastor?”

“Do you think the body of Christ doesn't need pastors, Son?”

Frank rubbed his forehead before locking eyes with his father once again, saying, “Not a personal pastor. Not someone who is just another man. The only personal pastor we need is Jesus. He is our good Shepherd, and as I'm sure you know, that's the same word as pastor. He's the only pastor we should submit to, surely? The Shepherd of our souls.”

“Are you finished?” Richard asked.

“Dinner? Yes, I think so.” Frank wore a grin on his face that said to his father: You lose.

The grin infuriated Richard. How dare his son act with such arrogance, such disregard for God's order of authority. His son was barely a man and knew nothing of the pressure involved in serving the Lord at such a high level. Perhaps he had given him too much room to become his own man?

Richard had been strict with his son when he was a child, keeping him in line with the moral pattern of the Christian faith, but he had loosened his parental grip over the last two years and allowed him to go his own way, to do as he chose. He had said nothing when Frank recently started skipping church. He tried to be graceful, but his nerves were shot today, and the last person who should be challenging his position was his own son. The declining attendance numbers sprang back into his mind and he immediately projected them onto Frank. He rose abruptly, thrusting his chair back and throwing his napkin to the floor, “I'm not talking about dinner and you know it! I'm talking about your attack on my spiritual position—the position of authority that was given to me by God!” He was breathing heavily, and his sudden anger shocked everyone at the table. He rarely raised his voice, but then again, he was rarely challenged like this at such a close distance.

“Oh, here we go. Playing the God card already, are we?” Frank said, undeterred by his father's sudden flare up.

“This is my house. Show some respect—or get out.”

“Oh, come on,” Frank replied. “We're all believers here. If we can't discuss our faith, what can we discuss? The weather? Football? The next big church conference and the famous speakers that will be there?” He put his bread roll down. “Don't condemn me because I have questions. After all, Jesus did say, seek and you shall find.”

“You don't have questions,” Richard replied. “What you have is criticism, something I don’t pay any attention to.”

“Why, because my questions challenge your paycheck?” Frank tried to withdraw the words, but it was too late.

Numbers are down. Numbers are down!

“That's enough!” Richard screamed.

“Enough? I've shared one honest thought about my faith and that's enough?” Frank shot back. “I question one part of our communal life in Christ and you want me to be silent? I'm seeking to understand the truth, and you think I'm just being a critic?”

“Are you finished?”

Frank stood in silence, listening to his father repeat: “Are. You. Finished?”

Frank shook his head in dismay. He picked up his napkin and wiped his face, “No. I've got the feeling I'm just getting started.”

He gave his mother a kiss on the cheek and walked toward the door.

“Merry Christmas,” he said without looking back. He stepped outside, closing the door behind him with a thud.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

Frank drove across town to his uncle Ted's house. His mind spinning with new thoughts, revolutionary thoughts, about his faith and the way forward from here.

His whole life had revolved around his walk with Jesus, and yet his whole mindset towards that walk had been seriously challenged over the past few months. It wasn’t someone else challenging him; he was simply reflecting on his own beliefs. He was being honest, being open.

He wasn’t questioning if Jesus was real, but he did question if he knew the real Jesus. How much of his upbringing had presented Jesus as he truly was compared to the Jesus who was more religiously palatable? Oh, the questions! His belief in the God who walked with him was not about to change any time soon, but did he really see the fullness of the One who walked with him? That was the question he had spent the last year trying to avoid. Yet here he was fleeing from his parents' home, embarking on a journey armed only with his honesty.

He was born into a Christian household and trained from the earliest age in the doctrines and theology of his parents. He had devoted every Sunday of his life partaking, supporting, and serving in a Christian religious service. He had enough head knowledge to be considered a theologian, but what about heart knowledge? That was the part he wasn't so sure about.

He had read all the mainstream books on Christian values and principles. He had zealously tried to convert his classmates, neighbors and work colleagues to the Christian faith in accordance with the evangelical teachings that had been drilled into him ever since his childhood.

He had always been zealous for the Christian faith, but in a silent moment of honesty, he had asked himself if he was missing something . . . perhaps missing everything. Did he really see the fullness of the God he was devoting his life to serve? Did he see him as he truly was, at all?

Over the previous few months, during his conversations with his uncle Ted and his own Bible reading, Frank had begun to notice just how misunderstood Jesus had been throughout his earthly ministry. The true identity of Jesus, it seemed, was drastically misconstrued. According to the popular opinion of his day, Jesus was a walking bag of contradictions. He was labeled either a mad man or a good man; a prophet or a false prophet; a miracle worker or a con-man; a heretic, a drunk, a glutton, a wizard, a mere man and even a myth that never existed.

The very world Jesus had come to save seemed to be very confused about him.

Frank had never had a problem believing the world was confused about the identity of Jesus. He had spent most of his life looking down his nose upon the world, something that hindered him from ever building any meaningful relationships with people. Judgment did that: it ruined one's ability to build genuine friendship. Now, however, he found himself joining those he previously judged, as one who was also confused about the true identity of Jesus.

In stripping off his religious armor, he found himself coming to God naked and unashamed. He was admitting that after having become an expert in the Christian faith, he had accepted that somehow he had missed the grace of God. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the theology of grace. He could rattle off theology better than most, but this journey was not about information, it was not about theory; it was about honesty. He wanted to understand.

He had mastered the way of the Christian religion, but it had broken him. He was sick of religion, even a religion that put Jesus at the top of the hierarchy.

What he wanted was not the complicated matrix of religion, layered with lies and corruption. No, what he wanted was simple: He just wanted to know the truth.

He pulled up to his uncle Ted's house. It was a single story, four-bedroom home, though his uncle was the only one who lived there. He bought it when he married, assuming kids would come at some point to fill the house. That assumption, however, turned out to be unfounded. From his veranda he had a heck of a view. It was not uncommon for many folks to have a good glimpse of the mountain; however, the panorama from Ted's veranda was second to none. Frank got out of his car and made his way across the long stretch of lawn. Ted was sitting with one of his buddies, Jackson, one of the local Tacoma police officers. He was off duty. In typical fashion, they were enjoying the sunset with a cold beverage.

“Hi Kiddo,” Ted said as Frank approached him. “Didn't expect to see you today.”

“Hi Ted. Hi Jack . . . hope I'm not interrupting.”

“Actually, I was just heading off,” Jackson said. “Here, I kept the seat warm for you.” He stood up, turned to Ted and said, “Got to get back to the Missus. You still coming around on Thursday night?”

“Of course. I wouldn't miss the chance to delight in your wife's lamb roast.”

Jackson laughed. His wife's cooking stank, but Ted never failed to compliment her on her lamb roast. Who knows, perhaps he actually did like it.

“Are you bringing a date with you?”

“Yeah, I think I'll bring Audrey along.”

Jackson shook his head, “Audrey's a pal, one with a nice rack to be sure, but still—how about you bring a real date with you, as in a romantic one?”

“Because I know the kind of rascal you are, you'll be playing footsy under the table with anyone I bring along, you sly dog. Forget it, I don't trust the likes of you,” Ted said, giving his friend a wink at the same time.

Jackson just grinned and shook his head again. “All right, have it your way, numb nuts.” He slapped Frank on the shoulder as he headed off, leaving Frank and Ted alone on the veranda.

Ted turned to his nephew and said, “Thought you were having dinner at your folks place this evening.”

“Yeah, well, I just bailed on the family dinner, actually.”

Ted cringed. He put his hand in the cooler. “Soda?”

Frank scrunched up his face, “Beer?”

His uncle looked at him, silent, eyebrows raised.

“Hey, I've been legally allowed to drink for over a year now.” He paused to grin. “Based on Canadian law, that is, and in practically every other country in the free world.” He pointed out towards Mt. Rainier, perfectly visible from where they were seated. “As for our government, they can't even name this damn mountain correctly, what makes us think they got this 'no-alcohol-till-you're-21' policy right?”

Ted pouted his lips, thought for a moment, then reached into his cooler and threw a can to Frank. “Well, I can't argue with that logic.” He raised his own can of beer to Frank. “Cheers.”

According to the Old Timers within the area, the mountain belonged to the folks of Tacoma, not neighboring Seattle and certainly not to the Big Wigs on Capitol Hill. In fact, up till 1855 it was commonly called Mt. Tacoma, but after an almost violent struggle between Tacoma and the powers that be in Washington, the name was officially changed to Rainier. However, when ever Ted talked about it, he always called it Mt. Tacoma, as many of the locals believed it should be.

They sat in silence for a prolonged moment. Finally, Ted spoke.

“How's my brother these days?”

“He's an asshole.”

“Literally?” Ted asked, without missing a beat.

Frank burst into laughter. “Yeah, literally. One giant A-hole.”

“Nah, I don't believe it.”

Frank put his beer down, and turned to his uncle. “Why don't you ever speak bad of him? I mean, he has been nothing but an arrogant jerk to you for close to a decade.”

“Sitting here, it's pretty easy,” Ted nodded in the direction of Mt. Tacoma, “just check out that view. It can make the hardest heart soften.” He was right; the view was stunning. His house was on one of the highest points of the town. He was positioned on the edge of a cul-de-sac, and had no neighbor on his left side, only a few huge giant trees that marked the border between his place and the steep drop into the valley below. From his veranda they had a clear view of Mt. Rainier, that stretched across the horizon, and a naked shot of the sun setting in all its glory; if nature was putting on a show, Ted's veranda was the best seat in the house.

“Just put your father and I in the same room, and don't worry, you'll see sparks,” Ted continued. “We're a pair of bulls, we are. Stubborn animals when we want to be. I've mellowed out a lot over the years, but if the last time we locked horns is anything to go by, things haven't exactly cooled between us. But, you know, I understand him. Problem is he doesn't understand me, that's all. He hasn't walked in my steps, but I've walked in his, know what I mean?”

Frank nodded. He was well aware that Ted had been the Senior Pastor of Faith First before his father took the reins.

“He thinks you’re a heathen, you know that? Can you believe that? The nerve! You're one of the only Christians I know who is truly living out his faith.”

“Yeah, like I said. He doesn't understand me. Can't do much about that.”

“But don't you want to prove you're better? You know, show my dad that your way of living the Christian faith is better than his?”

Ted just laughed, “Heck, no. Why would I want to waste my time doing that?”

“But you should. You should get loud about it. Press his buttons. Show him you've got a more loving way of living your faith.” Frank jumped off his chair and punched his fist into his hand. “Get in his face about it. Heck, you could start a revolution in this town.”

Ted remained calmly seated. He took another sip of beer. “Sorry to disappoint you, Tiger, but I’m not all that interested in proving that my Christian faith works, not to your father or anyone else. I know your father is doing all he can to prove that his model of church life is the right one, but it’s not for me. I've got no desire to prove myself, and if I'm completely honest, I don’t think any particular pattern of church life works anyway. You know—” he smirked at his nephew, “let's face it. It’s been a mess for 2,000 years.”

“Well,” Frank said, sitting back down, “not if you ask my dad. He’s got a pretty smooth operation going. Every service glitters, every musical note perfect, plenty of smiles when you enter and leave. Don’t you think it’s working for him?”

“No, I don’t,” he replied.

“Why not?

“Because, what you’re describing is an event. What I’m talking about is church life. I’m not talking about making a program work; I’m talking about making relationships with one another work. That’s what church is, it’s relationships.” He gave his nephew a wink and took another sip of his drink. “Sure, you can run a program, a religious service where everyone's a spectator, but there’s no interaction there, no one-on-one heart interaction—you know what I mean?”

Frank nodded. That was exactly the reason he no longer wanted to attend his father’s church. After growing up there, being the pastor’s kid, and being part of all the programs, he had realized he rarely, if ever, connected with people there in an honest way. It was always the same conversations, the same phrases, the same rehearsed smile-and-nod. His uncle was nothing like his father, and Frank wanted to know why. More than that, he wanted to know how to live out his Christian faith. He wanted more authenticity, but all he had ever known was the pre-programmed way he had grown up with.

“Tell me, what is there about your faith that's different to the way my dad sees it?”

“Well,” Ted said, “I guess I see my Christian faith revolving around question marks, but your father’s faith revolves around exclamation points.”

Frank laughed. “And that means?”

“It means that I believe genuine friendships grow and flourish in the question marks of life, not in the exclamation points. The Christian life as I see it is not about conquest, it is about relationships. Conquerors have all the answers. They demand and they pursue. Your dad, the great visionary, is like that. The man has all the answers, and no time to listen to life's questions. But friendship doesn’t work that way, and that’s what our faith is all about when you boil it down. Friendships develop around listening to each other's questions, fears and concerns, without judgment, and without responding with stock-standard answers.”

Frank pondered what his uncle was telling him. “So what happens, then? You know, if I stop dictating answers as a Christian, and try to learn, to listen, to love, and to grow within the questions of those around me? What exactly would be different about my relationships?”

Ted stood up, Frank followed. As they stood side by side, Ted pulled him close, throwing his arm over his nephew's shoulders. They gazed out at the setting sun, and he said: “You’ll develop much healthier friendships, that’s what. You’ll start to have friendships that do more than fill the seat next to you for an hour or two. They’ll fill your heart for a lifetime.”

Frank gazed out at the horizon. He smiled. “But don't you miss being part of an organized church?”

“Nah, I don't,” Ted replied. “I like having community without the walls of doctrine defining the boundaries.” He winked at his nephew. “There's a lot more room to move on the outside. Questions need space to roam, to seek the answers they're searching for, trust me.”

Again, Frank laughed. “What, you think Faith First has too many doctrines?”

“No, not necessarily. There's nothing wrong with doctrines, we all have them, we have to. It's just that to be part of the community, you need to never challenge those doctrines, and that becomes a prison, right there, when you are no longer free to question things without the threat of exclusion. I think it's meant to be a normal part of a spiritual life to question doctrine and encourage one another in our searching for truth, but that's a dangerous thing to some, for you just might end up challenging a doctrine upon which the entire community structure is founded.”

“Got an example?”

“Sure. I've got a bag full. But I'm not looking to pick a theological fight with anyone. Not anymore. I'm all right with how things have turned out. I'm not trying to prove myself, and I ain't waiting for any invitations to join another church program. Something I slowly came to realize is that I'll never be part of any Christian movement or church that finds their common ground on a doctrine. The only Christians I will ever fully identify with are the Christians who are asking questions, who realize they don't have a handle on the whole truth, who truly believe they are wrong about many things, it's just that they haven't figured out what parts are wrong yet. I got a bunch of friends like that. And you know what, I got a bunch of friends who don't give a damn about doctrines, too. On the outside, I've got enough space for all kinds of friends to fit into my life.

“Christians like your old man, you know they're so gung-ho on proclaiming the truth, but that doesn't resonate with me. Rather, it is the Christians who are seeking the truth that I feel connected with on a deep level. Your dad wouldn't believe it, but I really do respect and love other Christians who believe they have the truth worked out. It's just that I don't pretend to want to join their group. Why would I want that? It would only be a matter of time before they discover I don't believe the common doctrine that unites their movement or church in the expected and acceptable way, and then I'll be booted out.”

Ted picked up his old baseball bat that lay under his chair, and began to balance it on his foot. “Well, they can save the boot. I'm not in to begin with. I realize I can love all who are in the body of Christ, but I can only truly identify with those who are on the outside of all these movements anyway. Those on the outside, excluded from those with all the concrete answers and free enough to continue wrestling with their beliefs, they are the ones I find myself drawn to. Those on the outside are the only ones I think I'll ever fully feel at home with.”

Frank stared back at his uncle. He was about to ask another question, but stopped himself. Instead, he turned and gazed out at the mountain in silence.

An outsider?

He shook his head, and grinned as he allowed his mind to toy with a revolutionary idea.

CHAPTER TWO

Six Months Later . . .

“I don't feel good about this, Pastor Henry.”

“It'll be fine. He's the pastor's son, after all.”

“Yes, but—you know he hasn't even been attending church . . . for months.”

Henry knew this. In fact, he was also nervous that Frank had been scheduled to preach in Faith First’s Sunday afternoon service. Normally, he would decide who graced the pulpit, but not in this case. Although he was the Associate Pastor, Richard was the Senior Pastor, and Frank was his son. That complicated things.

“Any idea as to why Frank's been skipping church? Something to do with his studies, I assume,” Henry asked.

“That's the problem, Pastor. It's not because of his studies, it's because,” the concerned church member lowered his voice, “of drugs.”

“Drugs? Dear God. Are you certain?”

“Well, I don't know if he is using hard drugs, but I did see him in the parking lot ten minutes ago, and he was smoking a cigarette!”

“In the church parking lot?”

“Yes, and when he saw me watching him, he grinned rather wickedly, and called out that he was rehearsing for his sermon.”

“Smoking on church property?” The mental picture stabbed at Henry's nerves.

“You should do something, Pastor.”

This was bad, but what could he do? Henry stood there in silence, wondering how Richard could be so foolish as to let his son preach today.

He was always undermining Henry's decisions. If he would only listen, they would certainly be in a better position than they currently were. But no, Richard was not a listener, he was a commander. Unlike Henry, he focused more on visions than on practical matters. Henry had been the associate pastor for six years, and although no one realized it, he was the real backbone to Faith First . . . at least that was how he quietly saw things. He was a workhorse, not a show pony; what he lacked in charisma, he overcompensated with an unswerving determination of the will. Nobody—nobody—worked as hard as Henry. While Richard was busy dreaming up visions, Henry was in the shadows with his hand to the plow.

But vision was important, he told himself. Richard had a strong presence, that was undeniable, and this alone was a source of great strength to Faith First. When Richard walked into a room, everyone noticed. Henry was aware of this, because he was aware of everything, every detail. It was his job to be aware. He was methodical in his pastoral work and kept track of all matters concerning Faith First.

He returned his attention to the case at hand. Frank preaching. A few days ago he received an email from Richard requesting that Frank be scheduled to preach. An email. Their offices were right next to each other! Over the years Henry had began to see a pattern in Richard's leadership style. He expected absolute loyalty. No questions were allowed. Henry faithfully submitted to all his requests. When the church was growing from strength to strength, it was easy to follow without questioning. But over the past year he had been keeping a closer eye on Richard. An eagle eye, actually.

Things were in decline, and he felt it was in the best interests of Faith First to monitor just how Richard was leading the church. A small manila folder in his office held more than a few disturbing discoveries, and, truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure what to do with them.

Henry exhaled slowly.

“No, let's trust Pastor Richard's judgment on this. I'm sure Frank will preach a great sermon.” He walked off, paused, then turned back, “Oh, and let's not mention the whole cigarette incident to anyone.”

It was a pointless request. Soon the whole church would know all about Frank's cigarette.

The church foyer was slowly filling up. Young and middle-aged members mingled in the foyer, most holding their oversized Bibles in one hand, and a coffee in the other. Faith First had an exceptional coffee ministry, and had begun to offer drinks before and after services. It was quite a cash cow, too. A good thing, considering that the money raised helped offset some of the other ministry costs. Both members and guests were shopping and browsing in the resource center: a place where books, CDs, sermons, wristbands and other memorabilia were sold considerably overpriced, but no one seemed to mind. At close to a thousand people per service, Faith First was well on its way to becoming a mega-church. The sanctuary doors were already open, and people were slowly entering. The entire building was actually an old factory that was converted into a church many years ago. While in some ways you could say it still functioned much like the old factory, with people filing in and out at pre-scheduled times, and an ongoing production of programs and services in motion, it naturally looked nothing like its predecessor. Its interior was beautifully decorated. Tiered seating lined the three walls. The stage—a fully equipped multimedia extravaganza—had enough room for a full thirty-person choir and a rocking worship band of epic proportions, with two cinema-sized screens on each side to boot. To say it was a bit over the top would certainly be justified, but Richard was determined to have it all, and more to come, too. Professional multimedia integration was becoming the standard in all the large churches, and if they wanted Faith First to grow to the next level, they had to prove to newcomers that they were living at the forefront of the 21st Century.

Upstairs, Richard sat in his Senior Pastor's lounge. One of the young volunteers served him coffee and a light meal. Normally, he would host the guest speaker in his exclusive lounge before they went downstairs to join the service. But today Pastor Henry was preaching. That meant there was no need to impress the guest speaker with hospitality. He was tired and could use the extra fifteen minutes to himself.

He had been the Senior Pastor of Faith First for ten years, ever since his brother abandoned the post. They had started the church together, but only one of them had the commitment to run the race to the end. Only one of them was willing to shoulder the weight of responsibility. Not only had Ted stepped down as Senior Pastor, but he had stepped out of the church community completely.

Before his departure, Richard had stood faithfully behind his brother's vision for Faith First for close to a decade. Through blood, sweat, and tears, and an uncountable amount of hours, they had built a strong church of over thousand members. They had worked hard to bring the church that far, harder than anyone knew. They had given their time to the vision, and sacrificed all of themselves for the cause. But one Thursday evening, ten years ago almost to the day, everything changed. A tragedy occurred that caused Ted to abandon everything he had held so dear.

Richard told himself he held no grudge against his brother, but, in reality, his heart never forgave him, no matter how sad the trigger was that had led him to leave.

Since he stepped up as Senior Pastor, the church had more than doubled in size, and for the past three years they were close to breaking the 2,000 mark in faithful tithing members. To be sure, since taking on the position as Senior Pastor, he had worked twice as hard to ensure church growth. He had read every book on the subject, studied other successful churches and attended as many leadership conferences as he could. For him, everything revolved around leadership, not only when talking to his staff, but even from the platform. The gospel, he assured himself, was as much about leadership as it was about anything else. What could the church accomplish if they were not determined to be leaders? And so his circular logic supported his zeal for leadership and the constant focus and pressure to build a bigger, better church.

He had brought his own vision to the church and his own direction for the community. A grand vision, covering the city and the nations. He envisioned a church that the world would recognize, a church that would have a global impact. It was a vision that was enormously heavy, but he carried it, day-in, day-out. He had been carrying it for ten years. Every year since he took over as the new leader the numbers had grown, and this was much-needed fuel for himself and his army of volunteers and staff to continue forward with an ever-increasing passion. But over the past two years things had changed, and with it the level of commitment and enthusiasm of his staff.

Two years ago the numbers began to stagnate. No growth. To make matters worse, during the last eight months, the numbers had consistently slumped. This had led Richard to the brink of breaking down completely. The last few months he had felt increasingly overloaded. Often, for only a split second, he wondered if his heart would be crushed by all the pressure. To deal with the attacks of imminent failure and collapse, he hid himself in his office. He hid himself in his Bible. He hid himself—his real self—from the entire world.

When he wasn't able to hide, his temper exploded. He hated it. It wasn't who he was. He wasn't an angry man, but the pressure, dear Lord, the pressure was so heavy upon him. He had learned how to stop himself from feeling this way. He had acquired the necessary ability to harden himself, and simply knuckle down and be strong. He didn't like it, but he had no choice. Everything depended on him being strong.

Inside, deep inside, he was drowning and desperate for help. Deep inside, far deeper than his own consciousness knew about, he cried out constantly for Jesus to save him from the life in which he had imprisoned himself. It was a cry so deep inside his soul that his mind couldn't hear it, and his heart couldn't decipher it. But deep inside his soul was where he felt things, and right now he felt awful. He felt like his world was hanging by a thread and there wasn't a single soul on the planet who knew about it.

The pressure. No one understood about the pressure. Richard had mastered the art of public appearance. To the outside world, he walked on air. He was energized every time he graced the stage or walked through the foyer. But behind closed doors, when he was safe to let his guard down, he crumbled. Behind closed doors, it all hurt so badly that he could do nothing except suppress the emotion, denying the reality that he was spiritually dry and emotionally bankrupt. This wasn't the life he dreamed of having when he started in full-time ministry. This wasn't how it was meant to feel.

He wasn't at peace in life; he was tired, constantly tired.

He picked up a piece of cake and ate it mechanically. A young volunteer, the service coordinator, knocked on the door and walked in.

“Hi, Pastor Richard, here you go.” She handed him the step by step run sheet for the service, every minute pre-programmed, as standard procedure, to ensure perfection. He didn't say thank you. As he glanced over it, she said, “I think it's great that you're letting your son preach today.”

He smiled at her, not entirely sure what she was talking about. As he scrolled down to read the name of the scheduled preacher for the service, he felt his heart drop. “Frank's preaching?”

“Didn't you know?” she asked, immediately wishing she could retract the question.

He smiled. “I guess Pastor Henry must have organized it.”

He returned to his paper and offered no further conversation. She took that as her cue to quickly exit.

As he ate his sandwich, he wondered why Frank was preaching anyway. He had no idea, but concluded there must be a good reason. Henry had his flaws as a leader, but he was extremely pragmatic. If he had organized Frank to preach, then there would certainly be a very good reason for it.

Since Frank had moved out a year ago he barely saw him. When he visited they could hardly hold a conversation, especially since his Christmas walkout. He wasn't sure what was happening in his life, but he had his suspicions. Terrible suspicions.

So why is he preaching? Perhaps he had confessed some great sin to Henry, so tantalizingly sinful he was now being forced to share it with the entire congregation? Or perhaps Frank was back on track with the Lord, on fire again?

Frank is preaching? What is Henry up to now?

He quickly let the thought slide out of his mind. He had no free space left. He needed all his mental capacity to focus on his vision for the church. His great vision, that was slowly—slower than he wanted—but surely coming to pass.

Soon he would figure out a strategy to get the church growing again.

Soon he would see his vision succeed. Then, he was convinced, he would feel better. Then God would remove the pressure and replace it with peace. Yes, but in the meantime he had to keep working for his vision.

First success, then rest.

Downstairs, the foyer kept filling up, and most people had already made their way into the sanctuary. Frank was loitering near the bookstore when Jason, his so called 'accountability partner', spotted him.

“Frank! Hey buddy, it's good to see you in church.”

“Thanks, good to see you, too.”

“You haven't been returning my calls.” Jason said. “You know, we haven't caught up for coffee in a quite a while.” He gave Frank a dummy punch in his side. “I can't keep you accountable if you don't show up for our meetings.”

“Yeah, well, about that—”

“How about tomorrow at Brooks cafe? 2pm work for you?”

Frank wondered if Jason would still want to meet him tomorrow after he heard his sermon.

“Sure, why not. It would be nice to catch up.”

“Great. Got to keep ourselves accountable, after all.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, about that—”

A girl with a headset walked over to them and interrupted.

“Hi, Frank. You'll be on straight after worship.” She looked at her watch. “You should probably go in and grab your seat now. I've reserved you a seat on the front row. Good luck.”

Jason stared with confusion. “You're preaching today?”

Frank flashed him his cheeky grin. “Yep, so it seems.”

Jason was shocked. Frank was the last person who should be preaching.

“How did that come about?” he asked with a plastic smile.

Frank was looking around the room, looking for someone in particular. “Don't know. I got an email a few days ago saying my dad wanted me to preach, so here I am.”

“Oh, your dad. I see.”

“Yeah,” Frank said. Still looking around, he asked, “Where is Your Royal Highness, anyway?”

CHAPTER THREE

As the worship subsided, Pastor Henry stepped onto the stage, swaying in a semi-trance-like state. He prayed and blessed the crowd and then, as the band hit their final note, he snapped out of his holy-slow-trance and transitioned into the funny, charismatic MC for the service.

After the offering had been taken and he had adequately promoted the upcoming church events, he introduced Frank as the guest speaker for the Sunday evening service. The crowd gave their standard enthusiastic applause as he graced the stage. Frank smiled and gestured to the crowd that they could sit down.

Once everyone was seated he launched into his message.

“So, most people know I'm a pastor's kid, right?” There were a few cheers from the crowd. “And naturally, being a pastor's kid, I wanted to become a preacher when I grew up. I thought it was like being a superhero of sorts, and I'd practice a little in my room when no one was home.”

Everyone laughed.

So far, so good.

Richard and Henry looked relaxed on the front row, but they always looked that way. Like a mask, they wore their smiles like true professionals. His mother, however, had no smile, but her eyes were calling out to him with encouragement.

“Embarrassing, I know,” Frank continued. “Well, over the last few years my dreams have changed. Everything's changed, actually. That's what happens when you start questioning your faith. Not questioning if God exists, I don't mean that. I mean questioning why I do the things I do as an individual, and why we do the things we do as a church, as a Christian community. I want to talk to you about that this evening.”

Richard continued smiling. Inside, he felt ill.

What’s Frank going to say next?

“Firstly, I thought I'd share a little story. I remember hearing someone say all the best preachers start their sermons with a story, so I'll try to follow that idea now. My story is about a mother and her son.”

He paused for effect before beginning his story.

“Once upon a time, a mother made her son a wristband. On it was written: WWJD? This of course stood for: What Would Jesus Do? She instructed her son to look at the wristband before making decisions on how to live his Christian life. A week later she was shocked to see that her son had become friends with prostitutes, was hanging out with ‘sinners’ and even buying people who were already drunk yet another round of beers!

“Worse still, he had walked into their church the previous Sunday, torn down the book store, overturned the tables, and threw the cash register through the window. He then made a whip out of some electrical cords and chased the pastor out of the building, declaring he was turning God’s house into a den of thieves. The most shocking part was what happened when his mother went to picket the local abortion clinic. To her embarrassment, her son was also there, but he was standing with the women who just had an abortion, yelling at the protesters and saying: ‘You who are without sin, throw the first stone!’

“The mother was very distressed, but fortunately she found a solution to this terrible problem. She simply made another wristband. This time it read: WWAPD? This, she explained to her son, stood for: What Would A Pharisee Do? She took the old WWJD? wristband and burned it. Since her son has been wearing the new WWAPD? wristband, looking at it to help him make his decisions, he has become a dedicated tither, a public prayer warrior, an active condemner of ‘sinners,’ a passionate defender of the Old Covenant law, and has gleaned a great reputation as a godly young man amongst other religious people. Needless to say, the mother is very happy; she only wishes Jesus would now take notice and follow her son’s good example.”

An awkward quietness fell over the congregation.

“What would Jesus do?” Frank continued. “Ah yes, that's the very question I've spent a considerable amount of time thinking about. You see, to be brutally honest with you, most of my life I thought about a Pharisee when I thought about Jesus. Although I would never have actually said that, my actions proved it, nonetheless. My actions showed that my main question when I was trying to understand how to live my Christian faith was: What Would A Pharisee Do? But I've changed my mind. Well, it's been changed for a while now. I no longer want to follow the Pharisee Jesus. I want the real deal. But following the real Jesus comes at a pretty high price. To follow the real Jesus you have to confront those,” he looked down to his father and Henry on the front row, “who are presenting the world with the Pharisee Jesus.”

Henry's eyes were like daggers. This was bad, and it would only get worse, he could tell. But what was Richard doing just sitting there? Why didn't he get up and stop Frank before he truly created a train wreck in their church? He looked over at Richard once again in frustration.

He's just sitting there! Doesn't he see disaster coming?

If Richard wanted Frank to preach, now was the time for him to go into damage control, and quickly. Henry remained composed, but his eyes were on fire.

“Now, what I've realized is that before you can really seek the truth and know the real Jesus, you have to overcome the intimidation that wants to keep you imprisoned in fear. Yes, intimidation!”

The congregation had rarely been so attentive. They were on the edge of their seats. Richard was smiling, but inside he was already in a rage.

For God's sake, Henry, do something!

The whole situation made no sense to him. First, Henry gives Frank the platform to preach and now he just lets him continue on? Richard tried to calm himself. There must be something coming. Some confession from Frank, some positive turn in the message. There was no other explanation. He gazed briefly at Henry—they both smiled while attacking each other with the daggers in their eyes.

Frank continued, “Yes, I know that might sound a bit odd, but let me explain. First of all, let me rewind my own story—when I first came into an active relationship with the divine God and I was amazed at the mystery of it all. Being a child, it was easy to have a child-like faith. I was amazed that I had a relationship with the Universe Creator. I felt blessed to have been given such a large quantity of grace from the heavens. When I was a child, one of the biggest blessings was the fact that everything before me was still a mystery, and I was fine with that.

“The problems really started, however, when I, and the other believers around me, grew up and somehow concluded we finally understood the mystery in its entirety, and from that point on became the appointed protectors of all truth. The Universe Creator was now completely, 100% understood. Our doctrine was bulletproof. We could spot heresy a mile away. We knew our Bible back to front. We, in short, had become undeniable experts on God and all his ways. At this point in time, we were not intimidated—we had become the intimidators.

“This way of faith seemed to function rather well in my little holy huddle … until a strange thing took place. I heard something about the gospel I had never heard or understood before. To my shock, I was faced with a revelation that I,” he paused for comedic reasons, “yes, I, the expert!” the crowd laughed, but awkwardly, “seemed so have totally missed a very important part of the gospel. What happened next? I’ll tell you what happened…

“I started snooping around, like a little child again, trying to find the last few pieces of the mystery of the divine God in order to complete our theology and make it rock solid once again. At first I thought I was just missing a few tiny pieces. However, in search for those tiny pieces, something else happened. I realized I had been carrying around massive boulders of theology that, for lack of a better word, were actually dead.

“So I attempted to strip them away. In doing so, I unintentionally made a public declaration that those who were still carrying these dead theological boulders were wrong to keep them secured to their shoulders. It wasn’t my intention, but I managed to challenge the core of who they were in Christ. This created quite a problem, because self-appointed spiritual giants,” giving a slight nod to the front row, “don’t like their dogma being challenged.”

That nod. Henry could hardly sit still.

Richard's stupid son is mocking us now!

And what was Richard doing? Grinning like a fool, doing nothing! Ironically, although Henry didn't know it, Richard was thinking the exact same thing about him.

Frank continued with his sermon, “Which brings us up to speed to where I find myself at present … enter intimidation.” He made a welcoming gesture to the crowd. “This is where my quest for the truth about the real Jesus begins to cause friction with every move. Now, everything I seek to understand seems to have the potential to pull someone else's world of theology apart, and there just so happens to be a world full of theologians who are not happy about that at all."

He glanced ever so quickly at the front row.

“At this point in my walk of faith, I’ve already woken up to the trappings of religion, and as I wander further away from it, I find myself seeking the stripped down, propaganda-free-version of Jesus, his gospel, and his finished work. That's the walk that faith is all about. This is where real freedom has started to visit me, along with the sadness of letting my religion die in its tracks. Most of all, this is the place where intimidation has chased me down. In this place, over the past year or so, I've learned a lot more, but spoken a lot less.

“Why? Because I became intimidated. Because I knew people I loved wouldn’t understand, or wouldn’t believe, or wouldn’t listen. Instead, they'd cut me off and so I'd be disconnected. Rejected. Mocked. Even thought of as a heretic by my own spiritual brothers and sisters, my own family even.”

Jane watched her son preach. Somehow, as soon as she'd seen him walk onto the stage, this was exactly what she'd expected him to do. He had changed over the past year, and although Richard never listened to his quest for truth, Jane did. She was quiet about it. She didn't offer too much feedback, and some of the things Frank discussed with her actually scared her. They scared her because they revealed the possibility that she too had lived her whole life following a Pharisee Jesus. She said little to Frank about her concerns, but when she saw him walk up on the stage, she knew he wouldn't hold back. She knew he had decided to be completely honest.

She knew it would set into motion things that could never be reversed.

God, she was proud of him.

“If anyone here cares to hear the rules of intimidation,” Frank continued, “I'll share them for you now.

“Rule one: Believe only what your pastor teaches you.

“Rule two: Never dare to challenge what tradition has demanded you to accept as ‘Christian truth.’

“Rule three: If you break either of the above rules, you are out. Yes, out. Officially and permanently an outsider.

“So what should we do? What is a reasonable response?”

He waited, but was not surprised when no one offered any suggestions. They were so used to just being spectators to the latest and greatest preachers, the last thing they expected was to actually be given a voice and asked to contribute.

“Well, I won’t tell you what you should do, but I'll tell you what I've decided to do. Instead of embracing the intimidation with fear, I've decided to embrace being an outsider with freedom instead, because that’s where Jesus is anyway. ‘Outside’ is the place I belong, the place I think we all belong. God is bigger than the universe! It’s admirable to live like a child wrapped up in an enormous mystery called Jesus. It’s all right to continue learning, growing and coming into greater revelations, even if coming to believe them causes people to cast you out of their circle.

“I've been intimidated for a while now, but today is as good a day as any to hang that up. Today I declare that I will no longer be intimidated, and that I'm at peace with being considered an outsider, because that's the best way to describe my Savior. The real one. The one I'm following. And even if I find myself outside the holy huddle and lacking the approval of Christianity's gatekeepers, I'll forever be inside Jesus, and that's enough for me.”

Stop him, Richard. Enough already!

Henry, you imbecile, do something!

“But more than refusing to be intimidated, there's something I also have to do. I've realized I've got to challenge the status quo, and I've realized that this is not something new. In fact, it's been happening all the way through the history of the church. You see, something that's always challenged the Christian community for most of its history is the clash between the status quo, comfortably set by the leadership, and the next generation's attempts to unshackle the chains that tradition has placed upon them. There is a lot of talk about 'tradition' in Christian circles, and many will claim that tradition is a good thing and should be honored as such. What I think we need to remember, however, is one of the most consistent traditions within Christian history is the tradition of standing up against the corrupted doctrines and dogmas handed down by the generations that went before us.

“A look at church history reveals some impressive spiritual movements that brought a freshness back into the church community. However, these Spirit-led movements, great revivals, or even the Great Reformation sparked by a then-unknown monk named Martin Luther quickly became a mirror image of the religiously organized and standardized giant it dared to knock down in the first place.

“Historically, we see something that God might have meant for just that one moment in time, captured by man and set-up to work on a weekly basis. The Spirit that ignited the revival is replaced with the mechanics of authoritarian leadership and myriad requirements for the flock. In essence, the movements that began as a protest against the staleness of the church institution slowly developed into the same old covenant pattern of religion that they had so passionately opposed.

“This is the repeating history we face as Christians. Some might call it a challenge, but I'd call it a calling. Something not to be feared, but embraced. We are called to reject stale religion! We're called to stand up and challenge the leadership of the church to reform. This challenge in my opinion should be celebrated. More than that, it should be expected from the leadership. Having the courage to stand up and let your voice be heard, even when your voice is challenging the long-held beliefs of the leadership, should bring the whole community to reflect, to converse about the issue at hand, and, at the very least, to be willing to reform.”

Frank went quiet, then whispered into the mic, “This, however, rarely happens…. In times gone by, instead of celebrating the fresh, living thoughts, which were being shared in the church community, those who dared to challenge traditionally held doctrines were treated as enemies in the camp. Now we all celebrate the likes of John Wesley and Martin Luther, but they were anything but heroes to the church leadership of their day. They were considered rebels, heretics, and enemies of God's will. Some, like Wesley and Luther, managed to stay alive long enough for their voices and ideas to spread, causing revival and reform, but how many were silenced?

“For most, instead of being listened to, they were hunted down and killed. I'm not joking. Quite literally, if anyone dared to say the leadership might be wrong or misguided in their theological viewpoints, there was a very good chance they would be taken into the street and burned at the stake. Horrific abuse perpetrated by church leadership, such as the witch burnings of the Middle Ages, that had far more to do with politics and suppressing the voices of women who dared to speak up than it did with witches, and the Spanish inquisition, are dangerous reminders of just how far church leadership has been willing to go to silence those who don't bow down and accept their absolute authority and interpretation of the Bible.

“Fortunately, over time the church as an institution has lost a lot of its social authority, meaning they can't literally murder those who dare to challenge the traditions they have so comfortably molded to their own advantage anymore—and thank God for that! Sadly, however, intimidation, excommunication, defrocking, and all-out slander are still prevalent within the global Christian community. Which is ironic, considering the kind of faith we subscribe to, don't you think?

"After all, we do follow Jesus, the ultimate challenger of stale religion. In his day Jesus challenged the status quo of God's religion. It's easy to lose sight of the fact that Jesus didn't go after pagan religions, seeking to reform them, but instead challenged the religion he was born into, the religion of the Bible. He spent his time pointing out how lost the leadership was and how they had caused the whole community to wander away from the Shepherd of their souls. He challenged their rituals, their biblical interpretations, and their own self-righteousness. This is Jesus, our leader. This is our example of how we should live. So why, when a generation of young believers do something similar, are they slandered, character-assassinated, silenced, shunned, and eventually excluded?

"We all believe that we are part of a living faith. Religion, on the other hand, is great at making dead things look alive,” he raised his arms and pointed around the room, “with hype, flare, architecture, charisma, and strong leadership. But, it's also easy to spot. We are spiritual people. We have a great Spirit of freedom within us, a living Spirit. When we see our church communities growing stale and losing the life they're meant to have, we need to ask why.”

Frank paused.

“Why!” he finally said, loudly. “Why is not a dirty word. Why is a beautiful word. Why is a word anyone who claims to follow Jesus should be comfortable with. It is when we are told not to question we should start feeling uncomfortable. Reform, reformation, and even revolution within the Christian community are all living parts of our faith. It has always happened, it is happening now, and it will happen again in the future.

“We're part of a living faith. We shouldn't let fear keep us bound to lifeless doctrines and traditions simply because it is easier to avoid conflict than to engage in a conversation that has the potential to create conflict. So what shall we do? Well, if you ask me, I say be brave. Stand up in love and courage. Remember, every hero of the faith was at one time called a rebel and heretic by the ruling leadership of the day. Personally, I think we need more rebels. After all, they're the ones who help the entire church community move out of tired dogmas and into a greater awareness of God’s love and liberty. We should celebrate them. They may be portrayed as rebels now, but they'll be remembered as champions of the faith in the future.”

Frank looked down to the front row again. He was quite amazed they had let him continue so long. His father was a control freak and he had expected to be cut off after a few minutes, but he had said all he wanted to say. He just had one final thing to do. His final bow.

“Which leads me to my own journey, and my own questions. Namely, should I just follow along with the vision of Pastor Richard, who also happens to be my dad, at the expense of denying what I feel the Spirit is leading me to do? Should I deny the voice of God within me and keep listening to Pastor Richard, and Pastor Henry, and all the other little pastors running around here? I know the answer.

“The answer is I can't. My conscience simply won't allow it. Luther nailed a 95-point thesis to the church door, naming all the things he thought were not in line with the gospel. I won't bore you with that many, but I do have one I'd like to share.”

Stop him, Richard. Enough is enough!

Henry was about to stop Frank himself, but he maintained his composure. This was Richard's mess, and he'd had enough of cleaning up after him. If he didn't act as he was supposed to now, it was time he faced the consequences of his incompetence.

Frank continued, “I've been a part of this church all my life, and this is what I've concluded about our little holy huddle here. I think we've been following an exact pattern—the exact pattern—of the Old Covenant. Yes, shocking to hear, I know. But it's true. Think about it . . . if you dare. We have a building we meet in, like they did with the temple. We worship with musical instruments, like they did in the temple. We give our offerings here, like they did in the temple. We have a professional clergy who hold all the cards and leave the rest of us to be servants or spectators, just like in the temple. I believe we have traded in the promise of a life of faith for the easier option of simply copying a life of religious traditions. But I believe there is more for us as a community. I am sure of it. But not while we continue to hold onto all these Old Covenant ideas. The new wine cannot be contained in the old wine skin. The New Covenant is a completely new way. Our ways of relating with God are now all internal realities, and we need to shed this religious way of doing everything externally.

“Do you realize what has happened since we've yoked ourselves to the Old Covenant structures, following a pattern of religion with all its external actions and signs? I'll tell you what. We've turned our Savior into a Pharisee! We've ended up worshiping the Pharisee, and we're spending our lives trying to mold ourselves into the image of a Pharisee. But is that who Jesus was? Is that who he really is?”

Frank banged his hand on the pulpit. “Shake yourself, wake yourself up, ask yourself the question: ‘Is that who Jesus is?’ Do you think Jesus would be sitting in this hall, week-in, week-out, listening to some guy talk about three keys to a prosperous life, telling you over and over the reasons why you should give your money to the church, serve the church, be active in church? Do you think Jesus wouldn't see how every message was tainted with condemnation and pressure to continue supporting this Old Covenant system? Do you think Jesus would be here at all?”

He took a deep breath and calmed down. The crowd was all ears. Nothing like this had ever happened before, and no one knew what to do, so they did nothing. The crowd sat there like a deer caught in headlights.

“I've thought about that question for a long time, and my conclusion is this: Jesus wouldn't be here. Not the real Jesus, not the Jesus I read about in the Gospels. Not because he wouldn't want to be here, but because he'd cause far too much trouble, and the pastoral team would get rid of him as quick as they could. Where Jesus is, questions abound. And questions are not really welcome in a place like this, not questions that may put everything that's done here into question. Now, I don't want to bore you with another half hour of babble, so I'll end my sermon short. This is my final statement on the matter.”

With that he took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, put one in his mouth, and lit it. This caused a unified gasp of shock.

“If Jesus, and the questions that accompany him, wouldn't be welcomed here, then I don't want to be here, either—so, here it is, this is not just my resignation from this church, this is my formal resignation from the religion we call Christianity.”

He took another puff of his cigarette, held it up in the air for a few seconds, then put it out on the pulpit. The crowd gasped again.

He jumped off the stage and made haste for the door before the crowd overcame their initial shock and lynched him.

Jane watched Frank jump off the stage, strut down the aisle, and head out the door. He got mostly stares of anger or disbelief, but a few also gave him a smile; one young guy even gave him a sly fist pump of encouragement.

Most, however, simply looked down, up, or any direction but his; they were still in shock. What were they supposed to do with all that?

As soon as she saw her son take the stage, she knew he would talk about something controversial, but the cigarette—and from behind the pulpit—now that was unexpected. She found it hard to contain herself from breaking out into wild laughter. One of those insane sounding laughs you can only produce in moments of utter shock and disbelief.

The worship band looked desperately at Richard for direction. The fire in his eyes was enough to move them into action. They broke into an epic worship song chorus that they dragged on for almost eight minutes. In that time Richard leaned over to Henry and said, “Fix this.”

He stood up while the rest of the church had their eyes closed, worshipping frantically, and quietly made his way out of the sanctuary and into his office upstairs.

Jane turned to Henry. His eyes were closed, and his face had an intense look of concentration on it. She wondered what he was thinking. Probably trying to figure out just how he could end the service without a riot taking place.

The band were looping the chorus, over and over.

All for your glory

All for your glory

All for your glory ... Lord

They were really dragging the song out.

Finally, Henry took the stage. The worship team began to quietly tone down the music in the background as he addressed the congregation. “How good is God, how wonderful our Savior.” He smiled and got a few courteous amens from some of the more devoted members. Then he did something quite extraordinary. He didn't address anything Frank had said. He simply ignored everything, not even mentioning Frank. His strategy was all-out denial, as if it never happened.

“We serve a great God. This week I pray God blesses you all powerfully and abundantly.” He paused for a moment. “And don't miss out on church next weekend. I will be preaching a message that will change your life, to the glory of God.” He motioned to the worship team to jack up the amplifiers and crank out the standard exit praise song.

I believe in Jesus

Everyday, in every way

I believe in Jesus

The way, ay, ay

Jane watched as Henry left the stage. He didn't leave immediately, rather he stayed up front shaking hands and talking with different leaders and a few members of the congregation. Incredibly enough, no one even mentioned Frank's message. None of them knew what to say about it. And so most of the church slowly exited the sanctuary with their mind in confusion, having no idea how to process what had just happened.

From across the sanctuary Jane watched as Henry made his way upstairs to join Richard in his office. She turned and headed for the exit, for what would be the last time. She simply couldn't play church anymore, not even one week longer. She was at the breaking point. Lying to herself had become increasingly difficult; now it was impossible.

She was too weak to hide behind the religious mask she had been wearing for so long. She still wore it, but this would be the last time. She didn't like going to church; actually, truth be told, she despised going to church—it was all so fake. She was wearing a mask, and so was everyone else. Being the pastor's wife made it particularly difficult to leave, and so she had stayed. She had tried to make it work. But she couldn't do it anymore. If she tried any harder, she'd break. No, she had to do something drastic.

She had to get out.

After all that her son had just preached, it seemed today's service was the perfect end to a long drawn-out disaster.

She walked out of the church, passing many people, but not knowing a soul. Sure, she saw plenty of co-workers that had helped build the church, but there wasn't a single friend in sight.

If I never come back, will anyone even notice?

Yes, she concluded, but only for gossip reasons. But then, after a few weeks she'd be forgotten, and most likely treated as if she'd never existed in the first place.

As she drove home she wondered what her husband and Henry were discussing. Despite feeling so low and hopeless, she couldn't help but grin at what her son had done.

As soon as the office door shut behind Henry, Richard cried out, “You've got some nerve, Henry. Some nerve!”

“What are you talking about?”

“You're responsible for the preaching roster. That's your job.”

“Yes, but—”

“Don't but me! I don't want excuses.”

“Richard, listen—”

“Frank preaching today, did you think that was a good idea?”

“This is not my fault,” Henry replied.

“It's entirely your fault!”

Richard picked up his plastic trash can and threw it against his book shelf. He lifted his giant palm and pointed his finger right in Henry's face. “You are completely to blame for this mess.”

“Richard, that's utter nonsense.”

“Don't you dare talk back to me. I'm the Senior Pastor here—don't you ever talk back to me!”

“Calm down.”

“Calm down?” Richard slammed his fist on the table. “You’re in no position to tell me what to do,” he pointed his index finger right in Henry’s face, “I tell you what to do, and don’t you forget it!”

Henry remained composed, but his mind was aflame. This was too much. Richard had to be stopped. His ego was out of control, and his lack of solid leadership had to be addressed. He had felt this coming on for the past twelve months, even more so the past six months, and now this. Richard's own son, making a fool of everything they stood for as a church—everything they were doing, and from their very own pulpit. Richard had ordered him to give Frank the platform today, and now he was pouring the blame into his lap.

Enough!

This was the last straw. Something had to be done. Henry had felt he would be a better leader for the church for some time, but he was committed to being a faithful servant to his spiritual authority. Now, however, it was clear. God was making it clear. Things had to change. If Richard couldn't take care of his own household, how could he faithfully take care of God's household? He remained calm, but his mind was running a million miles an hour, making a strategic to-do list that he would certainly begin to put into action as soon as he stepped out the door.

“I'll fix the problem,” Henry said calmly.

“You better. Your job depends on it,” Richard said.

“Don't worry, I'll take care of it, right after we're finished here,” he repeated calmly.

“We're finished . . . get out,” Richard said. He turned his back on Henry in utter frustration.

Henry left the office, closing the door behind him.

Not we—you, Richard—you're finished.

He walked directly into his own office, locked the door and pulled out a thin manila folder titled: 'SP_R'. It stood for Senior Pastor_Richard.

As he reviewed its contents, his eyes narrowed and grew cold.

Richard walked confidently down the stairs, making his way to his car. He waved and smiled at a few church members he passed along the way. As he rounded the first corner, the smile fell from his face. He dialed Frank's mobile. No answer. He tried again, this time it was switched off. He got Frank’s voicemail, but left no message; instead, he smashed the phone against the steering wheel and let it drop to the floor. He was angry, but his anger only covered the deeper emotion of shame. He stepped on the gas.

Shame was a monster within Richard, lurking deep inside, and it beat him terribly. All the way home, it beat him. He had lived with the monster for years now, but, as with all things, it had grown over time. It had become more powerful than ever. He felt shame about so much; deep inside, that is, where he could feel it but not understand it. It was his inner enemy, and facing it would be too hard. It would require too much courage, and it would require him to give up too much. No, his only recourse was to run from it. In fact, he was in the habit of running constantly from it, but every once in a while, in moments like these, he found himself cornered and he took the brute force of its beating.

Bang, bang, bang.

He drove faster, too fast, but he had to escape. He had to distract himself. The monster would leave him alone soon enough—he knew this from experience. Any minute now he would escape it, he would harden his heart, out of absolute necessity, and he would feel in control again. He just had to outrun it a few moments longer.

He pulled into his driveway and saw his wife's car already in the garage. They always drove to church in separate cars. It was out of convenience, just in case Richard required to stay longer, or leave earlier, or attend some other church-related commitment. They drove separate cars to all the same church events.

Separate, but maintaining the image of being together. Much like their life.

He parked his car in the double garage, closed the automatic door behind him, and sat there in silence. Shame was gone. He'd outrun it, like always, but the feeling of emptiness returned.

His stomach was a wreck. Every time he outran the monster, he had to deal with the stomach pains that followed. If he wasn't running the church, he was running from his own shame. All he ever wanted was to please God. That was all, and yet he felt like a failure in his godly ambition, even though he spent every waking moment serving God.

I need more time!

But time was against him, always pulling him into his church commitments and his visionary planning. Jane was his wife, his love, but where was the time to love her like she deserved, like she needed to be loved? They married knowing God would always come first . . . but who was God? The Bible defined God as love, but love wasn't first in their relationship. No, church was first, so did that mean Richard thought his church programs were . . . God? Did that justify him placing his church commitments ahead of his marital relationship? He believed God was love, but he lived as if God was the church program—and so the internal wrestling began.

The wrestling was between what his head believed and what his heart knew. It happened every time he was not in full control, in the quiet moments when he was alone with just his thoughts. The problem was that his heart held great truths, but that truth would surely pull him away from all the things he had spent so long building.

No, he had to keep going. He had responsibilities. He had to keep pressing forward, leading the charge, inspiring the congregation with an ambitious church vision.

He wanted to believe with his heart, but he couldn't. It would cost him everything, so he stayed steadfast with his belief lodged firmly in his head alone. His heart pleaded for him to listen, but he couldn't. He had to be strong. The whole world expected it from him. Jane understood this, didn't she? Surely she understood his zeal for building the church was a noble pursuit, right?

Jane sat in the living room, drinking her tea. She knew Richard had been in the garage for almost half an hour, and wondered what he was doing. Her thoughts turned to little Frankie, her baby, and what he had preached from the pulpit. Her baby, now a grown man, that she had neglected. Her baby that she didn't stand up for enough. She wondered about where he was now, and what he was thinking.

She sometimes wondered about herself, too. Who was she? The pastor's wife?

To hell with that!

Who was she? That's what she wanted to know, to rediscover. She felt like she was standing on a cliff, and it was either jump or turn and fight. Jumping was easy. It required only one more fragile step, but to fight required so much more from her. After two decades of being the pastor's wife, to now fight for her own identity required so much more from her. But fight it was, and she honestly didn't know where such an act of courage would lead her.

She wasn't sure when she'd stopped knowing her husband. Perhaps the months and years had a seductive way of blending together over time so that you never could tell when you lost your love for your partner. But she knew now, she had known for months, that there was no love between them, not an active love anyway. What they had was their commitment to marriage, their fear of disappointing God, their genuine desire for their marriage to somehow work—but there wasn't any love. It was gone. Whether it had evaporated by accident or they burned it up on purpose, she did not know. She didn't know how they'd ended up in a loveless marriage, but she was dying within it, and that much she knew for certain.

Richard finally entered the house. He didn't say a word to his wife except one ironclad request.

“Call Frank. Tell him I want to see him here tomorrow. And make it clear that it's not an invitation . . . it's an order.”

He retreated to his study. Jane stood up, made one phone call and then went straight to bed. She was in an ocean of sadness so deep she could manage nothing more than to climb into bed and drift away.

CHAPTER FOUR

Frank pulled up to his uncle's home. After his sermon yesterday he had gone straight to The Lookout, a spot at the top of the city's largest hill, and sat there alone listening to music and trying to avoid thinking of the day's events too much. He had also switched his phone off after he left the church. He needed to get away from everyone for at least a night and let his mind roam free before he faced the firing squad.

He walked up to the front door and was instantly met by Ted.

“Hey, Kid, thanks for coming around. Come on in.”

They walked in. Ted had called him last night and asked for him to visit him. Frank had only seen the voice mail message an hour ago.

They both sat down at the kitchen table.

“Cuppa?” Ted asked.

“Would kill for one.”

As the coffee was brewing, Frank blurted out, “You won't believe this, but I actually preached at Faith First at the Sunday evening service.”

Ted spun around, confused and shocked.

“You?” Seeing the grin appear on his nephew's face, he asked, “Oh, no. What did you do?”

Frank just raised his shoulders and smirked.

Ted shook his head, letting out a laugh. He had something serious to talk with Frank about today, but it would have to wait until he heard just how much damage Frank had caused.

“I just shared some of the things we've been talking about over the past few months.”

“Oh man . . . how did it go?”

“Well, to be honest, I think it went pretty well—up till the point I lit a cigarette from behind the pulpit and resigned from Christianity.”

“You didn't.”

Ted stared. Frank grinned.

“Going out in class, I see,” Ted said.

“How could I resist?”

“How did you manage to preach at Faith First anyway?”

“I got an email on Friday inviting me,” Frank said, “and so I turned up, not sure if the whole thing was a prank or not. But, sure enough, I was on the roster to preach.”

Ted was still trying to grasp what Frank was saying. It was unexpected, but more than that he had news of his own to share, urgent news, but it would have to wait.

“What did you father say about it all?” Ted asked.

“I don't know, I left as soon as I finished and turned my phone off. I got your message and a message from my mother on voice mail this morning asking me to drop by today. My father wants to speak to me . . . and it's not an invitation,” he lifted his hand up and saluted his uncle, “it's an order.”

“What did you talk about?”

“I told one of your stories, actually. You know, that one about What Would A Pharisee Do?”

“Oh, you liked that one, huh?”

“I did. Sorry, I never gave you credit for it. Guess I wanted to steal the glory.”

“Keep it, Kiddo. Credit is the last thing on my mind.”

“Yeah, well anyway,” Frank said, “I slammed the institutional idea of church about as hard as anyone could. Hopefully it gets some people thinking.”

His uncle was quiet for a moment, before asking, “But are you sure that was the right thing to do?”

“What choice did I have?” Frank replied defiantly. “The whole thing is just distracting people from God's actual will.”

Ted took another sip of his coffee. “And you don't think it's at least possible that God's will also includes people spending time in the institutional version of church?”

Frank leaned back. That was a shocking thing to hear from his uncle. Ted had been out of the institutional church for ten years, and Frank knew for a fact he was anything but a fan of it. In fact, it was Ted who helped Frank see just how enslaving it could be for God's people.

“You think I was wrong to preach against it?”

“No, I don't. I think if that was honestly what you felt led to preach, then who am I to decide if it was wrong.” He took another sip of coffee. “It’s not a black and white issue is all I’m saying. I don’t think you can say that the institutional model of church is completely out of God’s will.”

“But it’s so corrupt!” Frank said. “It’s completely following the Old Covenant model. Buildings to worship in, offerings to support those buildings, external sacraments, public prayers, paid professional clergy—the list goes on!”

“I know, I know,” Ted replied.

“Then why do you say it’s not a black and white issue? That’s how it looks to me. It’s Egypt! You told me yourself you think Egypt in the Bible represents religion. Should we be slaves in Egypt? Should we accept slavery when God has called us out into freedom?”

Ted smiled at his nephew's passion. Frank had been out of the institutional church setting for some time now and was zealous about his newfound belief that it was a hinderance to God's plans. He understood where his nephew was coming from, for he had also gone through these same thoughts himself. He too had at one time only seen the issue as black and white. But time had a way of showing you that the colors are actually blended, that there was no definite right or wrong, but God was at work within everything, including the institutional church; that’s what Ted had realized.

“I know I said that, and I still believe Egypt represents religion, and when people make Christianity into a religion, then that too is a picture of Egypt.”

“And Egypt is slavery!” his nephew chimed in once more.

“So there’s no room for gray? You’ve concluded the issue’s black and white, then, have you?” Ted asked.

“Yes, I have. I can’t see why I should think any differently.”

Ted stood up to grab another cup of coffee. He poured himself one and sat back down next to his nephew, and asked, “And what about when the angel spoke to Joseph, when Jesus was just born, and told him to take Mary and Jesus into Egypt for protection? What do you make of that?”

Frank remained silent. He hadn’t ever thought of that. “Why did the angel send them into Egypt?” he asked his uncle. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well,” Ted said, “not when you think in black and white. But when you allow yourself to live in the middle, to see things in shades of gray, you might just start understanding things a little easier.”

“So why do you think the angel told Joseph to go into Egypt, in relation to what we’re talking about?”

“This is just my understanding of it, but perhaps there are times, especially when we are young in our faith, where God sees that is it safer for someone to spend some time in religion than remain in their worldly circumstances.” Again, he gave his nephew a smile and continued, “Perhaps God uses the institutional church for good, at times. I know this seems like a shocking statement to you at the moment, but perhaps it is in his plan and will, too. It doesn’t mean that you have to agree with how it runs, or support it in any way. But when you allow yourself to see the issue not as all right or all wrong, not all black or all white, but instead see things as shades of gray, you’ll be able to rest more in your own faith, and love those who are not as free as you are with a more genuine heart.”

Frank thought about it for a moment. He turned to his uncle and said, “But those who are stuck in Christian religion judge me in black and white. They dismiss my thoughts, talk about me as a backslider, call me a heretic behind my back, and generally distance themselves from me. They only see the issue in black and white, so why shouldn’t I?”

“Because,” Ted said, “you can, that’s why. You are free, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Then exercise your freedom and chose a more divine way of living out your faith.”

Frank sat down next to his uncle. It was all so confusing. He wanted to scream from the rooftops that the institutional church had nothing to do with God or God’s will. He thought his uncle would welcome such a passionate idea, but instead he had challenged him to see the whole situation from a higher viewpoint.

Frank exhaled loudly, “But, if it can be God’s will for people to be a part of the institutional church, even for a season, it just makes things harder to understand.”

“I know, believe me, I know,” Ted took another sip of his drink. “But what I realized is that until I allowed enough space to see things in gray, where things could be both right and wrong all at the same time, I couldn’t love. I was too occupied with putting people in either the black camp or the white camp. But once I stopped doing that and saw everyone on an individual journey with the Lord and didn’t try to classify them, I found I could love them a whole lot more, wherever they might be. And, I found that once I started living that way, people were a lot more willing to listen to my thoughts about the whole situation, too.”

“But, it’s so much easier to just see things in black or white,” Frank said.

“Of that you can be sure. But it’s more divine to see things in gray, because it’s there you have the opportunity to judge a whole lot less and love a whole lot more.” Ted sat a few moments longer before continuing with his thoughts.

“The question you need to ask yourself is this: Do you want an easy faith where you are only capable of pointing your finger, or a divine faith where you are free enough to share your love?”

Frank slammed his hand on the table and let out a laugh.

“You're impossible! Just when I think I've finally found the truth, you throw another wrench in the gears.” He ran his hands through his hair and replied, “Of course I want a divine faith, I do—but I'm a work in progress. I hope God understands that!”

Ted laughed, “God understands. Even if no one else in the whole world understands your inner life, your troubles and triumphs, God understands.”

Frank looked up and smiled. He studied his uncle's face and noticed he was not quite his normal relaxed self. Something was up.

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah, everything's fine.” He shuffled around the kitchen looking for something, although he didn't know what. Just stalling, really. Eventually he pulled a packet of cookies out of the pantry and plunked them on the table.

“Just wanted to tell you I got my test results back.”

“Is your stomach acting up again?”

Acting up was quite the understatement. Six months ago Ted began experiencing stomach cramps. Over the past few months they had intensified to the point that he finally ended up going to the doctor for a check up. At first his doctor concluded a course of medication should solve the problem. However, last week, with the cramps continuing, he went back in for a MRI. The doctor had called him late yesterday evening. The results were not good. It was serious, extremely serious, actually. It turned out the problem had nothing to do with his stomach, although the symptoms had been the most felt there. It was far more serious then first thought; the doctor informed him that several of his vital organs seemed on the verge of failing, though they were still uncertain what was causing the ruptures, and an emergency surgery had been planned for the next morning. Until then, nothing much could be done.

“Yeah, apparently it is a little more complicated. Can't just fix it with a few pills, so I have to go in for a surgery to patch it up.”

“Surgery?”

“Yeah, but don't worry. It's just a little nip and tuck. I don't want you worrying about me.”

Ted never wanted people to worry about him. He tried not to worry about himself, either. He tried, but for the first time in a long time, he wasn't doing too good a job of it.

“You sure it's nothing to worry about?” Frank asked, suddenly concerned.

“Yeah, nothing to worry about. I'm heading into the hospital this afternoon. They want me in for observation overnight before they open me up tomorrow. Maybe you could stop by tonight and keep me company for an hour or so?”

“Sure, and if not tonight, I'll come round as soon as you're out of the hospital.”

Ted smiled.

“Yeah. Okay, maybe that's best. When I'm out of the hospital.” He stared off into space blankly for a moment.

Frank finished his coffee and stood up.

“Okay. Well, I'll go and let you get yourself all psyched up. I've got to get this confrontation with my father over with anyway.”

Ted really wanted Frank to stay longer, but he realized that wasn't going to be possible. Not after what he had done yesterday. He had to deal with the consequences with his father.

“Nice one—and good luck,” Ted said.

As they were saying their goodbyes, Audrey, the next-door neighbor, walked up the driveway.

“Call me when you're out of the hospital, okay?” Frank said.

“Will do. Hey, and let your father know if he wants to drop around today for a visit, he's more than welcome.”

“If he doesn't knock my head off first, I'll be sure to tell him.”

They both laughed. Frank didn't realize that Ted wasn't joking. He really did want to see his brother.

“Hi, Audrey,”

“Hi, Frankie. You off already? I only saw you pull up ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah, got a showdown with Mr. Universe I got to take care of.”

He pointed back to Ted. “Make sure those doctors look after this guy.” Looking back at Ted, he said, “Remember to call me when you're out.”

“Will do.” He winked at his nephew.

Frank jumped in his car and took off.

“Teddy,” Audrey said, “did you tell him how serious your surgery is?”

“Come on now, don't go scaring me,” he said. “It's just a nip and tuck.”

Henry unlocked the church office, turned on the lights and made his way to his computer. Monday was his day off, but there was no time for taking time off, not after what happened in church last night. The whole situation needed to be resolved, and quickly.

His office was nice enough. Plain, but well equipped. He had more space than he needed to perform his duties. Of course, he could use more room if he had it—if, for example, he had an office the size of Richard's he could keep his extensive collection of books there instead of at home. He could even have a spacious couch to study on, just like the one in Richard's office.

Not that he ever studies anything!

Henry had promised his wife they would visit the zoo—but that would have to wait, again. She loved animals, and after several requests over the past year or so he had finally agreed to take her. They had locked in the date a month ago, but those plans had to be cancelled at last minute. Duty called, and urgent duty at that. He had suggested another date the following month, but she hadn't answered. It had been late, and she was tired. She was still asleep when he left the house.

He brought up the church database. He needed to take care of this potential disaster regarding Frank, and he knew Richard could not be trusted to deal with it. In fact, he was convinced Richard would simply ignore it.

Even though it might affect the entire reputation of Faith First!

What was he supposed to do? What else could he do? It was his responsibility to deal with the current crisis.

First the issue with Frank, then I'll deal with Richard.

He had a methodical way of working, and work he did. He didn't have the luxury of relying on a charismatic character. No, he focused and he accomplished. That was how he reached the position of Associate Pastor. He was reliable. He could be trusted to get the job done, whatever the task might be. He may not command attention when he walked into a room, but he was a giant when it came to brute determination to get the job done.

Now, it seemed to him, God was asking him to get the job done once more.

What worried Henry was the potential for future attacks against Faith First. The issue with Frank was problematic. He was not only the Senior Pastor's son, he was also a rebellious prodigal; he was wild, and in Henry's opinion, a disgrace to the body of Christ.

Under normal circumstances, disobedient church members were quite easy to deal with. They feared church leaders as much as they loved them, and when they stepped out of line it normally required only a small amount of condemnation for them to cower and fall back into place. But Frank had gone rogue, and this created too many variables. It made the whole situation far too unpredictable for Henry's analytical mind. It had already caused him one sleepless night.

He needed data. He needed to calculate just how dangerous Frank might be to the reputation of the church, and desperate times called for desperate measures. He needed concrete intel, and, if the matter escalated, undeniable evidence of his rebellion.

He scanned the database. A slight smile appeared on his hard face.

His solution lay in the hands of Jason Summers.

Frank pulled up his parents’ driveway and sat for a moment, staring out. Perfect house. Perfect lawn.

Perfect facade. Shame about the mess inside.

He stepped out of his car, but hesitated to go up to the door and knock. Instead he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, leaned on his car and waited. It didn't take long before Richard opened the door. He stood on the porch, motionless, staring with fighting eyes. Frank raised his hand and saluted like a soldier.

“Reporting as ordered, Sergeant.”

Richard continued to stare. “You proud of yourself? Proud of your little performance yesterday?”

“I think it was quite a good message,” Frank replied casually.

“You like making a laughing-stock out of me? Is that it? You like making a joke out of everyone's faith?”

“I didn't make a joke about faith, I was simply talking about it. If anything, I was encouraging everyone to seek out a greater understanding of their faith.”

Richard stamped his left foot hard on the floor. “You lit a filthy cigarette from behind the pulpit and smoked it!”

Frank straightened up. “You're the one who's always talking about how the building is not holy. You talk like that, but see, you don't believe it. What you really believe in this whole Old Covenant setup. That was why I lit the cigarette. I wanted to show you what you really believe. There's a world of difference between what you say and what you believe.”

“What has gotten into you? You were always a good boy, so much promise, and now—”

“What? And now—what?”

Richard tried to hold his thoughts back, for he didn't really believe them, but they overcame him and he blurted out, “And now you're an attention-seeking backslider, that's what!”

Frank brushed his father's comment away like a fly from his face.

“How can you say that? Did you hear anything I said yesterday? Have you heard anything I've said for the past year? Uncle Ted was right about you. It's all exclamation points with you. You never listen. You think it's your divine calling to order people around or correct their theology.”

Suddenly, it all made sense to Richard. He placed both hands on his thighs, looking off in the distance at nothing in particular, and exhaled loudly. He straightened up, clasped his hands and then rubbed his forehead. “Oh, I see. You've been talking with your crazy uncle.” He stamped his foot and screamed, “Now I see exactly where all this aggravation against God's church has come from!”

“God's Church?” Frank replied, genuinely shocked. “No, it's not about God's Church,” he pointed his finger in anger, “it's about your religious delusions! You call Uncle Ted crazy, but he's the only sane person in our whole family. He's the only person I've seen actually living from his heart. What have you been doing? Living from your own religious ambition, that's what. Living from your well-planned performances. Don't you get it? You've got a perfect public profile, 'all hail the Mighty Pastor Richard', but it's all a show. It's a lie. And you are so buried under your mask you can't even see any of it.”

Frank ran his right hand through his hair, clutching at it. “Do you really think Uncle Ted is against God's plans? How can you? You haven't spoken in years, but even when you did speak, did you ever listen to him? He explained himself to you, his position, and his reasoning—why he stepped out of full-time ministry and why he no longer wanted to be part of Faith First. I know, he told me so. You make him out to be some kind of nut, but why? Seriously, do you even know why Uncle Ted stopped being a pastor, why he stopped being part of Faith First?”

Richard knew. He knew the version he preferred to remember, and over time that had become the only version he remembered.

“When his wife died, he turned his back on God, angry that he would take her when she was still so young,” he answered solemnly.

“No,” Frank said. “That's not it. You're wrong.”

“I am not wrong. Who do you think you are talking to? I know the truth. Your uncle quit his position as pastor right after the funeral, and it was a quick slide from there until he was out of church completely. I remember, because …”

Because he was angry. Because Ted left him to carry the responsibility of running the church alone. Because they were meant to be a team, and he had deserted him, giving up on their vision to build a great church in their city. Because Ted had run away from his responsibility as a Christian and church leader. Because he took the easy way out when he should have kept serving the vision, and by so doing continue to serve God. He was angry because he turned away from it all.

“Because of what, Dad?” Frank asked.

“Because, I was there. I saw the look in his eyes at the funeral. I saw the way he looked at the casket. I saw the look of anger. He never lost that anger, he never let it go—he let go of Jesus instead.”

“Incredible!” Frank screamed, shaking his head in protest. “Do you really think Uncle Ted no longer believes in Jesus? You must be kidding! He knows the Lord better than anyone I've ever met. Run away from God? That's not it at all. He didn't run away from God—he was man enough to stop running in the wrong direction, that's what. He stopped running after his religious vision, that's what he backslid from . . . from religion! And you—if anyone stops following your lifeless church vision, you think they've fallen away from God. Unbelievable! Uncle Ted is more of a man than you'll ever be, and he knows the Lord better than you ever will.”

Richard clenched his fists, holding them by his side before pointing a finger in Frank's direction. “Your uncle knows nothing, and you're headed for the same fate, rebellious and on the sidelines of God's kingdom, refusing to lift a finger toward its advancement!”

Rage had escaped from him, and it would be a battle to reel it in again. “Will you run away from the Lord, will you abandon your family—like he did? Smoking those filthy cigarettes and drinking cheap booze with all the low-lifes in town? You think I don't know? You think I don't hear about you? About the company you've started to keep?”

“What the hell do you know about my life?” Frank screamed back. “You don't know a thing about my life.”

“I know enough.”

“You don't know me at all!”

“I know more than you think!” screamed his father. “More importantly, I know the Lord, and I know he would deeply disapprove of your reckless lifestyle.”

Frank turned away from his father, storming away from the house in disgust. His father ran after him.

“Go ahead, then. Go on your godless way. After all I’ve done for you. Go ahead. Throw it all away—go on!”

Frank turned around, removing the cigarette from his mouth that he had just lit, and said, “After all you’ve done? What am I now, a failure? You feel I've failed you somehow, is that it?”

He walked back up to his father and held the cigarette up to his face. “Is this it? Does this make me a failure? Does this symbolize my descent into ungodliness? A stupid cigarette!” He flicked it across the lawn as frustration set itself aflame in his eyes. “You’re ashamed of me, aren't you? For what? Because I made you look like a fool to all the church folk of this town? Because the preacher’s son likes to smoke a little, drink a little, and live a little? Are you ashamed because I don’t attend your services, or praise your name, or speak your religious language anymore? What is it? What are you so ashamed of?” As he looked into his father’s eyes, his frustration was replaced by a mixture of sadness and anger. “What do you mean by ‘after all you’ve done’?”

His father took a deep breath, remaining composed. “You no longer submit to Jesus, Son. That’s what I mean. I tried my best to lead you in the ways of Christ, but you’ve become your own man, no longer a servant to our Lord.”

Frank’s eyes shot up to heaven. “Oh, please!” he cried out, before returning his gaze to his father, “Don’t you see? Can’t you see what you’re doing? You’re not talking about Jesus, you’re talking about your religion. Sure, you feel better by thinking your religion is Jesus, but it’s not! That’s what you don’t understand,” he said. He took out another cigarette and lit it, continuing, “You think you’ve tamed Jesus. You think you’ve captured him in your sanctuary. You think he looks like you—but it’s the Pharisee that looks like you, don’t you see that? Your savior is a Pharisee! It’s not Jesus, at least not the Jesus I know. The Jesus I know will never be tamed by religious dreamers—ever. You may hate the thought, but I’ll tell you what I see in the life of Jesus when I read the Bible. I see that Jesus is on the side of the cigar-smoking, whisky-drinking, foul-language-using public. He stands between the self-righteous with their stones and the very people they want to throw them at. He defends the unworthy, befriends the untouchables, believes in the unaccepted. He had no regard for his reputation. He was despised by the religious dreamers back in his day because he refused to play their religious games–”

“Nonsense, Frank. Nonsense! You are a rebel, rebelling against the Lord and looking for any way to justify your actions!”

“You’re right about that! You may disagree, or even preach a message against my kind on Sunday, but I’ll tell you this, I’m a rebel because I follow one. Jesus was a rebel. He stood up against the hypocrisy of religion, he tore down the false images of the leaders and their pompous ways, and he completely disregarded their legalistic lifestyle. He had a reputation as a drunk and a glutton, a friend to the outcasts and the ungodly. By God, if Jesus—not your Pharisee Jesus but the real Jesus—wasn’t a rebel in your eyes, who would be? You try to shame me back into church, shame me to stop smoking, shame me back into your religious image, the image you adore, you idolize! But I don’t want to live in your image. I want to live in the image of Jesus.”

“The image of Jesus?” Richard cried out. “Impossible. Or do you actually think Jesus smoked cigarettes?”

“He did things that would offend you far more than smoking cigarettes, of that I’m sure!”

“Impossible. Not my Jesus!”

“Exactly, Dad! That’s exactly my point. Not your Jesus.”

Frank turned and got into his car.

“I'm out of here. I don't need the shit you're shoveling. You can keep it.”

Richard stood defiant, and screamed, “Show some respect!”

“Respect? That's something you seem to think works in only one direction. Why don't you show some yourself?” Frank revved the engine wildly. “You see that lawn you got there, all perfect. It’s like the mask you're wearing, Mr. Perfect! But you know what's underneath. Dirt. A whole lot of dirty pride and filthy delusions.”

He took his foot of the break, hit the accelerator hard and spun the steering wheel to his left, driving off the driveway and onto the immaculate lawn; shifting gears, he pushed the pedal to the metal. His back wheels spun and slid across the lawn, ripping it up and leaving two large ruts as Frank swerved off the lawn and back onto the street, speeding away.

“My lawn, ruined!” Richard squealed as he ran out to the road and watched Frank fly around the corner. He hissed through his teeth, “That disrespectful weasel,” and contemplated chasing after him, but knew that would do no good. Instead, he decided to destroy the source of all his rebellious and bitter ideas about God and the church. It had been five years since he'd last spoken with his brother, and this, he was sure, would be the last time.

Jason entered the church foyer, walked up the staff stairs and into the church office space. He straightened his clothes and wiped his hands on the back of his jeans. Taking a few deep breaths, he knocked on Pastor Henry's door and was invited in.

The church had a complex web of ministries, and ways of keeping tabs on everyone—all for the community's greater good, of course—and one of them was the Accountability Program. The goal was for everyone at Faith First to be in a small group that met at the group leader's home once a week. That leader would also meet with the member once a month for a one-on-one meeting over coffee designed to keep their mini-flock accountable, to keep them serving the Lord. And serving the Lord faithfully, of course, meant faithfully serving the vision of the church. Jason was Frank's official small group leader, and if anyone had the chance to help Henry with his plans, it was Jason.

“Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice, Jason. Please, take a seat.”

“Anytime, Pastor. It's an honor.”

He meant that, too. He could hardly believe Pastor Henry had called him personally and asked to meet with him. The palms of his hands were already sweaty again.

“So, I understand you were Frank's accountability partner for the past three years, right?”

“Yes, that's right, but—” he paused, “we haven't met for almost six months, and even before that it was . . . sporadic.”

“Frank—has issues.” Henry said. “I guess you already knew that.”

“That's for sure.”

Jason was nervous. He was meeting privately with Pastor Henry and he was a little giddy about the whole thing. Perhaps he would be asked on staff. Could that possibly be the case? Why else would he be asked to meet privately with the Associate Pastor? Was this his moment? He was just a volunteer, but he was a committed one. If he wasn't at work, he was tending to some form of church task. He served mid-week and on the weekends, and he had been thinking about attending Bible college. But now, perhaps he could skip that step and launch straight into full-time ministry. He had been waiting patiently for God's timing—for that time when he, the humble servant, would be exalted into a position of importance.

This could be it, this could very well be the moment!

He focused back on the question that had been posed, and he suddenly wanted to distance himself as much as possible from Frank. “I couldn't believe what Frank preached yesterday.”

“Yes, well,” Henry replied, “that's why I wanted to meet with you. What happened in church yesterday is going to have far-reaching implications, and it's in the best interest of Faith First if we can take precautionary measures to minimize the damage Frank caused yesterday.”

“What do you suggest?” Jason said, intrigued.

“I'd like you to do me a favor. It will require you meeting with Frank, and it would be best not to say I asked you to do so. Do you understand?”

Jason nodded, although he didn't really understand anything.

“I want you to call Frank and ask him to meet with you. Can you do that?”

“Well, actually,” Jason said, “we had already arranged to meet today. But that was before his message in church. I didn't plan on actually meeting with him after that shameful performance.”

“Well, you must!” Henry said. Leaning closer to Jason, he said, “We need to act quickly and clean up the mess he has made. I want you to challenge him, pressure him if needed, to stop with his rebellious ways. He is the son of the Senior Pastor, and we can't have him running around town making a fool of us all. He must submit to spiritual authority. I want you to talk with him, and see if he will listen to reason and come back under the spiritual covering of the church leadership. If he refuses and plans on continuing in his rebellious ways, I need to know. It's paramount I understand, so I can take the necessary precautions to protect Faith First from any more damage.”

Henry calculated Frank was unlikely to change his ways. That much was clear to him. But he needed more evidence, just in case there were—complications.

“This needs to remain confidential,” Henry said as he slid a small iPod with a tiny microphone app across the table, “but I would also like you to record your conversation.”

Jason suddenly felt a wild sensation run through his body. He was being pulled into the inner circle of church governance, with a mission, too. Why, it was almost like he was a little Christian 007.

How tantalizing!

“I'll talk with him, Pastor, and I'll record the conversation—but I can't promise you he'll listen to reason.”

“Do your best.”

“OK, Pastor, I'll do it.”

“Remember,” Henry added, “this is top secret, OK?”

Jason nodded, the kind of nod he saw spies use in the movies; focused and outrageously cool, so he imagined.

Top secret!

He really did feel like a Christian James Bond now.

CHAPTER FIVE

Richard climbed into his Mercedes CLS550 and sped off. The car was a man-made wonder. Black. Polished. Fast. Seven speed automatic, 4.6L engine, with a turbo and overdrive transmission. It was a feat of engineering genius. And, as with all things exquisite, it came with a hefty price tag, pushing 80k with all the added options . . . but you get what you pay for. Christians can have it all, that was the gospel message, and it seemed only right to Richard that he show some proof of it to the congregation and community. Naturally, it helped that Richard didn't have to pay for it out of his own pocket—one of the perks of the job. Technically it belonged to Faith First. While Henry did raise concerns that it was somewhat excessive in price and presence, in the end Richard convinced the elders it was a worthwhile investment of funds. Richard was the visible sign of health and wealth for the church—besides, he did need to travel a lot for work. God knew he worked hard enough, surely he deserved a little comfort along the way.

It had been five years since he had seen his brother. Although they lived in the same city, their hearts were light-years apart. Rounding the curve a little too fast, for a split second he thought he might lose control of his vehicle; internally, he had already lost control. His mind was in a rage. Betrayal surrounded him. His own family, his flesh and blood, they were all against him. He was taught in seminary to never get close to the members of his congregation, but he couldn't keep his family at a safe distance, not without causing problems. It was easier with everyone else.

The church members understood his position of authority. They didn't expect to be close to him. What they expected was his strength, his leadership, and his vision. Yes, that was what they wanted, he told himself. He knew it was a lie, but everything hung on it, so he convinced himself of its truth nonetheless. His congregation wanted him to be strong, a mighty leader, always moving forward, taking ground, a warrior to be admired.

Frank, on the other hand, wanted a father, but he had had to accept a mix of father and spiritual leader. He had to understand who his father was. He was not just a father, he was also God's servant. He was called to lead Faith First, and now both his son and his own brother—his own flesh and blood—were trying to ruin everything.

Ted had once been as passionate as Richard for building the church. They both planned on becoming pastors from an early age. They both completed their theological studies. But something happened to Ted, something that caused him to change his perspective on life; something that caused a rift between them that had only continued to widen as time went on.

He pulled up in front of Ted's house, breaking hard, and got out.

He pounded on the door. Audrey opened it.

“Hello, can I help you?” she asked.

“Yes, I'm Pastor Richard, Ted's brother. Is he home?”

“Oh, yes, he is.” She looked up at him and smiled. “It's so great of you to come. It will mean a lot to him. Please, come in.”

Richard didn't smile. No softening up. He needed to put his brother in his place.

“Teddy, you have a visitor,” she called through the hallway.

“Great. I'll be right out,” he called back. A moment later he appeared in the living room. He smiled at his unexpected guest.

“Richard.”

“Ted.”

“Isn't this a great surprise,” the woman said, grinning between the two of them.

“Richard, this is—”

“Let's save the introductions for another time. I need to speak with you . . .” Richard glanced quickly at the woman and then back to his brother, “. . . alone.”

Audrey flashed a glance at Richard, then back to Ted, before smiling timidly and saying, “Oh, that's fine, I'll just step out for a walk.” She walked slowly by Richard. “It was nice to finally meet you,” she said as she slid her way to the coat rack and then out the door.

Ted's smile fell from his face. He gazed at his brother. “I see you're as charming as ever.”

“Let's cut the banter. I'm not here for small talk. I just want to tell you something and then I'm gone.” Richard raised his large hand and pointed his finger across the room at his brother menacingly. “Stay away from my son. I don't want him talking to you. I don't want him visiting you. I don't want him to have anything to do with you. Understood?”

Ted stood there in silence, his eyes burning through his brother.

“Do you understand?” Richard repeated, stamping his question with authority.

They continued to stare each other down.

“You know,” Ted finally said, “I almost forgot what an arrogant piece of crap you are.” He raised his hand and pointed his own finger, “Now, let me tell you something. I'll talk to your son whenever he wants to talk with me. I'll see him whenever he wants to visit, and I'll have as much to do with him as he wants me to. You got that, shit-for-brains?”

“You foul-mouthed heathen!” Richard called back. “I didn't come here to hear that kind of filth.”

“You walk into my house for the first time in years, and you act like a king with a thorn up his ass, angry as hell. You dismiss my friend like you own the place. You point your finger at me and—like it's your God-given right—you expect me to bow down and listen to your orders. Well, let me make something clear: I don't care if you're offended at my language,” Ted stepped forward and got right in his brother's face, “I'm offended at your whole being!”

Frank arrived at the cafe and quickly scoped the place out. No sign of Jason. He wasn’t surprised and decided to have a coffee anyway. The place was almost full. It was a small cafe, but still managed to cram in quite a number of people. He ordered his usual latte and sat at the only vacant table left, tucked over in the corner. He loved Brooks Cafe, it had a certain charm that was hard to describe. It felt like home and a holiday, all at the same time.

Outside, Jason switched the iPod on, then checked and double-checked that it was recording.

Okay, 007, let's do this.

He walked in and saw Frank sitting in the corner, sipping on his latte.

“Hi, Frank,” he said, taking a seat. “I was wondering if you'd show up, actually.”

“Funny, I was wondering the same thing. Want a coffee?”

“No thanks,” Jason said, pointing to the bottle of water he had with him.

Frank sized him up, asking, “You all right? You look a little jittery.”

“Who, me? I'm fine, just fine. What would I have to be nervous about?” he replied, a little too anxiously.

“I don't know, but look at your hands, you're shaking.”

Jason grabbed the table firmly. He was shaking. This secret agent stuff was tougher than he thought. He laughed awkwardly and then stood up. “Actually, I think I will grab a coffee. I'll be back in a sec.”

Pull yourself together, 007!

He ordered a coffee and tried to calm his nerves. Slowly, he made his way back to the table. Frank may have been the pastor's kid, but in Jason’s opinion he clearly misunderstood what it meant to be a Christian, and it both confused and annoyed him. He had taken up the challenge of helping Frank see the faults in his misguided Christian worldview about a year ago, but for the past few months Frank had fallen off the radar. Jason still felt it was his obligation to bring him back to the proper path, especially after his disastrous sermon yesterday.

Jason decided to skip the small talk and get straight down to business as he saw it: To either force Frank to repent from his rebellious ways or to get some of his heretical thoughts on tape. Preferably both, actually.

“That was some message yesterday.”

Frank smiled. “Did you like it?”

“I can't say that I did. To be honest, I found it really distasteful. I can't for the life of me understand why you said what you said.”

“I just wanted to be honest.”

“You wanted to pull down the church is more like it.”

“No, I wanted to be honest,” Frank repeated.

Jason sighed. “Honest. Were you really being honest—or just looking for attention?”

Frank took another sip of his latte. “Look, the last thing I want is attention. If anything, I'll only get negative attention because of it. I said what I said because I believe if we're not honest in our faith community, we'll end up drying up spiritually, and we'll have nothing left but a damn religious circus each Sunday.”

“What? You think you’re being honest but the rest of us are not? How can you say that? Of course we're being honest.”

“How do you figure that?” Frank asked.

“Because, we're Christians.”

Frank laughed, he couldn't help it, and Jason was not impressed.

“Okay,” Frank said, “tell me honestly then. As a Christian, why, for example, is there this overwhelming pressure to submit to the theology that presents Adam as more powerful than Jesus.”

Jason examined Frank's face. What was he playing at? Where did this question come from? He had a planned direction for their conversation, and this was certainly unexpected. He tried to remain calm. He had to maintain his composure on the recording, which was important if he was to impress Pastor Henry.

He was determined to remain in control of the conversation.

“Why would you say that?” Jason asked.

“Well, it's evident that as Christians we think of Adam and his bad work with a much higher regard than we do of the finished work of Jesus. After all, we are told to believe that Adam’s work was so powerful it had a carry-on effect that touched every member of mankind, but with Jesus, apparently, there are a number of hoops you have to jump through to get the benefits of his work.”

“Free will, Frank. It all boils down to having free will to choose Jesus.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that a thousand times. But it’s not consistent and that’s my concern.”

“How is it not consistent?” Jason asked.

“Well, when it comes to Adam, we seem to have no problem with God imparting sin upon everyone in humanity. Even though no one asked for it, even though they didn’t freely believe in order to become sinners, they got it because of the work of Adam, without exception. In this case, you think it is perfectly fine that God didn’t give anyone the free will to choose; yet the idea that God doesn’t give people free will to be saved is considered unfair, but, why? Why do we find the lack of free will in regards to Adam’s work acceptable and even perfectly reasonable, and yet with Jesus, we think the very thought is repugnant?”

After a moment of awkward silence, it became apparent Jason wasn’t going to attempt any kind of response, so Frank continued, “Why do we believe Adam’s work was more powerful than Jesus’ work? If Adam can cause all men to be fallen, why can’t Jesus’ work reverse that and cause all men to be saved? Wasn’t that the whole point the Apostle Paul was making when he made the comparison between Adam, the first man, and Jesus, the better second man?”

Jason pulled out his Bible; he always brought a pocket-sized one along to meetings like this. “Show me the verse you’re talking about.”

Frank flicked straight over to Romans, searched a little until he found the passage he was referring to: And so, just as the result of one trespass, by Adam, was condemnation for every man, woman and child, so also the result of one act of righteousness, by Jesus, was justification that brings life for all men, woman and children.

Jason read the passage several times in silence. Each time he tried to find a objection to make. After his fourth reading, he closed his Bible, and said, “I don’t know what to say, except I know that I know that I know everyone won’t be saved.”

“But that’s exactly what I mean by traditional theology. You say you know that you know that you know . . . but what if what you’ve been taught since childhood is wrong? It feels right because you’ve heard it a thousand times, but what if the gospel is far bigger and more inclusive than we’ve been traditionally taught? That’s what I’ve been thinking about lately.”

“And . . . what conclusion have you reached?”

“A cosmic-sized possibility, that's what.”

“Which is what? Speak plainly! What are you talking about?”

Frank leaned in closer, and locked eyes with Jason. “I'm talking about everyone getting saved, that's what. Think about it. What if God, working through Christ, finished the work of salvation on everyone’s behalf? What if, as in the case of Adam, it was the work of Jesus that caused the work of salvation to carry forward to all of mankind? How would that change our view of God, of ourselves, and of others around us? How would it change the way we share God’s good news for the world?”

Jason’s face reddened. He didn’t want to discuss this topic at all, especially as it was being recorded. Oh, the shame! The whole conversation made him feel painfully uncomfortable. Looking for a quick way out of the conversation, he said, “I’ll stick with traditional theology on this one.”

“Why?” Frank asked immediately.

“Because . . . I don’t want to end up believing heresy, that’s why.”

Frank leaned over the table and whispered, “But what if the traditional theology you believe is the heresy?”

Jason shook his head. “Come on, Frank, enough with the games. If you want to water down the gospel, fine, but why try to drag the whole church down with your heresy?”

“I'm not watering anything down. I'm trying to take in the gospel as it truly is. If anyone is watering down the gospel, it's you.”

Jason's head jolted back, shocked by the force of those words. They were so unexpected.

Frank continued, “It's easy to believe in a God who is going to condemn everyone who thinks differently than you do, but to believe in a God who so loved the world he sent his Son to save it and not condemn it, now that takes real faith!”

“Frank, what has happened to you? You used to be such a good example as a Christian. You used to carry your cross and deny yourself. But now—” Jason held his tongue.

“Now what? Out with it. What do you really think?”

Thinking of the best way to get out of the corner he was in, Jason diverted the conversation. “Listen—we have to deny ourselves, that's my point. We have to die to ourselves and carry our cross daily.”

Frank nodded, then said, “I agree, but I don’t see you denying yourself. From how you describe your faith, it sounds like you’re doing the exact opposite.”

“How can you say that? I do nothing but serve Christ,” Jason said.

“Actually, you are just serving yourself. You’re serving your religious appetite – the appetite that is in all of us. Don’t you see that? If you really wanted to deny yourself, you’d deny the desire for religion within you, the easy road of religion, where you can have all the external signs that God is with you. But do you really want to deny yourself for Christ? If you do, deny the religious desire in you and start living by your heart instead. Stop domesticating Jesus to fit into your programs, and stop with all the external activities to confirm you belong to God and that he is pleased with you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with external rituals. Christ wants them, too,” Jason said defensively.

Frank stirred his coffee, exhaling loudly. He took a sip before continuing with his thoughts. “It seems we all have no problem molding Jesus into whatever form we want. Is that who Jesus is? Is that how he works? Is he like clay that we can mold as we want?”

Jason was fuming on the inside. “Of course not!” he retorted.

“Then why do we do it? Pleasing all the religious desires we’ve been born with, and all the while quoting the Bible and saying that we are ‘denying ourselves.’ We’re doing the exact opposite! We’re not denying ourselves, we’re indulging ourselves! We’re indulging in our religious desires and our religious addictions.”

“That’s crazy talk. Where do you come up with this nonsense? You’re just trying to make your own faith easy, that’s all.”

“Nonsense? I’ll tell you what nonsense is. Turning Jesus into some kind of moral guru who is religiously and socially palatable, that's nonsense! But to accept him as the revolutionary that he actually is, that’s not easy … that’s the part that takes real faith.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Honestly, I think you are looking for any excuse to make Jesus out to be some kind of rebel against religion. But he’s nothing of the sort. Jesus himself loves religion. And he wasn't some kind of hooligan like you talk about.”

“Oh, come on, you can’t be serious,” Frank said. “You might not like what I have to say, but you can’t just sit there and tell me Jesus was as conservative as you are, and everyone else that holds to your theology? Let's get real. There has never been anyone more radical, confrontational, and disruptive to the commonly-held habits and doctrines of religion than Jesus. He didn’t place any hope in politics, nor did he spend his time criticizing other religions; rather, he confronted, challenged and presented a better alternative to his own religion – to bring an end to religion, and to show us how to live our life of faith in a new and living way. The way of the Spirit.”

“So what are you suggesting? That we should live our lives without religion?” Jason tried not to mock Frank, but he couldn’t resist. “Come on, wise guy, explain yourself? How would we even start doing that?”

“You really want to know?”

“Of course. I’m all ears.”

“Okay, here’s how. We could start by living our communal faith in a way that no longer depends on buildings or offerings, or on professional clergy and reoccurring ceremonies. We could stop worshiping the Bible, and instead actually develop our relationship with God in a way that depended on his voice within each of us, his Spirit. We could deny our religious addiction to written codes and stomping of the feet and reaching up to heaven with our hands. We could stop trying to save the world with our brand of Christianity. We could start by being connected via our hearts instead of through church services. We could—”

“Enough! I’ve heard enough!” Jason interrupted.

This whole conversation is being recorded!

“I can tell that all you have to say is nonsense. It’s all dreams, that’s all. We need structure. We need paid pastors. We need church services; nothing will work without them.”

“What?” Frank replied with a half-smile on his face. “You don’t have the faith for it?”

“I’m a man of faith! And I’m sorry I asked for your opinion. I don’t need your wild ideas or foolish advice. I’m already giving everything for God.”

“Not everything,” Frank said. “Based on your reaction to this conversation, it looks like you’re still holding tightly to your religion addiction.”

“Oh, cut it out!” Jason said with a little too much anger in his tone. “All this ranting against religion, it's just a smoke screen to hide what's really going on.”

“Oh? And what's really going on, Jason? Enlighten me.”

“You no longer want to submit to spiritual authority, that's what!”

“Actually, that's not true at all. I do want to, and I do submit to spiritual authority,” Frank replied, speaking between sips on his coffee. “I submit to Jesus.”

His old 'accountability partner' wasn’t impressed with his answer and it was his obligation, he felt, to bring him back into line—now more so than ever.

“We all need a covering in our faith,” Jason said. “You know this. Pastor Richard is meant to be your spiritual authority. I know he's your dad, so maybe you have some issues there. But, regardless, if not him, some other pastor. Just admit it: You have a spirit of rebellion, that’s the heart of the problem.”

Frank shook his head. “Heart? You want to talk about things of the heart? Oh, come on, you’ve forgotten what it even feels like to have a heart!”

“Frank, listen to—”

“No, you listen!” Frank said. He put down his coffee. “All this talk about spiritual authority and spiritual covering, it’s all a load of garbage. It has nothing to do with faith and everything to do with control. Don’t you see that? It’s all about control, and they have you, they control you. You’re trying to bring me back into slavery . . . and you think I’m the crazy one?” He leaned back, inhaling slowly and exhaling loudly while Jason stared in disbelief at what he was hearing.

“Frank, have you lost your mind? You’re falling away from your faith, can’t you see that?”

“No, I’m not falling away from my faith. The truth is I’m falling away from your faith.”

They sat in silence. Jason laughed in dismay. “What does that mean?”

“My faith is in Jesus.” Frank continued, “My faith is in letting the Spirit of God lead my life. But your faith is in the Mighty Pastor Richard. Your faith is in his bogus theology. Your faith is in all his controlling, manipulative doctrines. Your faith is in his religious vision. That’s your faith. As for me, I’m not just falling away from it—I’m dead to it. It’s over. That kind of faith has no part in my life anymore, and I’ll never again let a man fool me into believing I need him as a mediator in order to be in right relationship with God.”

Jason leaned back, trying to reconcile what was happening. He was meant to be the one challenging Frank’s faith. That was why he had arranged the meeting. He was meant to be pointing out Frank’s shallow faith. How dare Frank turn the tables and challenge his faith!

“You’re a backslider, Frank, plain and simple. I came here to try and help you, and instead you insult me. Is this how you live out your faith?”

Frank laughed. It was not the reaction Jason was expecting. “Jason, you go around telling everyone what’s wrong with their beliefs, and yet when someone does it to yours, you think it’s unjust? You know what your problem is—the damn problem with everything you believe—you’ve forgotten your heart. You’ve forgotten that faith is meant to revolve around love. My dad’s obsession with spiritual authority has rubbed off on you, or worse still, it's grown into you. You say you want to talk about the heart, but how can we? You can’t even see your own. It’s been overgrown with religious pride."

Jason had enough. He stood up and towered over Frank, hissing through his teeth, “You're going to go to hell, Frank.”

As soon as Jason finished hissing those words, Frank was on his feet. He grabbed Jason and thrust him against the wall. Jason’s legs went to jelly.

“Listen to yourself, damn it—listen to what you just said! You feel insulted for the very things you do to other people every day, and your response is that I should burn in flames for eternity? And you make this horrific pronouncement without even worrying, without any sadness, without a single care. Don’t you hear what you’re saying? You think someone with a heart can so flippantly tell someone else that they hope they will be tortured forever because they don’t bow down and accept their ideas? Have you no tears, no sadness at the thought of someone being eternally tortured? No, you don't—you actually get off on the idea, you sadist!”

Frank released him and took several steps back. Jason remained up against the wall, staring into Frank’s eyes. “So this is what I get for trying to help a friend,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear him clearly. “I should call the police on you, but I’m used to being persecuted as a Christian, so I’ll take the higher road and just leave.”

He picked up his bag and prepared to leave. As he passed Frank on the way out, he leaned in close to him, and whispered, “Go to hell, Frank—go to hell.”

Richard shook his head in disgust. It was obvious to him that his brother hadn’t changed one bit. If anything, he had only fallen deeper into ungodliness. “Oh, so this is how it's going to be?” Richard cried out. “Another disrespectful attack on me, I should have known!”

“Another?” Ted asked.

“You know full well what I'm talking about. You abandoned your calling to build Faith First, then you left the congregation altogether, and for years you've been trying to tear the church down with your criticism. You think I don't hear? You think I'm as big a fool as my son thinks, that I don't know what's going on? I know, don’t you worry, I know plenty! I've heard about your wild ideas and your fruitcake theology. I know you try to sow discord among believers wherever the opportunity presents itself. I know how you sit out on your veranda smoking your cigars for the world to see, drinking your whisky and laughing in the face of God. You're a disgrace, and you're dragging my son down into your ugly pit of bitterness, and I won't stand for it!”

“I told you five years ago when you broke my nose, I'm not trying to pull the church down, I'm just seeking to understand it. And if my questions about church truly scare you, you should ask yourself why? What if it's your idea of church that's the sham, not mine? What if you're the one pulling down God's church by continuing with your glorified Temple model and pulling the whole congregation into an Old Covenant mindset? It's easy to point the finger, but how about examining yourself?”

Richard shook his head in disgust. “It's always the same with you. The same garbage falling from your mouth. Nothing but trash.”

“Oh, is it now?”

“It is! You don't care about anyone but yourself. I'm trying to build something great for God, and not only are you against my vision for the church, you're causing division in my own household. Isn't there even an ounce of shame within you? Do you ever think of anyone else besides yourself?”

“Oh, the Mighty Pastor Richard, King of the Hill, thinks I'm self-obsessed.”

“I'm warning you. Stay away from my son.”

“Or what? You'll assault me—again?”

Richard stiffened, eyeballing his older brother. “I never assaulted you.”

“Of course not,” Ted said, waiving his hands in the air. “Because the Mighty Pastor Richard can rewrite history to be whatever he wants it to be. Have you forgotten the night you practically broke my door down and sucker-punched me? Fine scene that was, and for what? All because a few of your big givers left your church. You still think it was because of me, even now, don't you?”

“I don't think so—I know so!”

“Oh, wake up, Richard. For heaven's sake, I only talked to them for forty minutes over coffee, and shared how I viewed church differently than I used to. I never told them to leave. If anyone told them, it was the Spirit of God within them.”

Ted clenched at his stomach and grit his teeth with the sudden stabbing pain. Richard took no notice; he continued to steamroll his thoughts out into the room.

“You've been trying to pull Faith First into rubble ever since you descended there yourself,” Richard said.

“When they left, what did you do?” Ted walked up and tapped on the back of his front door. “The first thing you did was charge in here and try and put the blame on me. But did you ask yourself if perhaps they were right to leave? Of course not. Did you even consider that perhaps you were leading the church in the wrong direction and that God was telling them to get out? Oh, heaven forbid! No, you were just looking for a way to deflect the blame.”

Richard threw his finger in Ted's face, “I can't stand the sight of you!” He stormed past him and out the door, slamming it as he left. He wasn't going to listen anymore, but halfway down the driveway something deep inside him forced him to turn around. He stormed back into the house and belted out: “You left me alone! We started Faith First together, as a team, and you abandoned me!”

Ted flung back around, and screamed at his brother, “My wife died, Richard!”

“God's kingdom didn't die with her. God's work didn't die with her.”

“You bastard. You still don't understand—you never understood!” Ted screamed back. “I gave all my time and focus to building Faith First. Jenny was always tagging along or being left behind. I gave up everything for my dream to build something great for God. And what did I achieve? What did I build? I built my religious dream, that's what I realized afterward. God gave me a wonderful woman with whom to build a life together, and I built nothing with her. I only burdened her with obligations. I was so focused on numbers and congregation growth, on expanding our building, on our image, and our programs that I left her high and dry. I built so much, the Mighty Pastor Ted, but it wasn't God's kingdom, it was mine. And when Jenny died so suddenly, I was left without the chance to make things right—”

“So running away from your responsibilities was how you made things right?”

“Listen, damn it! For once in your life, listen to me. I'm trying to explain my heart to you and all you're doing is waiting for a pause to jump in and correct me.”

“Because I've heard it all before.”

“No, you've never heard it. God knows I've tried to explain it to you over and over, but you refuse to actually listen to me. If you had, you'd understand me. But you’ve heard nothing. Your own ideology and zeal have consumed you. Your religious vision has blocked up your ears and hardened your heart, 'til there's no room for anyone or anything else.” Ted stared at his brother. “You know what the sad thing is? You give your life for a faith that revolves around the concept of freedom, but you're not free. You're a slave, and although deep in your heart I bet you know it, you stubbornly refuse to accept it.”

“Of course I’m free—I believe in Jesus,” Richard replied defiantly.

Ted scoffed. His brother's religious formulas didn't hold any weight with him.

“Jesus. Ah, yes. Him. Well, like you, I’ve known Jesus my whole life, but for most of it I wasn’t free.” Taking a quick glance at Richard, he asked, “How do you account for that, then?”

Of course, Richard knew the answer. It was the only possible answer. Ted must not have known Jesus for most of his life as he claimed. Clearly, his brother hadn't spent any time with Jesus for the past decade, at least as far as Richard could tell.

“Maybe you didn’t know Jesus as well as you thought you did,” he replied.

“That’s true. I certainly didn’t.”

Richard wasn't expecting his brother to agree with him. He was left silent, not sure what to say.

“I knew him like I knew how to tie my shoe laces,” Ted said. “I knew him like I knew how to make my breakfast. I knew him like I knew how to dress myself.”

“What does all that mean?” Richard said. He wanted to get out of there. This conversation was clearly going nowhere.

“It means I knew Jesus like I knew the basic things of life. I knew him like it only took an afternoon to get to know him, to fully understand him. Get it? I knew him too well, too quickly. That was my problem … and that, brother, is still your problem.”

“I’m not ashamed to know Jesus well, not in the least!” Richard roared.

Ted shook his head. “Puff out your chest like a proud rooster. Go ahead, puff yourself up! But I don't buy it, because I know the game. What you're saying now, the way you're responding, I've lived through it all myself. Back when I knew Jesus too well, I also thought I knew everything. That’s what happens when you believe you know the Creator of the Universe like you know how to make scrambled eggs. You get proud. You get cocky about everything in life. You think you've got the Creator of the Universe figured out, believing you know him completely, and that makes you feel like you've got it all figured out—all of life, everything, like you’re the king of knowledge, like you got nothing left to learn.” He paused, locked eyes with his brother, and continued, “And that is precisely when you are the most enslaved. Right there, in the heart of your pride. In your fantasy of knowing it all. In your fantasy of knowing Jesus too well.”

“I don't care what you believe, do you hear me?” Richard took a step closer. This time he was the one pointing the finger, “You can throw your life away with all your New Age, easy living beliefs, but as for me—”

“Get out! Damn it, get out of here!” Ted cried out, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Richard butted all the way up to his brother. He wasn't leaving, and he wasn't about to back down without first finishing his sentence. “But as for me—I’m not ashamed to know Jesus too well, as you call it. You might be happy now to just sit around and tear down the church, criticize God's kingdom and babble about Buddha, Confucius, and every New Age idea that drifts into your head, but as for me, I believe in Jesus, and Jesus alone!”

Ted pushed his brother, causing him to fall back a few steps.

“Who's talking about Buddha? I’m not talking about watering down my belief in Jesus. I’m talking about being honest about how much I don’t know about him. I’m talking about embracing the mystery of a human being in a relationship with the Creating Being of the Universe. I’m talking about knowing Jesus for who he is. And, you know what? He’s big. He’s so big you've got no idea. He came to earth in the form of a man, and you’ve kept him that size. But he didn’t keep himself that size. Get it? He went back to being the cosmic-sized Christ. He went back to holding the whole universe together. Who the hell is talking about Buddha?”

Richard's went red with indignation. How dare Ted push him! Rage was rattling its cage within him. He clenched his teeth and resisted pushing his brother back, but he refused to back down either. “I don’t understand a thing you're saying, you babbler!”

“Of course you don’t. This kind of thinking has no room in your head. You label it foolishness because it goes against all the information you’re so proud of propagating. Because you've got it all figured out already. With all your irrefutable information and self assured certainty, you got no room left in your head to embrace the mystery of your faith. Your head is full of exclamation points and you’ve got no room left for question marks. No room left for the mystery of Christ—the inexplicable largeness of Christ—to unravel itself in your spirit, in its own time.”

“I don't need to be lectured by you regarding God. I know God. He might be different to your god, whoever he may be.”

“Then get out of here!” Ted screamed again.

“I will not be spoken to this way. Show some respect!” Richard roared back.

“This is my house, asshole, why don't you show me some respect?”

“Stop with all your obscenities already. You have a filthy mouth!”

They were now both nose-to-nose, like two wild bulls, neither willing to back down.

“I'm not one of your congregation members you can force into your cookie-cutter existence. Shove your demands, I'll use whatever damn words I want to.”

“Not in my presence you won't!”

“Then take your High and Mighty Presence and get lost—you and that little man in your little glass bottle.” Ted spun around and paced to the other end of the room with a violent speed. Clutching at his hair, he turned back to his brother. “You think you’re the spiritual giant of the family, but in reality, we all feel sorry for you. Every one of us.”

“And I am not ashamed of my faith,” Richard said defiantly.

“I know,” Ted replied. The space between them was bending with the tension. “That’s your problem. You’re so damn proud you can’t see the problem with your faith. All these years you’ve been hoodwinked into believing that the God of the Universe is just a little man who happens to fit into your little glass bottle. And you think you’re an expert on your little man. You carry him around and show him off. You make him dance. You get him to do whatever you please. You’re the great master, the expert: 'Come one, come all, be amazed at my brother’s little man!’ But you're no expert. You're merely a slave to your religious fantasies and visions—and you're a heartless bastard as well.”

Richard's eyes burned. Rage was pumping in his veins. He took two steps forward towards his brother.

“I will not stand here and be spoken to this way.”

“Then stop standing here,” Ted shot back. He walked right past his brother to the front door and opened it wide. “Get out!”

Richard stampeded to the door. They both stood half-inside, half-outside, and again they were right in each other's faces.

“I've warned you. I want you to stay away from my son.”

“I don't give a damn what you want.”

“Show some respect!”

“Shit on your respect!”

“You foul mouthed sinner—stay away from my son!”

“Get out of my house!”

“I said, stay away from my son!”

“I said—fuck off!”

That word triggered Richard's inner rage; he hated that word and it set him spiraling out of control. He could do nothing but turn and storm out of the house before he lost control completely. A moment longer and he would have attacked. He clearly felt it. He made it to his car without breaking—just—but his rage was nonetheless out of its cage. It roared with an intense fury the whole car ride home.

He was losing it. He was too far over the line. It seemed everything was against him, and his capacity to maintain a calm exterior was collapsing.

It hadn't always been this way. He was once full of grace, and he missed that Richard. God, he missed his old graceful self. Now all he had was the pressure. Building a church that was successful, that was always expanding, involved so much pressure. Being the alpha male type, for years he had thrived on the pressure; it had pushed him, but he had pushed back harder. But the pressure never ceased, it never weakened. In the early years of leading Faith First, he had felt like a superhero for the Lord, but he was realizing more and more that he was in fact only human, and, if he didn't escape it, the pressure would break him completely.

He had been married for 21 years, but he sometimes questioned if he knew his wife at all. They had been in love. He remembered how he used to feel, and how she used to look at him. Her eyes. She always spoke through her eyes, and he remembered how often she revealed her love for him through her gaze. They had been just teenagers when they started dating. Back then her eyes told him such beautiful love stories.

She no longer told him stories with her eyes. These days her eyes seemed veiled. It was almost as if she no longer wanted to show him how she felt. He worried about her. She wasn't a workhorse like he was. She wasn't designed with his ability to work ‘till she dropped. She was weak, and although he longed to help her be strong, he just didn't have the time. She was his wife, his helper, and surely she understood his responsibilities required all his focus and strength.

But he did love her. He had always loved her. The problem was that love had moved from a living and active love to a theoretical love. In his head he still loved her, but in his heart she had been lost in the shadow of the church. His grand vision had overshadowed her place as his primary love.

The Monster of Shame within him knew this, and from time to time it would beat Richard because of it.

Bang, bang, bang. You're neglecting your wife.

Bang, bang, bang. Look! She's dying in the shadow of your church-growth vision.

Bang, bang, bang. You're meant to be protecting her, but she's alone and abandoned while you're off with your religious obsessions!

He slammed the steering wheel. What was he supposed to do? What could he do? He was trapped! He wanted to love his wife, to show her his love, but he was only human, and he was drowning in the life he had worked so hard to build. And what about Frank, his only son? Was this the way it was supposed to be? He had only tried to help the boy understand the ways of the Lord, but that had all blown up in his face, and the Shame Monster reminded him at every possible opportunity.

Bang, bang, bang. You call yourself a father? You never listen to your son. You have no time for him. You are ashamed of him. He's your son, but what kind of father have you been? You care more for your reputation than you do about his life. You love your church-growth vision more than your own flesh and blood.

Bang, bang, bang. Wake up!

Bang, bang, bang.

Oh, God, how he missed his graceful self. The Richard who fell in love with a sexy seventeen-year-old blonde. He missed the Richard who just wanted to enjoy his life united with the Lord. He missed the Richard who had no reputation to uphold, no grand church-growth vision to carry upon his shoulders. He realized, in his state of rage, that his obsession with his job was driving his wife and son further away from him. It didn't make things easier. He was trapped. He had to keep going. Everything depended on him. Everything, he was convinced, would collapse if he wasn't there to carry the great vision of Faith First.

The pressure. It was breaking him, but he couldn't escape it.

Although Richard couldn't anticipate it, there was a way out. As a matter of fact, he had no idea just how close he was to being out.

Jason drove back to the church office. On the way there, he had listened to the recording three times already, and each time his level of outrage had increased. He couldn't believe what had happened.

It's all recorded!

Oh, he felt like a idiot. A deep-in-the-crapper mission failed fool.

Double-O-Fool!

He walked into Henry's office and placed the iPod on the table.

“Back so soon?” Henry asked.

“Frank decided to end our conversation, how can I say it . . . rather abruptly,” Jason replied.

“What happened?”

Jason didn't answer him. Instead, he pushed the iPod closer to Henry and pressed play. For the next ten minutes, they listened to the entire conversation.

When it had finished, Henry switched off the iPod and whispered, “My goodness, that boy's going to hell in a freight train.”

“I know,” Jason said. “That's exactly what I thought.”

“What you said,” Henry corrected him. He rubbed his chin and looked over to Jason. “You didn't seem to have any reasonable responses to his heretical thoughts. In fact, he made you look quite—”

“He provoked me, Pastor. It wasn't my fault. How could I offer effective arguments to what he was talking about? You heard the conversation. Crazy talk. Heresy after heresy.”

“But I don't think you had to tell him he was going to hell, Jason. You can think it, fine. We all think it,” he leaned over his desk, “but you came right out and said it to his face.”

Henry pushed back onto his large leather chair. He tapped the iPod softly on the table. Tap, tap, tap. “When others hear this recording, they may find that a tad bit distasteful.”

“But, Pastor, I felt it was my obligation to put him in his place, and you heard what happened. He almost threw me through the wall for it. He's a dangerous heretic. I could have been seriously hurt.”

“Were you?” Henry asked.

“Well, no, not really. But I could have been. That's the point.”

“Hmm,” Henry mumbled, “thank you for your help on this, Jason. That will be all for now. If I require your help again, I'll let you know.”

“Of course, Pastor,” Jason replied. He felt like all his service in the church had now come to a great big zero on his account—with this one foul-up wiping away all his previous good deeds. They counted for nothing. He had almost been on staff. Now he was back to square one. He felt like crying, but held himself together. “Anything I can do for you in the future, anything at all, just let me know.”

Henry just smiled—not happily, though, and dropped his gaze upon some papers on his desk.

Jason stood there awkwardly for a few more seconds before it became obvious their conversation was already officially over. He turned with his tail between his legs and dragged himself to his car.

As soon as Jason left his office, Henry picked up his phone and called the two elders of the church. They both arrived within the hour. Henry had taken a lot from Richard over the years. He had taken all of Richard's orders without complaint. He had worked all the extra hours required to ensure the church functioned effectively. He had experienced, time after time, how Richard would palm off difficult tasks and projects into his lap. He never complained. He was a good man, waiting for God to promote him to a place where his real talents could be used most effectively for the kingdom. Now was that time. It had to be. Richard had gone way too far, not only failing in his own responsibilities, but also allowing his family to run wild, causing serious damage to the church's reputation.

Now was certainly the time to take action.

I'm a good man, and sometimes good men need to make difficult decisions for the greater good of the kingdom of God.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “what we all witnessed by Richard's son on the weekend was a disgrace, a major mistake by Richard to position him to preach. He didn't ask my opinion, nor anyone else's, even though all of us would have immediately raised a red flag at the inevitable disaster that would result from Frank being granted the chance to preach. But . . .” he pulled out a file from his drawer, placing it on the table and opening it, “there are some other alarming incompetencies on the part of Richard that I have, for the sake of accountability, kept track of. I know he is our Senior Pastor, but, after you hear about these past discrepancies, I do believe we have a difficult, but necessary, decision to make.”

The elders looked at each other with concern.

“What exactly have you kept record of, Henry?” they asked.

Richard sped along the road. Faster. He had to go faster. He had to outrun the shame within him. It was still beating him, trying to break his heart. He didn't want this. He didn't want the anger. He didn't want the constant struggle to keep his vision moving forward. He wanted to cry, but refused the urge. Instead he smashed his hands on the steering wheel.

As he pulled into his driveway his mobile rang. It was Henry.

He put the phone on speaker. No introductions.

“What?”

“Richard, we need to talk.”

“Tomorrow.”

“No, tonight,” Henry replied.

What is Henry doing? Disagreeing with me?

“I said tomorrow.”

“This can't wait, I'm afraid.”

“Today's my day off.”

“Richard, it is about what happened yesterday. We need to discuss the consequences of it with you.”

“We?”

“The elders and I.”

“You spoke with the elders about Frank?”

“They were there, Richard. They came to speak to me about it last night.”

“What did they talk with you about.”

“Let's discuss it tonight at my place. 7pm.”

“Make it my place, at 7:30.”

Henry let out a sigh on the other end of the phone. “Fine. We'll see you at 7:30 tonight.”

They hung up at the same time.

We? What was all that 'we' business?

Richard pulled his car up to his house, parked and got out in a hurry, slamming the front door behind him as he entered his house. He walked into the kitchen, still shaking his head. He had been shaking his head for ten minutes already. What did he want? He didn't know. He searched the pantry, then the fridge, but what did he want? He slammed the fridge door so hard it bounced open again, so he slammed it twice as hard. The fridge door continued to bounce back open. As ridiculous as it was, this infuriated Richard. It was as if even his household appliances were in rebellion to his wishes.

He rubbed his face frantically.

He wanted to just fall to his knees and cry. He wanted to drown in his tears. But, he wouldn't. He couldn't.

Pull yourself together!

He had to be strong. Failure was not an option

CHAPTER SIX

Audrey returned from her long walk. She stepped into the living room and noticed Ted was ready to leave. His small overnight bag was on the floor. A moment later Ted walked into the room already wearing his jacket and cap. “You ready to do this?” he asked.

“Are you?” she replied.

“To hell with ready, I ain't got no choice in the matter.”

“Dr. Smith is the best surgeon in the state.”

He nodded and tried his best to pull a smile through the dense worry of his mind. The last thing he wanted was for Audrey to start worrying about him, too. He was doing enough of that for both of them. He had researched all about Dr. Smith that morning. That seemed to be in order. It was the other research he had done, about his specific medical emergency, that was biting at him.

“It will all be fine, Teddy Bear,” Audrey said, laying a hand on his upper arm.

Ted placed one of his hands over hers. “Sure it will, my dear.”

They stood there, neither talking. So many thoughts ran through Ted's mind. His life, his loss, his mistakes, and his redemptions. He thought of Jenny, gone over ten years now, yet still in his thoughts. The past ten years had been his most challenging, because they had been his most honest; they were the years he consciously chose not to hide behind any more masks or delusions. The years he faced himself without any religious filters. When Jenny died in that tragic car crash, he lost his wife. He couldn't reverse that sad reality, but he decided to change what he could. When he walked away from full-time ministry, it was more than leaving a job behind; he had to leave his entire identity behind. What made it even harder was that no one could understand why he left. After many years of reflecting on his own past he realized the only people who would ever understand just how hard that was to leave behind his identity as a successful full-time minister were those who had done it themselves. But he wanted more than an identity, he wanted to live. He wanted more than religious affirmation. He wanted to feel his heart fully alive.

Audrey was his neighbor, but also a close friend. Over the years they had had shared some great laughs, and most evenings they enjoyed a drink on his veranda together. Ted's veranda was always occupied with one friend or another. Perhaps it was the great view of the Mountain that drew people to stop by so often, but more than likely it was the feeling of being there. It was a place of rest, for both Ted and his visitors. Audrey often mocked him about his strange circle of friends. She enjoyed the diversity of people she occasionally spent time with on his veranda, from some of the wealthiest businessmen in town to more than a few foul-mouthed scoundrels. Ted always laughed at her remarks. He was proud of his friendships, each unique, not all as deep as the others, and that was fine with him.

They remained standing in a reflective silence for a few moments longer before Audrey asked,

“How did it go with your brother?”

Ted, shaking himself back into action, padded his pockets looking for his car keys. He turned his head as he replied, “We argued. I threw him out.”

“You argued about your operation? Oh, Teddy, why?”

“No, not about that …” he said, finding his keys on the side table, “… about—the past. It's complicated. To be honest, I didn't even tell him about my operation—let's go.”

He picked up his bag and threw it over his shoulder, but Audrey just stood there. She leaned over and took his bag off his shoulder, placed it back on the floor and put her arms around him.

“Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry.” she said, her voice full of compassion. She was a foot shorter then Ted, so, although it should have been the other way round, she stood on tip toes, rested her head on his shoulder, and began to cry. She was scared. She had tried hard not to show it, but she was scared of losing her best friend.

Ted's eyes also welled up. He also wrapped his arms around her and allowed the tears that had been building up within him to find their way out.

“You know, for a split second when I saw Richard standing at the door, I thought God had answered my prayer, I really did.”

Still in his arms, Audrey said, “You know how serious this operation is. You need to tell your family.”

Ted took a step back and rubbed his eyes. She was right.

“Hand me my cell phone,” he said.

“Are you calling your brother?”

“No . . . I'm calling his son.”

“Then you talk,” Audrey said, grabbing the car keys from his left hand, “I'll drive. You were meant to check into the hospital ten minutes ago.”

Frank parked in the hospital visitors’ parking garage. He hurried to room 202. When he walked in, nobody was there. He returned to the reception and asked for the whereabouts of his uncle. The nurse didn't know, but she hazarded a guess that he was most likely in the cafeteria. She was right. He was seated with three others. He knew Audrey, but not the other two.

Ted saw him approaching.

“Frankie! You're quick.”

“I drove straight here.”

The others greeted Frank, then stood up to leave. They each gave Ted a long hug. When Audrey hugged him, she broke into a fountain of tears.

“It's going to be fine. Just fine,” Ted said as he softly patted her back.

“I'll leave you with Frank. I'll be back in an hour or so, okay?”

“Sure, darling, that would be nice. I'd like the company.”

“We'll visit as soon as the operation is over,” the other two friends said. After another round of hugs, they left, leaving Frank and Ted alone.

Frank sized up his uncle. He was still looking good. “I had prepared myself to see you lying in a hospital bed full of tubes,” he said.

“Nah, I can do what I want tonight,” Ted replied. “The Doc just has to stick a thermometer up my butt every two hours and check my vitals.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “As if.”

“I'm serious. I took photos to prove it, wanna see 'em?”

Frank laughed.

Ted looked at his watch. “Got another forty minutes until my next poke. Sit down. Let's have a chat.”

There were only a few other people scattered around the cafeteria. Frank looked at his uncle, and jumped straight to the point.

“Are you scared?”

“No, why should I be. It's just a nip and tuck.”

Frank smiled. “come on, all jokes aside, tell me,” he asked, “what did the surgeon really say about the operation?”

Ted rubbed his chin, scanning the cafeteria quickly before returning his gaze to his nephew.

“He said it's 50/50. It could go either way.”

“As in, the surgery might fail and you'll need another one?”

“No, as in it just might fail completely and I'll be knocking back a beer with Jesus.”

Frank just stared at his uncle. He had no words.

“Don't worry, Kiddo. I got the best surgeon in the state working on me. The situation is serious, I ain't going to lie to you. But don't go worrying about me. I'm nervous enough as it is.”

“I'm sorry, it's just—”

It's just that I love you so much.

“I know, Kiddo. I know. But hey, let's believe for the best, Okay?”

“Yeah, sure thing.” Frank smiled at his uncle and said, “After all, it's just a nip and tuck, right?”

Ted laughed. “Exactly.”

Audrey strolled quietly around the hospital corridors. Trying not to think about Ted's surgery. Trying not to think the worse. She didn't want to lose him. He was more than her neighbor. He was her friend, one of the best she'd ever had. After her husband left her six years ago, Ted had asked her every Saturday if anything needed fixing around the house. That year he had invited her over for Christmas dinner when she thought she'd have to spend it alone, divorced and miserable. An invitation that had continued every year that followed.

She never got to know his wife. They had lived next to Audrey for three years before the accident, but they had never met. Audrey knew he was a pastor and she was the faithful pastor's wife, and it had seemed to her that they were continually on the move, back and forth to their church.

Back and forth, back and forth.

When they were at home, they didn't look like they were interested in company. Mostly, they looked absent. They looked distracted even when they were at home.

She did receive invitations in her mailbox from them a few times a year. It was odd though. It wasn't an invitation to join them in their home, but to attend some bells-and-whistles church event. She found it rather ironic that they claimed to be God's answer to the world, but they never made any real attempt to spend time with her. Instead, they just put on events and stuffed flyers in letterboxes. If she was completely honest with herself, she actually found the whole situation pathetic.

But when Ted's wife had died so suddenly, she felt compassion for him. She noticed he no longer left the house, didn't whisk away to a church program or to anything else. It didn't take long for the gossip around town to make its way to her. She heard lots of stories about him. How he had resigned from his church and all the so-called reasons why. She was shocked by the members of that church. They wanted the rest of the city to think of them as God's holy anointed people, but they gossiped more than any other group on the planet. And when someone left their church, they were downright cruel in the way they treated them.

She had knocked on his door with some baked cookies. So it came to be, after living next door to him for years, that they finally introduced themselves for the first time. He remained fairly distant for some time, but slowly he began to come out of his shell and get busy with his life again. The following year, her own husband, a university professor, left her for one of his students. This time she was the broken one locked away in her house, and it was Ted who came to pull her out of the darkness.

They had been friends ever since.

He's a good man, the very best of men.

Ted smiled at his nephew, then said, “Your father came to see me today.”

“He came to see you?”

“Yeah, we almost came to blows. He was pretty pissed.”

Frank ran his hands through his hair. “That guy! What's his problem?”

“He's just worried about you. Thinks I'm a bad influence, I guess.”

“If he only knew. If he would only listen, he'd know you've been the best influence in my whole life.”

Ted began to laugh. “Come on now. You preached a message that challenged everything he is trying to build, and then you smoked a cigarette from behind his pulpit and made a public resignation from Christianity. He was pissed, but in this case I empathize with him.”

“You think I went too far?”

“No. I think it was quite impressive to be that honest, but I don't blame him for his frustration. I was once the Senior Pastor of Faith First, remember? I understand the pressure to maintain a good public image.”

“Do you think he's mad at my theology, or mad that I made him look like a fool?”

“He's probably mad that you are out of his control. That's a real problem when you are a control freak. I was once one, too. I understand your father . . . probably better than he understands himself.”

Frank sighed. “Incredible, isn't it. He is the Senior Pastor, but it's as if he doesn't have any faith at all, apart from faith in his grand vision.”

Ted cracked his knuckles. “I don't think that's true. I think your father has a great deal of authentic faith. I think he really does want God's plans to come to fruition.”

“Then why can't he see the truth? He’s so damn quick to shut me down, and he never listens.”

“Yeah, I know. But you have to understand the difference between your journey and your father's. When you started challenging the theology you held, you had nothing to lose but your pride. For your dad, he has invested his whole life building the programs and reputation of Faith First. He has built a lot of external structures, and to take hold of the truth requires him to let go of all that he has built. That's hard, Frank, and it's hard to understand without being in that position.”

“But, why?”

“When you have nothing to lose, it's easier. But when you have spent years, sometimes decades, building something you think is for God, it's not easy to walk away from it. I couldn't do it. I felt the inner push from God to abandon my religious dreams, but I resisted. I felt compelled to continue, because I had already invested so much into it. My life revolved around what I had built for God. And my income was also attached to it.”

Ted felt a lump growing in his throat. He continued, “Looking back, I realize I was trapped, unable to get out. Trapped by a prison of my own making. I'd built the prison, but I called it my ministry. I managed to create an income around it, too. That only raised the prison walls. But I pushed on, and your father did, too. We did it together, building, building, building. If Jenny hadn't died so suddenly, I don't know if I would have been able to let it all go, either. I guess I would have, because at some point I would have just run out of strength and the pressure would have caused me to buckle and crumble. I hope it doesn't come to that for your father. But more than anything, I hope he takes that religious obsession he's been carrying all these years and throws it to one side. He needs to get out of his Religious Disneyland, but I know how hard that transition is. By God, that's tough.” He shook his head, remembering just how hard the transition had been all those years ago.

Frank stared, tapping the table, and broke the silence by asking, “What do you mean, Religious Disneyland?”

“Let me take my own history as an example,” Ted said. “When I was the Senior Pastor, I saw my life as a Religious Disneyland. It wasn't reality, but it didn't matter, because I convinced myself it was reality and therefore it was reality. I didn't see it was a fantasy, that's the really bizarre thing. I didn't realize I was buying into the very hype I was creating. You've got to understand, we'd have meetings about how to build,” he looked at Frank with a shocked expression, “literally about how to artificially create atmosphere and culture through hype and marketing strategies.

“I was always building, building, building. I was pushing for the level of hype to remain high. To do that, I filtered all the information through my ideology, and only the information that supported what I believed and what I was doing got through. Everything else was discarded. Good Lord, how much truth did I discard along the years because it conflicted with my own theology? I don't know, I really don't. It was a blur. It was a mixture of lights, cameras, action in public—and dark thoughts in private. I played a leading role in the fantasy, and I was addicted to it. I couldn't give it up. The thought of giving it up was never an option. The pressure was killing me, and I wanted to get rid of it, but my thoughts were always geared to trying to push that pressure onto someone else, to get big and important enough so I could get rid of all the pressure and give it to someone else to carry. It never worked, of course. The pressure was always there, and so I pushed all the harder into the fantasy.”

Frank drew a long face, feeling sorry for just about any man who found himself in the position Ted was explaining.

“You have to understand something,” Ted continued, “the religious fantasy is a killer. I mean that. It kills everyone who gets absorbed into it. Not physically, but spiritually. It dries them up slowly. All these guys running around boasting about their church-growth visions and ministry obsessions, buying into the hype they're creating . . . none of them will last. Not one. If they can't get out, it will take them out. The pressure is not sustainable, and you can't understand that until you are off the Island.”

“The Island?” Frank asked.

“Yes, the Empty Island.”

“What's that?”

Ted smirked, wondering why he kept coming up with these analogies. He guessed it was a way for him to understand his own past as much as it was a way to explain Frank's father's situation. “That's what I call reality. The brutal honesty you wake up to when you come out of your Religious Disneyland coma. When you live your life as a full-time minister, buying into your own religious fantasies and visions, living your life obsessed with them, one day, when the pressure is too much, or, as in my case, when something so tragic happens in your life that you are shaken awake against your will—the scales fall off your eyes, and it's as if you can see for the first time. Suddenly you discover the reality that you are not living in Religious Disneyland. The reality is you're living on Empty Island. Empty. Nothing on there but yourself. Nowhere to go, nothing you've built, and not another soul near you. An Island, that's what you become if you devote yourself to your religious obsessions, an Empty Island. That's what I realized I was. When Jenny died, I was shaken awake. I realized Jenny wasn't with me even when she was alive. No one was with me. I was alone, forever alone, on my Empty Island.

“Once I dropped the religious vision from my shoulders and allowed myself to view the reality of my life, I saw what I had really built: Nothing. Not a damn thing. After building a church for seven years, building program after program, I realized that in reality I hadn't built anything. I had only built external structures. But the internal is where life is truly built. Relationships are forged within our hearts, relationships are the center of our lives . . . and I had none. Not with my family, not even with my wife. God, I was so angry about it. So damn angry and so damn sad that I had wasted all those years building up my religious delusions at the expense of building genuine relationships.”

Frank ran his hand through his hair, not sure what to say. “Is that why you left your position as Faith First? Because you realized you had been living in a religious delusion?” he asked.

Ted thought about it for a moment.

“No, that's not why. A revelation like that isn't unpacked in a day. All these thoughts took years of processing before I could even understand them and communicate them like I just have.”

“So, what was it, then? My father told me it was because you were angry at God for taking Aunt Jenny away from you.”

Ted rubbed his chin. “Your father knows that's not the truth. I told him the reason why, but he filtered it out and discarded it. He never let it in, because he had ideas of his own. I guess it's easier for him to believe I was angry at God than to accept the truth.”

“What was the truth?”

“That my wife died on her own Empty Island, and it was my fault. At her funeral, I looked around the room, and I realized that none of the faces there knew Jenny's heart. They knew her, of course, as the Pastor's Wife, but they didn't know her. I had been so passionate about my church vision. I pushed so hard for it, and I expected her to push, too, and to keep up. And if she fell back, I just kept on pushing. I had to. It was the constant pressure, the obligation.

“I never had a second chance. I wasn't angry with God, I was angry with myself. I couldn't believe how I had neglected her. It was if all those years I had been living in a daze, as if I couldn't see anything at all, and then suddenly there was Jenny in her coffin,” he paused briefly to hold back his tears, “and I didn't know her. I didn't know my wife. I wanted so desperately to know her, to love her, to give her everything she deserved as a wife, but she was gone. She was gone, and I couldn't change anything. But it wasn't just my love she missed out on; it was the love of everyone else. I led her to her Empty Island. I led us both into the religious obsessions that consumed our lives. She missed out on genuine relationships. I pushed her into my own religious obsessions, pushed her into running programs and carrying as much of the vision as she could, more than she could. Her life was overshadowed by my church-growth vision. I did that to her. She deserved so much more, but she died on her Empty Island, and there wasn't a soul who could truly mourn her departure, because there wasn't a soul who truly knew her. Not even her husband, not even I knew her. Can you imagine how that felt, Frank? Can you imagine how that felt?”

A tear rolled down Frank's face. A bitter tear. “Oh, God. I'm sorry, Uncle Ted. I'm so sorry.”

“Yeah, I'm sorry, too. Every day of my life I've been sorry. But that day, at the funeral, after I looked for anyone who truly knew Jenny, I did the same for myself. And you know what I found? No one. Just like Jenny, not a soul there knew me either. I realized that if I had died that very day, I'd have been in a room full of mourners who didn't even know me. I realized my ministry obsession in life had killed me standing up. I was at my wife's funeral, and I suddenly felt as dead as she was. But I wasn't dead. So it was there, at her funeral, that I let my religious dreams die. I simply left them there. And when I walked out I knew I'd opted out of religion permanently.”

“But my father was there. He knew you, didn't he?”

“He did. At one point, he knew me better than anyone else. I tell you, we had a heck of a childhood. God, we got into some mischief. We have some stories together. That is, when we were young enough to value our relationship over our theology. But at the funeral, when I gazed into your father's face, I realized those days had passed. We had become businessmen for God. We had become soldiers in God's Army. You know? Somehow we forgot about being brothers, and we both lost each other in our zeal for building Faith First. After the funeral I tried to talk to your dad about it all, but he wouldn't listen.”

Ted shook his head and laughed as he wiped away the tears from his face. “I've got this temper, you see, and your father has one, too. We're two bulls, and when we disagree, there are fireworks. But I tried, I tried so damn hard to get him to understand, but he didn't, he couldn't. He felt the obligation, the pressure, and he still had the strength in his flesh. He picked up the baton I had dropped and kept running with the church-growth vision for Faith First. Once he became Senior Pastor, it became even harder to talk with him—talk honestly with him, I mean. He hardened his heart so he could stay strong, and instead of a brother, I became a thorn in his side. When I stopped attending Faith First completely, all hell broke loose. Gossip started raging, and your father convinced himself of all the ungodly reasons I no longer followed the full time ministry path.”

“That's really sad,” Frank said softly.

“Yeah, it is. I love your dad. He's my brother, and truth be told, I miss him terribly. I wish I had him back, but first our religious zeal and then our theological differences wedged us apart,” Ted said. “But what's important is I got off my Empty Island long ago. I've been mocked and ignored, but it doesn't matter, because I've lived a life of faith for the past ten years; I've lived a life that has invited people into my heart instead of arming my heart against them. I've allowed my heart to soften and become honest. The more I've journeyed into this kind of internal faith in Jesus that has no external religious sacraments and ceremonies, the more religious Christians have mocked me, but that can't be changed. That will never change. The imprisoned will never understand the free. What's important is that I am free, that I've been free for a long time now, and I've had the chance to be honest with myself and God along the way.”

Ted looked at Frank with compassionate eyes.

“Frank, can you do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Can you ask your father to come visit me tonight?”

Frank flinched at the request.

“You know, he'll just try to save you. I'm sorry it's like that, but it is. He doesn't know how to relate with anyone on a normal level. He always has to be the guy who knows, the man with the answers.”

“Well,” Ted said, “you can tell him to leave his Bible at home this time. Tell him I'd like to hear some of his stories about when we grew up. He used to tell the greatest stories. Back when his stories were about love and family, and all the trouble we drummed up as kids. Back before he started only telling stories that had Bible verses attached to them. We had some great times together, as kids. I understand now why Jesus told us to be like children; because when we were children we understood what having faith was all about. It was about enjoying each other's company. It was about celebrating life together. It was about loving one another without any prerequisites. It wasn't until we got older that we traded in that view of faith for the idea of building things for God. We used to just enjoy the gift of life together, but we traded it in for full-time ministry obsessions. We lost sight of each other as brothers, and started seeing one another as co-workers. We got caught up in an army way of thinking, at the sacrifice of a family way of thinking.”

He sat there in silence for a few moments, looking away. He turned back to his nephew and said, “I'd like my brother back. Life is too short to be angry. I know at times we just can't help it. God knows I've been mad at a lot of people for far too long. But it's a bad kind of living, to hold onto anger, and the worst of all when we find ways of justifying it. The truth is I couldn't care less if I ever saw the Mighty Pastor Richard, the professional minister, again—but I miss Richie, my little brother. Please Frank, ask him to visit me tonight, as a brother . . . and tell him to bring some stories of our childhood. I want to sleep well tonight.”

Audrey watched the storm clouds gather in the distance, passing the time, and kept Frank's car in her peripheral vision. Soon enough she saw him appear and drive off. She turned and slowly walked up to Ted's room. After a cup of tea together and a good few belly laughs, she turned the conversation to a place she hadn't gone before with Ted. Why now, she wasn't sure, but she wanted to get it over with.

“We've been friends for a long time, huh?”

"Friends? Really?” Ted mocked. “I thought I was just your handyman?”

“Oh, stop it.” She smacked him playfully. “You are my handyman, but you're also my friend.”

“The best of friends,” Ted said with a wink.

“Teddy, tell me, why haven't you ever given me the sales pitch?”

“What?”

“The sales pitch, you know, the God talk on why I should become a Christian.”

“Darling, I ain't a salesman and God ain't a product, that's why.”

Audrey smiled. “I've waited for it, do you know that? For years, I've waited, always figuring it was just around the corner. All the ways you've helped me, all the kindness you've shared with me. I couldn't help but feel it was just a way to draw me into the sales pitch. But it's the damnedest thing. You've never given it to me. I know you speak about God with others, but you've never brought it up with me.”

“Really? Never?”

“Yes, really, and I've started wondering why not. Am I that much of a lost cause?” she asked mockingly.

“On the contrary, sweetie, you're a treasure from heaven. Nothing less than God's most beloved, I'm convinced.”

She smacked him again. “Now you're just trying to butter me up. Seriously, I want to know why you haven't tried to convince me to believe in your God?”

Ted sat up in his bed, rearranging the pillows a little. He turned back to Audrey.

“Because the best thing I could do for you with my words is show you a very limited picture of God; a poorly presented image of a cosmic-sized creator,” he said. “However, I must object and note that you're wrong about your assumptions. The truth is I have shared God with you.”

“When?” she asked. She would have remembered if he had, she was sure.

“Through our friendship, that's how.” Ted rearranged the pillows again. “Love is the image of God, the invisible yet tangible image of God, and I've shared that with you the best I could for years now. True, I haven't used words to share God with you, but I've done something far superior. I've shared God himself. I've shared my love with you, and that is God, for my God is love.” He slapped the bed and let out a laugh. “Ha, sneaky man that I am! I've been sharing the gospel with you for years without you picking up on my sinister plan,” he said, joking. “But if it hasn't worked—if you haven't seen the truth of the gospel in my love—then I don't think my words will make much of an impression either.”

Audrey pouted.

“That's it? That's your sales pitch?”

“I guess so. How was it?”

“Pretty pathetic.”

They both laughed. Audrey looked into Ted's eyes, trying to figure him out.

“You seem awfully at peace with the situation even though I haven't believed. Aren't you afraid that I won't ever believe?”

“Not in the slightest, actually.”

“Teddy, that's horrible. What if I never believe and then—”

“But you will, my dear, you can argue about it with me all you want, but it won't change what will happen,” Ted said.

“What do you think will happen?”

“I believe one day you're going to see God with your own eyes, and when you do, don't worry, you'll believe. When you look into the face of pure Love, and you see, in the reflection of God's eyes, how he feels about you …” Ted paused for a moment to chuckle. “Don't worry, my dear, you'll believe. His love will wrap around you, fill you up, clear your mind and strengthen your heart, and when that happens the last thing you'll be thinking about is if you should believe or not. Your heart will believe long before your mind has a chance to protest the decision."

She gave him her puppy dog eyes. That meant only one thing.

I don't think so, Teddy Bear.

“Believe? Me? I don't see that happening anytime soon,” she said.

“Well, it ain't my job to set the date when that happens.” And with that he leaned back, and smiled. “So, how about a foot massage?”

“Oh, you're impossible, you know that?”

“So I'm told.”

“I'm surprised. I thought once I opened the door to such a conversation you'd have all the answers, old boy.”

Ted just kept on smiling. “Truth be told,” he said, “I don't have many answers at all. But I do have this faith in me, and it moves me to simply believe what Jesus said. You know, he said he's the Savior of the world, and you're as much a part of the world as I am. Call me a fool if you must, but if I were to bet on anything, I'd bet on Jesus proving his words true at the end of the day.”

The puppy dog eyes came out again.

“What if Jesus doesn't want to save me?” she asked.

Ted laughed. “That's like asking what if the sun doesn't want to shine on you. Sweetie, the sun shines on everyone. You don't have a choice in the matter.”

“The s-u-n, or the s-o-n?” she asked playfully.

Ted just laughed.

“Both, my dear; and I must say, in my humble opinion, there's no finer woman worthy of having that light shine on than you.”

She gazed at her friend with admiration.

What a charmer he is!

But it was more than charm, she knew that. It was genuine love—the purest kind of love. He was the best kind of friend. The kind that always made her feel loved, even in the moments where they clearly didn't see things eye-to-eye; to Ted, she realized, love was more than a word, it was his way of living. It was his image of his God.

“Well,” she said, “if God turns out to be real and he's half as charming as you, he just might make a believer out of me yet, Teddy Bear.”

She reached out and held his hand tight, and they both smiled.

“Well, now that we've got that talk out of the way,” he winked at Audrey and raised his eyebrows in jest, “how about that foot massage?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Jane didn't know what to say to God. She didn't know what to say to herself. She just wanted to sleep. It seemed like every waking moment, she just wanted to sleep—to get away from herself. How sad. How utterly sad that she felt that way, but she couldn't change her emotions. She had tried that for years. She had numbed her emotions—her real self—in order to fit the picture of the perfect wife. The pastor's wife. The great wife.

Oh, God, what have I done?

The question was not really directed at God. She was asking herself the question. She was asking why she had betrayed herself. Why had she violated her own being? Why had she suffocated her unique self for the sake of a more religiously-correct counterfeit?

She had always been strong. Always. She was the first to read her Bible. The first to lead a church group. The first to offer God her hands in service. She was always strong, but that strength had done something that made her sick to her core now. She realized now that it had given her the power to override the voice of the Holy Spirit within her. It gave her the power to do what she thought God wanted, regardless of the fact that God was trying his best to show her it was not his desire at all.

When she had first married Richard, they were both still so young, so innocent. They were barely adults and already trying to save the world for God. They had started Faith First with Ted and his wife, and had served under his vision for years. After Jenny's fatal automobile accident, everything changed. Ted left the ministry, Richard took his place and Jane was elevated to the role of Senior Pastor's Wife. At the time she was still strong, still ambitious, and thought it was a wonderful thing. She had always dreamed of being married to a senior pastor, to be by the side of the spiritual leader of God's church. But the reality was nothing like her childish fantasies.

Richard immediately became obsessed with making the church successful. At first she thought it was just part of the transition. However, the obsession with making his church-growth vision succeed only increased over the years. He was ambitious, and she knew that it was a genuine ambition. The reason she fell in love with him in the first place was because when he talked about the Lord, she saw God in his eyes. He was just like her—he just wanted to give God what he wanted.

But what does God want?

Did God want their marriage to collapse for the sake of holding together a few more church programs? Did God want them to become robots in this life, going to the same programs day in, day out, week in, week out? Did God want them to talk about 'loving thy neighbor' when in reality they were too busy with church activities to get to know their neighbors? Did God want them to give lip service to the gospel message of loving others, but, in reality, the only thing they truly adored was their church programs and how well their church growth plans worked?

Oh, it made her sick to think about it. She pulled her pillow over her head.

She just wanted to sleep. She wanted to forget she lived at all.

Richard left the kitchen and walked up the stairs. His madness had been drained from him, and the sickness came.

He felt a painful stabbing in his stomach. It was a physical pain that originated from his emotional distress. He had fought back all the negative emotions. He had pushed them down, out of his head, out of his heart, and they had landed in his stomach like broken glass. This kind of stomach pain only came upon him when he felt powerless, when he felt the impending collapse of his dreams and responsibilities. It only came upon him when he knew what he should do, but knew equally well he would do something else instead.

He knew he should check on Jane. He knew he should, but he couldn't. He had problems—urgent problems—problems that required his attention. More than that, though, he was afraid to be honest with her. Something deep in Richard knew she was deeply unhappy, but what could he do? If he addressed it, who knew what would happen? If they were honest with each other, there was no telling what the outcome might be.

He longed to be honest with her, but honesty was useless without time to process all that came out of it. And time was the one thing he was always short of. He needed all the time he had to get things done, to keep things moving, to carry his vision forward. But he was a husband, too, and he felt the shame monster in him reminding him of his failures.

Secrets. It seemed easier to have a marriage with more secrets than honesty. It was easier to keep things to himself. As long as he never spoke about his own fears and failings, doubts and despair, he could deny them all. He could push them away, and continue to be the strong leader everyone, he was convinced, needed him to be.

He quietly stepped up to their bedroom door, and put his ear up to it. After a few moments he slowly turned away.

Jane heard Richard creep away from the door. She heard his study door click shut.

A few minutes later she heard her son's car pull into the driveway.

The lawn looked worse than Frank had imagined. It was ripped up and scattered everywhere, exposing a great deal of dirt. The picture perfect exterior didn't look so perfect anymore.

Upstairs, Jane pulled herself off her bed and reached the front door just as Frank knocked. As soon as Jane saw her son's face, she knew something was wrong.

“Frankie, what happened?”

“It's Uncle Ted, Mom. He is in the hospital.”

Upstairs, Richard heard Frank arrive and he immediately stood up to take precautionary action. He didn't want his rage to blow up again, and a confrontation with his son was sure to do that. No, he needed to simply bolt down the hatches of his mind. He needed to push everything away.

He opened the study door, and called out in a strong, controlled tone, “I am not to be disturbed!” He then proceeded to slam the door shut and returned to his desk.

“What the heck was that?” Frank asked.

Jane remained silent. After a moment Frank shook his head, gently pushing past his mother.

“I'm going to deal with this right now.”

“Frankie!” his mother called out. “Don't. Please. Not now.”

Frank exhaled loudly, and slowly made his way back to his mother's side. She asked, “Tell me, what is it with Ted?”

Frank explained as best he could Ted's heart problem and why an emergency surgery was scheduled. Jane listened, shocked by the news. She hadn't spoken to Ted for years, but she never held the same kind of grudge as Richard did.

“Will he be all right?

“The doctors give him a 50/50 chance.”

Jane covered her mouth with shock. “Oh, Lord.”

Frank ran his hands through his hair. He didn't know what to do. All he could think about was his uncle, and his wish to see his parents that evening.

“Look, Mom, I know you and Dad have had your differences with uncle Ted, but enough is enough already. He's family, and he needs you both. I saw it in his eyes today as he spoke about Dad. He misses him, do you know that? Does Dad miss him too? Uncle Ted just wants his brother back. He's got a big surgery tomorrow, and he's scared. He didn't say so, but I know he is, because I am, too. This is no time for holding grudges. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Yes, yes, I understand.”

“Well, then you've got to get Dad to understand, too.”

“Oh, Frankie, this is not good timing.”

“Never is, Mom.”

Frank gave his mother the hospital details and Ted's room number. He made her promise that she would visit Ted that evening. He gave his mother a kiss and left.

She stood by the door for several minutes. Slowly, she slid down the wall and wrapped her arms around her knees. She was shaking. She was a wreck.

Oh, God. What's happening to my family?

She sat in the same position for fifteen minutes. Every few minutes she rubbed her forehead. She was not well. Not at all.

Finally, she took hold of the little energy she had within her, stood up and made her way up the stairs. She knocked quietly on the study door. There was no answer, but she knew Richard heard the knock. He was doing what he did best. Ignoring problems. She pushed the door open and slid inside.

“Frank was just here.”

“I'm busy.”

“Your son,” she said, “had something important to tell us.”

“I said, I'm busy.”

“Listen to me, Richard. For the love of God, listen to me . . . Ted is in the hospital.”

“God knows how much I have on my plate at the moment, I need time to prepare in peace. Let's talk about this tomorrow.”

“Ted asked for us. He wants us to visit him tonight in the hospital. His operation is scheduled for early tomorrow morning, and it's a dangerous surgery. We have to visit him tonight. It can't wait.”

“I can't go,” Richard said, finally turning around to meet his wife's eyes. “Henry and the elders have called an emergency meeting. They'll be here in an hour and I have to prepare myself for it. I don't know what they want, but I don't feel good about it at all.”

“Well, I'm going,” she said defiantly.

Richard jumped to his feet.

“No, you're not! I need you here during the meeting.”

“For what?”

“Hospitality,” Richard said.

A shadow fell over Jane's eyes, as if those words had just shifted her entire soul.

“Hospitality. That's why you need me here, for cake and coffee? My brother-in-law is lying in the hospital, but you think coffee and cake is more important?” Her hands were shaking. Her heart was falling to pieces. “Listen to me. His surgery is life threatening.”

“I have enough worries at the moment!” He didn't want to scream, especially at his wife, but he had a very short fuse at the moment. He immediately pulled his temper under control. He turned away from his wife and took his seat at his desk once more, calling out to her, “He'll be fine. He always is. I can visit him once he is out of the hospital.”

“He's your brother. He needs you.”

“I've got God's business to take care of.”

“Oh, wake up Richard!” Jane screamed. It caused him to swing his chair around to meet her gaze once more. She continued. “This isn't about you, it's about Ted. He needs his brother. He needs to remember the love he has for you, and he needs to see the love you have for him.”

“Love? He has my blood, but not my love. He forfeited that long ago.”

Jane turned and walked to the door. She stalled, and turned back to her husband. “Despite what you think, it wasn't Ted who forfeited your love. It's you. You stopped loving long ago. Not just Ted,” she paused, then said, “everybody—you stopped loving everybody you should love. There's nothing left that you love now except your religious vision. And you know why you feel such shame on the inside, such loneliness? It's because your vision can't love you back, that's why.”

How does she know about my shame?

“Jane,” Richard said. He was about to tell her he loved her, but her eyes stopped him. It was as if she pulled the veil back from her eyes once more and let him look inside. And this time her eyes demanded he not lie to her. In that moment, her eyes showed him all the loveless years that had passed them by, and it terrified him.

She closed the door. Richard sat there in silence. His wife's empty eyes burned his heart and pulled his shame monster out of his cage.

Bang, bang, bang.

He took the beating, trying desperately to harden his heart against the pain.

Thirty minutes later he gathered enough strength to stand up and make his way downstairs. Henry and the elders would be arriving soon, and he wanted to be ready for their ambush.

Richard peered out the front window. He had been standing there for ten minutes already, watching raindrops hit the glass. Waiting like a sniper in the dark. Jane sat on the sofa behind him. She was fragile, and she didn't know what would happen if she was pushed. Half of her hoped the meeting would take place without any conflict, and the other half dreamed of doing dangerous things.

A few minutes later all three cars pulled up to the house at the same time. Henry and the elders got out and stood together talking, or were they praying? It was too dark to make out what they were doing, but, nonetheless, it was making Richard's blood ignite.

Finally they made their way to the door.

Although Jane stood behind her husband, she observed the meeting as if she were not visible, and indeed that is how the others treated her, too.

The greetings were cold and short, and none of the men sat down, even when Richard insisted.

“Richard, I think it's better if we get straight to the point,” Henry said. “We've talked over the situation and—”

“When did we talk about it, Henry? I don't remember talking about it with you.”

“The elders and I talked about it together.”

“I'm the Senior Pastor of Faith First.”

“Yes, and that's why we're here. To talk to you about it.”

“Well, it's a little late for that. You've clearly already come to your conclusions without me.”

“We think it's best if— ”

“Let me make this clear,” Richard stuck his finger right in Henry's face, “I should have been included in this 'we' you keep talking about.”

Henry looked at him coldly. “Let me explain without interruption.”

“What on God's green earth can you explain?” Richard turned from Henry dismissively and addressed the elders, “I don't like this. Not one bit. Why did you meet with Henry without me? How can we talk about the issue now, when you've all been talking behind my back?”

Henry knew if he didn't take affirmative action immediately, Richard would win the elders to his side, and that would only accelerate the downfall of Faith First.

No, that was not an option. “Enough!” Henry called out. “We have not come here to be bullied by you. You are not a king above reproach. We are all elders of Faith First, and it is our responsibility to do what is in Faith First's best interest.”

Richard moved closer and towered over Henry. “I'll tell you when you can speak,” his gaze felt like a furnace on Henry's face, “and right now, I'm not addressing you, I’m addressing them.”

The elders watched in awe and dread, cowering in their skin, for it suddenly felt like the house had been set on fire.

“The elders,” Henry replied, his face red with indignation, “have asked that I speak on their behalf tonight, and I will not be intimidated by you. I shall speak, and will not be silenced, for we are here on God's business.”

Richard looked at the elders in shock. “Is this true? You've asked Henry to speak for you?” He shook his head in frustration. “What in God's name is going on here?”

“Your incompetence, that's what! And it must end, and immediately.”

Henry pulled a manila folder labelled SP_R out of his bag. He threw the folder on the coffee table.

“What's this?” Richard asked.

“This,” Henry replied, “is a folder filled with your incompetencies.”

“You've kept a record on me?”

“I have done my job.”

“To spy on me?”

“To serve the vision of Faith First!”

“You must be joking,” Richard said, ill at the thought of what might be in the file.

Henry picked up the folder and waved it in Richard's face. “Abusing the general funds of the church for your own personal grooming, excessive travel expenses, failing to inform the elders of accurate attendance numbers, giving private counseling to young female members of the church . . . and only God knows what happened during those sessions.”

“Counseling happened, you fool! Nothing more.”

“How do we know that?” Henry replied. “You should have informed me about these meetings. That is part of our Accountability Rules.”

“Inform you? Why bother? You've been spying on my every move anyway!”

“You, like all of us, are required to follow the rules,” Henry said.

“I'm the Senior Pastor.”

“But you're not God! You are not above the rules we have set within the vision of Faith First."

Henry opened up the folder. “And the list goes on—”

Richard snatched the folder from Henry's hand and threw it against his face, sending all the papers flying around the room.

“You little, stupid man! What in God's name have you done—set me up? Have you conspired to overthrow my leadership?”

“I have done my job, and I will continue to be faithful in it, so help me God!”

“Are you finished?” Richard asked with contempt.

“No, you're finished. As of right now,” Henry said, standing firm with an iron gaze directed at Richard.

Richard laughed. A laugh of disbelief. He turned and addressed the elders, “You're firing me?”

Henry burned. Richard was still disrespecting him, even now. He was the one in charge in this conversation, not Richard, not the elders, and he demanded respect.

“It is the work of your hands, and yours alone, that Faith First is in decline. We have been losing members for the past year, and it has to stop. Your leadership has been in question for some time, and the stunt your stupid son did on the weekend was the final straw.”

“That's my son you're talking about, don’t call him stupid,” Jane said, barely louder than a whisper. She had been standing in the shadow of her husband the whole time. It was the first time anyone in the room had noticed her.

Henry looked at her, “You are not part of this conversation. Why don't you go into the kitchen. We don't need you here now.”

“This is my house,” she replied, unwilling to back down, “and in my house, I don't want you or anyone else to call my son stupid.”

Henry turned and looked at her with disgust.

“He's worse!” he yelled. “He's an enemy to the work of God, and he's a rebellious slanderer. He's a disgrace!”

“That's my son you’re talking about!” She screamed back, finding her voice.

“And you should be ashamed of him. Where is the discipline in this household?” Pointing to Richard, he continued, “You can't even keep your own house in order. Dear Lord, even your wife thinks she can challenge the word of the elders. Tell her to stay in her place, or is she also out of your control?” He turned back to Jane. “We are talking about God's business here, and if your family is bent on destroying the work of God, we won't stand for it. I tell you now, we won't.”

Henry pulled out the iPod and a portable speaker, and placed it on the coffee table. “Listen to what your son spoke about today.” He pressed the play button.

“What is this? Are you wiretapping my son's conversations now?” Richard said.

“Just listen! Listen to what he is talking about. Listen to his heresy, it's even worse than what he talked about on Sunday.”

Jane stepped forward, “Henry, this isn't—”

“I said, you have no reason to speak here!” he screamed, unwilling to let her say another word.

Jane stared at each pair of eyes in the room in turn, and not a single pair came to her side. She stormed out of the room in outrage as the recording continued to play. Nobody stopped her from leaving.

“What are you trying to prove?” Richard asked.

“Just listen.”

“I will not listen until you explain your motives for recording my son!”

“It is to prove to you and everyone else that you have no control over your family, that's what! That your family is infested with heresy, and that if we don't stop it, it will seep into the church. Will I sit back and let that happen? No—Never! Do you hear me? I will not stand by and let that happen.”

While Richard and Henry continued screaming at each other, Jane stormed back into the room—with a hammer.

Both Richard and Henry turned at the same time and saw the lethal weapon in Jane's hand. They fell silent and jumped back in shock. A moment later they witnessed her bring the hammer down upon the iPod with all her force, smashing it into a thousand pieces.

“My God, woman! You're insane!” Henry cried out.

“I'm insane? You are sending out people to record their conversations with my son to trap him in his words, and I'm the insane one?”

“Richard, control your wife, for God's sake!”

Richard looked at his wife. Her eyes told him to back off, and he did. She threw the hammer behind her and it skidded across the floor into the kitchen.

Richard turned back to Henry. “Leave my son and wife out of this. This is about me and you. It's about your ambition to take my place in the church. Everything that happened yesterday in church is your fault, not mine. You asked Frank to preach without my consent. It was your idea.”

“Mine?” Henry looked around in dismay at the elders then back to Richard. “You ordered me to let Frank preach. It was your doing not mine . . . you, you—show pony!”

Richard shook his head at the elders. “I did no such thing.”

“Enough with your denials. I've got the email printed out in my office. You emailed me late on Friday and ordered me to put your son on the roster for the Sunday evening service. You didn't even talk it over with me. You are out of control, Richard, and we have no choice but to cut you loose.”

“You can't fire me. I built Faith First with my brother and ten other people sitting around our living room. This is my church.”

“No, This is God's church, and you are no longer capable of leading it.”

“You snake.” Richard hissed. “You set me up with my own son as the bait. You convinced the elders I asked Frank to preach so you could usurp my role as Senior Pastor. Admit it!”

“You call me a snake? Your son's the snake, the son of a snake, and I won't take responsibility for your own foolish decision to make him preach!”

“I didn't roster him to preach!”

“Yes, you did!”

“Liar!”

“Traitor!”

“Enough!” Jane screamed. “You fucking idiots, just shut up!”

Everyone fell silent, shocked. No one had ever heard Jane say so much as boo before. “I did it! It was me, me, me!”

She turned to Henry, “I emailed you from Richard's email account and ordered you to let Frank preach. It was me. And do you know why I did it? Because Frank was the only person I know of who has enough faith and guts to preach the truth from the pulpit. Not religious obligations, but something honest. And he did, by God! You didn't like it—but it was honest!”

“Good Lord,” the elders whispered in shock.

“Oh,” Henry said. “Oh, that's just great. It's not just your son, but your wife who is hell-bent on destroying Faith First, too.”

“Shut up,” Jane screamed. “I won't listen to one more word, but you're going listen to me!”

“Jane, please, calm down,” Richard said timidly.

“Be quiet!” Jane cried out. And silence indeed fell upon the meeting. In fact, the entire group was now frozen with shock. “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t sit here one more second and listen to your drivel. You all talk like you know, like you are the anointed experts on God. But you know what?” she said, shaking as she addressed her husband of 21 years. “You don’t know the first thing about God! You don’t know anything, and I can’t take another second of your babble.”

“Jane,” Henry said, overcoming his initial shock and now overcome with disgust, “what in the devil has gotten into you?”

“You! All of you!” she cried out. “That's my problem. You got into me. Your proud theology got into me. Your insane religious obsessions got into me. I feel sick, I feel dirty because of it all.”

To her right, one of the elders at their church, cleared his throat loudly. The room gave him their attention. “Jane, that is no way for a woman to speak to her husband, you must submit to—“

“Enough! Don’t you dare say another word to me about submission. I’m sick of it. I’ve been silent my whole life because of fear, fearful I wasn’t being submissive. What has that done for me? What's left of me now? Your sick theology has nearly killed my spirit. I’m a zombie. I’m meant to be a free spirit—a blessed child of the Almighty—but I don’t feel that way at all. I’m dying inside.” She looked around the room and said, “Each one of you, too, we’re all dying. Don’t you see. Doesn’t anyone here see it? You’ve all got nothing to say about the love of God, it's all a business for him. You're a bunch of salesmen looking for your commission, and it makes me sick.”

Turning to Richard, she continued, “And what do you have to tell us? Straight-faced, you tell us God is using us like batteries—that we are only valuable to him for our output. You tell us of your own foolish ideas and because you wrap them up in a few Scripture verses, you think you’re teaching us about God? Enough!” She screamed, “Enough with your theology! Enough with your egotistical dreams! Enough with all the lies that are killing any life I still have in me—enough. I won’t take another moment of it.”

She stormed out of the living area. Still in full view of the whole group, she put on her coat and scarf. Outside, a dreadful storm was pounding down upon the neighborhood. “Does it matter to you?” she called out to her husband without looking at him. Continuing to dress herself frantically, she asked, “Does it matter that I’ve half lost my mind by listening to this twisted theology and by living this religiously obsessed life we’ve devoted ourselves to? Doesn't it bother you, Richard, that you're more interested in showing your little boys club here that you are still in control? Are you so blind you don't realize you lost control of your heart a long time ago?”

Henry couldn't take one more second of this blatant disregard for God's order of authority. A wife had no right to speak to her husband this way. It was offensive to him, and he could not hide his contempt for Jane and her outrageous actions.

“Richard, tell your wife to hold her tongue,” Henry called out.

“Don't you dare,” She screamed at Henry.

“Oh, shut up!” he shot back.

“Don't tell me to shut up. You monster. You proud fool!

“For God's sake Jane, get a hold of yourself!” Henry called out again.

“Don't you tell me what to do, Henry, and don't you dare tell me that I should do it for God's sake. I've heard you and Richard and all the rest of you high and mighty elders telling me what I should be doing for God's sake. That I should submit to your every thought and request, and to your all out fantasies for God's sake. I've been pressured to believe in your fire-and-brimstone theology, turning my Savior into some kind of eternal torturer for God's sake. Well, I don't believe it. Do you hear me? Did all of you hear that? I don't believe it! I don't believe in your twisted theology about women being inferior to men. I don't believe in your conviction that the entire community must submit to your spiritual authority.”

“They must and they will!” Henry screamed. “And you will too, right now. Shut your mouth, woman!”

Jane lunged forward and slapped Henry across the face so hard he almost lost his balance.

“How dare you speak to me like that!” she screamed. “You have no right. Do you hear me? No right!”

Henry lunged at Jane just as Richard jumped between them.

“Everybody, calm down!” Richard cried out.

“I will not calm down!” she replied.

She turned and pushed past one of the elders and made quickly for the door.

“Sinner!” Henry called out. “God will judge you for this. How dare you hit me!”

Jane spun around and met Henry's fiery eyes. “Hit you? And how many people have you hit, Henry? You and my lifeless husband. Both of you, how many people have you hit? You think you're not abusing people every week? You think you're not purposefully taking advantage of people, twisting the Bible to support your delusions and church-growth obsessions? You think you are not robbing the flock you claim to be protecting?

“Know your place, woman!” Henry said. “You cannot hit the Lord's anointed!”

Jane's eyes lit up with rage; her fist held tight.

“God won't stand for it and neither will—”

Smack!

Henry plummeted to the floor.

Frank sat alone in his car overlooking the city. He often came up to the Lookout to get away from the noise. It was a quiet place where he could let his mind rest or run, whatever it needed. At the moment it was running. At the moment it wouldn't slow down. Thoughts of his family and faith darted from one end of his mind to the other.

Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards.

The rain was not only tapping, it was now pounding down upon his roof. They hadn't had a storm this heavy in some time. He turned up his music, lit another cigarette, and reclined on his seat, leaving the window open just enough to let the smoke out.

He was convinced his father couldn't see how he had neglected his mother, nor could he see how he had pushed Frank away throughout his life. It was only when Frank started pushing back that Richard began to notice the friction, but the friction had always been there.

Through his adolescence, two things happened: Richard became more and more absorbed in his own ministry vision, and Frank grew up and realized he didn't have to accept the life of religious delusion his father had chosen—the life his mother had submitted to out of obedience.

What he wanted more than anything was a real faith, a free faith, a faith that didn't turn him into an Empty Island, as his uncle had put it. He wanted just the opposite. He wanted a faith that opened up the gates of his heart and let people in liberally. He wanted a faith that encouraged him to have genuine relationships.

If it weren't for his Uncle Ted, perhaps he would have looked for that kind of faith outside of Jesus. But it was Ted who had showed him that following Jesus was the exact faith he was looking for. Jesus was the quintessential revolutionary against an Empty Island life of religion. Jesus was about community, about honesty, about challenging ourselves to opt out of religion and all its external trappings and opt into a life led by the Spirit, a life led by love, a spiritual life that was an internal reality.

Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards.

What about his mother? After he ditched Christmas dinner six months ago she had been different. Richard had all but cut him off, not physically, but he had cut him off nonetheless. He didn't listen, and kept their conversations short and shallow. They never spoke about any spiritual topics again. But his mother was different. His mother still sat with him and listened to his spiritual musings. It wasn't really a conversation, more like a monologue, a rant at times. But she listened. She let him speak until he had nothing left to say. She never gave her opinion, and he wondered if that was because she had no opinion herself.

He worried about his mother. She was clearly stranded in a religiously ruled life, but, unlike his father, he was sure she wanted out. She wanted to escape from the prison that was her life. She had told him so, too. Not verbally, but through her eyes. She had told him about her sadness, her loneliness. But when he tried to speak with her about it she closed herself down. It was too painful. She couldn't bring herself to express her inner conflict verbally. So she sat on her Island, thinking of ways to get off. Thinking of swimming. Thinking of sinking. Thinking there was no other way out.

His mother surely thought she had no options, that she was endlessly trapped—that was what scared him the most. He couldn't get that thought out of his mind.

He started his car and headed back to his parents' house.

“You harlot! You stupid, silly bitch!” Henry barked, utterly shocked and still on the floor holding his nose.

“Hey, that's my wife!” Richard called out.

Henry stood up to his feet. He pulled out his handkerchief and held it to his nose to conceal the bleeding. “Of course she's your wife, Richard! You've lost all control of your entire family. It's a disgrace and we won't stand for it. You're out! As of right now, you are fired as Senior Pastor of Faith First.”

“You can't do that.”

“I just did. The elders have already agreed and signed the dismissal papers.”

“Is that what this whole meeting was for? Not to find a way forward together, but to fire me?”

“I'm leaving!” Jane screamed. The others turned to her. She was at the door. She looked a mess, her mascara running down her face along with her tears. “I'm leaving, and I am not coming back. Not to Faith First, not to this house, and,” looking at Richard, “not to you!” She turned back to the group, saying, “I've been dying in this religious prison. I've been dying, and none of you cared, and you still don't care!”

“Get out, then!” Henry screamed, still outraged she had punched him square in his oversized nose.

Jane opened the door and stormed out without another word. The four men all looked at each other in silence for a moment.

“Henry, that's my wife, show some respect.”

“You will get no respect from me,” he replied, pointing his finger at Richard, he continued, “Do you hear me—none! Your family is a disgrace, and we can't stand by and let you drag Faith First down the same path of destruction.” He turned to the elders, and said, “We're leaving.”

One of the elders simply said to Richard, “I'm sorry it had to come to this, I truly am.”

The other elder just nodded in sympathy, without saying a word.

“Under the circumstances,” Henry said, “it's in everyone's best interests that you do not return to Faith First, even as a member. You and your family have caused too much damage, and we must protect our reputation.”

After the elders had exited, Henry turned back to Richard and said, “And if you dare to challenge our decision and cause any further disruption to Faith First, I will have your wife up on assault charges. Understood?”

Richard didn't say a word. He gave one nod of surrender, and with that Henry closed the door and left Richard alone. Completely alone.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jane walked fast, trying to outpace her anger. Was this how it all ended? A storm on the outside and a tornado within? Everything in her life had just exploded. Her marriage and her lifelong identity as a good pastor's wife—over. Her nerves were shot. She walked faster. Faster. Questions and frustrations revolved around her mind at a rapid pace.

Over and over, without rest.

I’m never going back—never, never, never!

It would normally take an hour to walk to the hospital from her home. She arrived at the entrance in less than 25 minutes. Stepping into the hospital foyer, she left her umbrella by the door and made her way for the elevator. As she entered one of them, Audrey exited another and made her way to the parking garage.

Jane hadn't spoken to her brother-in-law for years—ever since Richard had cut off all communications with him. At the time she had sided with her husband, but now she wondered why she had been so quick to support such a harsh act without even questioning it.

She stood in front of room 202. Just as she was about to knock, she paused. Her gaze fell upon her hand. It was shaking and she couldn't stop it. In that moment, the madness that had driven her there was replaced with an unbearable yoke of sadness. She threw her hands over her face and retreated back down the hallway, into the ladies room, locking herself into a stall and sank into a sea of tears. Madness was no longer raging on the inside. It was the reality of a broken life, thrown violently in her face, that was now drowning her.

After five minutes she pulled herself to her feet and found the courage to knock on room 202.

She turned the handle and slowly opened the door. As she walked in, she saw Ted sitting up in his bed with a book in his hand. He wasn't reading it now, though. His eyes were staring into space.

“Hello, Ted.”

“Jane. You made it. Please, come in.”

She remained standing by the door.

“I'm so sorry,” she said.

“Don't be. Things will be fine. Just a nip and tuck, so I've heard. I'm sure it will all go fine.”

“Yes, of course,” she replied, but she wasn't sorry about his surgery. She was sorry about the lack of contact over the years.

“Is Richard with you?” he asked.

She shook her head, her eyes reddened and broke into tears.

“He was fired tonight. Henry has taken over the church as Senior Pastor.”

“Whoa.”

“It gets worse. I also broke Henry's nose and I told Richard I'm leaving him and never coming back.”

Ted took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. He looked up at Jane, shook his head, then smirked. “Heck of a day our family's having, huh?”

Jane bowed her head and placed her right hand over her eyes in shame. She began to sob.

“I don't know what to do. I'm so lost. I'm so sad. How did it all come to this?”

“Jane,” Ted said, waiting for her to drop her hand from her eyes, “come over here.”

For the next few minutes they talked. Jane explained what had taken place in the meeting with Henry and the elders, how she had snapped, and for the first time in her life, punched someone. She unloaded her own feelings about being the pastor's wife, and the fact that no matter how much she tried, she simply couldn't take it anymore. Ted understood. He had felt those same emotions himself. He had a past similar to the one Jane had just unpacked for him.

“You know,” he said, “when I stepped down from my position as the Senior Pastor, I didn't do it thinking my theology was wrong. I did it because my religious zeal for building the church was killing me—not physically, but relationally. That's probably what's pulling you apart, too. Am I right?”

“I don't know. I don't know anything at the moment. I just feel so utterly alone,” she replied.

Ted tried to explain, “I know that feeling, too, my dear. Back then, when I was still living a life consumed by full-time ministry, I realized that the more I pushed forward with my ministry vision, the more I sacrificed my existing relationships, and any new relationship was simply built around a task, always a task to be done. My ministry required a strong Ted, someone who was always strong, always correct. And the only way to achieve that persona was to wear a mask that fit that description. I couldn't risk being honest with anyone I met, and I lost the ability to be honest even with those in my own family.” He paused for a moment. “Ultimately, I lost the ability to be honest even with myself.”

“I feel like that right now," she said. "Oh, God, I don't even know myself anymore. I'm scared, so terrified to be honest with myself, because I know it will cause my whole world to crumble.”

Ted took hold of her hand softly. “You're ready for this, Jane. It doesn't take our strength to be honest with ourselves, it takes our weakness. We have to be so weak that there's nothing left but to be honest.”

“My marriage is over,” she said quietly, staring at her feet. “I know that much. This life, this whole sad life—I can't go back to it. I'm not going back. It's over between Richard and me.”

Richard was sitting alone in his living room. He hadn't moved since everyone left.

He heard a car pull up to the house and could tell by the sound of the engine that it was his son.

He had waited, but Jane had not returned. He couldn't do anything about it. It was taking all his will to battle his inner shame and try to remain in control of his image and emotions. He wasn't expecting another confrontation. Not tonight. After two knocks he realized Frank would not simply turn and leave. He opened the door.

“Hey,” Frank said. He looked over his father's shoulder at the mess in the living room, papers and shrapnel of the iPod were scattered all over the floor. “What—what happened here?”

“This isn't a good time.”

Frank pushed past his father and investigated the living room. He saw the hammer lying on the floor, and he flung his head back to his dad, “I need to speak to Mom,” he said with concern.

“She's not home at the moment.”

“Where is she?”

“Out,” Richard said bluntly, to Frank's frustration.

“Where is she?”

“I said, she's out,” Richard replied. He was on the edge of falling to pieces, and the only thing he could do to stop the crash was to harden every part of himself.

Frank raced through the home. It was empty. He returned to where his father stood motionless. Richard felt panic clawing at him. His son was forcing him to face the situation.

“What do you mean, out?” Frank asked.

“She went for a walk.” He turned and pretended to check his phone messages, but he was simply trying to avoid meeting Frank's eyes. “I'm sure she'll be back shortly.”

Frank turned and looked out the window. “It's pouring out. What is she doing walking?” Turning back, he saw the story written on his father's face. He shook his head in amazement. “What, she actually walked out on you?”

“She just needs some time to calm down. She was acting very irrational and out of character. The walk will do her good.”

“Good?” Frank said with disgust. He took a step closer to his father, getting in his face. “There's a thunderstorm going on outside, and you think it will do her good?”

Shame beat within him. Richard could feel it, and it was overcoming him. He suppressed it, but it was a wrestle.

Bang, bang, bang,

“Don't try to give me material advice, Son. I won't listen to it.”

“Of course you won't. You don't listen to anything.”

Richard grabbed his son. “Show some respect!”

He didn't expect Frank to retaliate, but he did, and he did it with an unexpected strength. He broke his father's grip, and locking his own hands upon him, pushed him hard against the wall.

“My mother is out in that storm, God knows where, and you're prepared to just sit here, in your sick pride, and wait?”

Pinned to the wall, Richard screamed, “Don't you dare talk to me that way. I'm your father, and I demand respect from you!”

Frank released his father, took a step back and pointed his finger right between his eyeballs. “You're no father! You're a disgrace. You're no man, no husband. The only thing you are is a coward and a liar. Where is Mom now? Think about it. Where is she now? Did she leave in a panic? If so, where did she go? Where did she walk? It's dark outside. It's pouring rain. Where did she go?”

Bang, bang, bang.

“She'll be fine. She just needs time to cool down.”

“Unbelievable,” Frank said, shaking his head. He turned and headed for the door. As he opened it, he paused and watched the fury of the rain.

He turned back. “You didn't go to visit Uncle Ted? You promised, but you didn't go, did you?”

“I wanted to,” Richard said, lying.

“No, you didn't want to, Dad. You just avoided seeing him. Like everything in your life, you avoid anything that might force you to take off that religious mask. That mask you wear so well, the one that hides you from the real world and the world from the real you. The coward. The liar. The cheat. Do you plan on avoiding him for the rest of your life?”

“No, I was planning on visiting him—”

“Stop lying!” Frank screamed. “Stop with your lies, to me, to Mom, to the world—to yourself—just stop it! You need to face reality.”

Richard fell back on his defenses.

“This is my house, I won't stand here and listen to this.”

“And what if I walk out now, just like Mom did, will you care? Will you chase after me? Will you look for me? Or will you just wait here, in your sick pride? And if something bad happens to me, I bet you'll find some way to justify your cowardice, your pride, your lack of love through it all. I'll bet you'll still find a way to make yourself out as the hero and the rest of us as the enemy, right?”

“I'm not a liar.”

“Yes you are! You lie, and then you start to believe your lies, and then you convince yourself you're a man of truth. Your whole life is a lie. Your whole life is a sham, and we both know it. And you expect my respect? You can forget it.”

“Get out!” Richard screamed.

“I'm already gone!” Frank replied, storming out, slamming the door behind him.

His father cried out from behind the door. “Good riddance!”

Frank marched across the torn lawn to his car. With the heavy rain, it was starting to look and feel more like a swamp. He was halfway to his car, and inwardly raging, when he heard the door open again and his father scream out, “Don't you ever tell me what to do—I'll tell you! I'm a Man of God. Don't you ever disrespect me again!” He slammed the door a second time.

Frank shook his head, looked up to the heavens and let our a scream of frustration. He turned recklessly, and, not focused on what was in front of him, ran straight into the letter box. In a moment of rage he ripped the top of the letter box off its stand, took a good run up, and then launched it at the house. It smashed through the large front window.

Ted pulled the sheets back and got out of bed. He walked over to the small pantry in the corner.

“Glass of water?”

Jane forced a smile. “That would be lovely, thanks.”

He came back with two glasses.

“Can I tell you something personal about Jenny?”

Jane took a sip and nodded.

“I neglected her,” he said. “We were married for twelve years, but I never put her first in my life. She was always to the side, off in the shadows.”

“Ted, you don't have to—”

“It's okay, I want to talk about it. I think it's important for both of us. Jenny and I were married six months before you and Richard, and, you remember, all four of us jumped into the grand vision to plant and build a church. Fresh out of Bible college and full of fire in our bellies, your husband and I. We didn't want to start anything without first being married, did you know that?”

“I remember Richard saying something along those lines when we were dating.”

“We rushed you both into marriage, too fast, too soon.”

“I wanted to get married, too,” Jane said. “I knew what I wanted.”

“You wanted a husband, like every good Christian girl.”

She smiled. “You're so right.”

“But you got a pastor instead.”

She laughed. “Believe it or not, I wanted that, too. I thought of pastors like other girls think of rock stars.” She shook her head, smirked at the thought and quietly mumbled, “How pathetic.”

Now Ted was the one smiling. “No, what's pathetic is that's how we thought of ourselves, too!”

They both broke into laughter at the thought.

“But jokes aside, a lot of brokenness came out of that misguided zeal. That vision to build a church required a lot of time and attention, and we built our lives around the building of the church. For the first few years I don't think any of us noticed. It was a new beginning. It was exciting. It was hard, but we saw the future, and it looked glorious.” He looked up at Jane. “But you and Jenny couldn't run as fast for the vision as Richard and I could. We knew that, we never talked about it of course, but we both knew. We knew you were falling behind, but we just kept on running for our church vision. I guess we told ourselves that you'd catch up soon. I thought Jenny would be busy enough with her own part to play in the church.”

Jane nodded in agreement. Ted continued, “The years rolled by so damn quickly, I was working harder than ever to build the church. And it did grow, almost to a thousand people. My brother and I were set to be poster boys for Pastors International, you know what I mean? In only a few years we had built a church that was running a multitude of programs and holding four church services a weekend. We had built a strong leadership team. We had so invested in the vision that, at one point, I looked around and I couldn't see Jenny at all. So what did I do? I turned back and continued on with the vision. Build, build, build. You think Richard is religiously obsessed, but do you remember what I was like? God, I was as zealous as he is now, worse even. And then, one night, Jenny died in a car crash. Just like that, she was gone. The sad thing was, long before that car crash, I had lost sight of her. My religious vision had consumed me so much that I had lost sight of my own wife and our relationship. And then, just like that—she was gone.”

“Oh, Ted, I'm so sorry.”

“Yeah,” Ted said, holding back some tears, “me, too.”

“We never understood why you left the church.”

“I told Richard, many times, at least I tried. But religious zeal is the damnedest thing. It has such a strong defense mechanism that it can block any information that might destabilize it. Richard didn't want to hear the truth about why I left because it would break apart his own plans and his vision. I had given up, I had stepped out—but Richard didn't want to do that at all. He was still committed to the vision, and he simply couldn't hear my heart.” He leaned over and took a quick sip of his water, stalling, giving him time to bring his emotions under control before continuing, “And that broke my heart all the more. I wanted to be honest with him, but he wasn't prepared to be honest with me, or with himself. And so he simply pushed me away.”

“We were both to blame,” Jane confessed. “Back then, I was still on full power, or at least I was trying to be. I could have done something, said something, but I didn't. I just followed Richard's lead and distanced myself from you as well.”

Ted smiled at his sister-in-law.

“You're a good woman.”

“No, I'm a fraud, a sad, pathetic, lonely fraud,” she said.

“That's not true. And stop trying to convince yourself of that, my dear.”

“I can't,” she replied. “Because it's the truth. I'm a failure to God. I've failed him. And now this. My marriage is also a failure. Everything about me is stained. If God thinks anything of me at all, he thinks I'm a disappointment, a fraud, and a failure.

“Jane, look at me, and listen to me,” Ted waited for her to turn her eyes from the floor to his face. “I want to tell you the truth and I want you to allow these words to sink into your heart.”

“I don't even know what the truth is anymore,” she replied bluntly.

“The truth,” Ted said, “is that God loves you more than anyone could ever articulate. More than anyone could ever understand. More than anyone could ever replicate. You see, the One who loves you is the source of all life. You’re more valuable to God than all the stars in the sky; without you it’s as if they aren't shining. Without you, everything loses its value. But he’s got you. He’s holding you in the palm of his hand, and he's holding Richard, too. Like a pearl worth more than all he owns, he’s holding you tightly. You’re the reason he makes the world shine with warmth. You’re the one he died for. You’re the one he’d do it all again for. As hard as it is to believe, you’re not a failure in God's eyes. You are his beloved child. You’re the one who motivates God to win, and he will win. For you, me, Richard—for all of us. Don’t give up, just keep walking. Love will find a way. You've made mistakes, you've lost your way, but God can redeem what you think is forsaken. God is bigger than our failings, and God will find a way to bring healing back into your life. That's the truth. Now, take it, grab hold of it tight, and let it find a place in your heart where it can grow.”

Jane was now in tears. Beautiful words. She hadn't heard such graceful words of truth for so long. Her whole life had become about works, but what she needed was a fresh breath of God's love.

“Oh, Ted, why have we pushed you away from us all these years? You have words of life that I've so desperately needed to hear. All I've heard about is my obligation to God. I've lost the belief I was of value to him by simply being his child. I've let it go. How sad, that I've let it go.”

Ted grabbed her hands and held them in his. “Then take it back, hold on to it, remember it, for that is the truth, and that is the only truth for your life.” He smiled. “Love will find a way, it won't fail, it can’t.”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Everything seems lost right now.”

“Jane,” Ted said, “you said Richard was fired tonight.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe this is his moment of weakness, maybe now he's too weak to hold onto his religious dreams and just weak enough to let God's grace return to the core of who he is. Maybe it will be his chance to be honest with himself, and your chance to be honest with him.”

“Ted, I'm not going back,” Jane stood up and turned away. She couldn't go back, she had already decided. Truthfully, she expected Ted to understand, to agree. After the way Richard had treated him all these years, she thought he would be the first person to welcome her decision to leave him.

She turned back to Ted and said, “I can't do it. It's over.”

“Jane, please, sit with me again,” he replied. “I want to tell you some more about my past, about Jenny.”

Jane sat back down next to Ted.

“When Jenny died, it was so sudden. One moment she was there, the next she was gone. Your husband and I, we're not that different. What you're going through now, Jenny went through with me. The emptiness. The masks. The loneliness. The lack of love. I see Jenny in you, and I see myself in Richard. But there's one very significant difference.”

“What's that?”

Ted felt all the emotions of his loss return to the surface of his heart. “I screwed up, like Richard has, but I was never given the chance to make it up to Jenny.” And then the ocean of sadness within his own memory burst through the dam, and he began to weep. “God knows I would have. Had I had the chance, I would have. I would have loved her more than any woman had ever been loved before, but she was gone. Just like that, she was gone, and there was no second chance.” He looked up at Jane and grabbed her hand gently. “But you're still here, Jane. You're still here, and you can give Richard the one thing I would have given all I had for. You can give him a second chance.” He gently squeezed her hand, “I'm not saying you should go on with things the way they have been, but don't walk away just yet. Give him one more chance to love you the way you deserve to be loved. Give him the chance I never got.”

“Oh, Ted,” Jane cried out, “why don't you tell me to leave him? After all he's done to you, after the way he's treated you? Why are you trying to help him now?”

“Because, I decided to live from my heart a long time ago, and my heart tells me there's hope in your marriage yet. My heart tells me my brother is still a man with a big heart, and it can become soft once more. My heart tells me that he may not deserve a second chance, but I hope he can be graced with one.” He looked at Jane, waiting for her to make eye contact. “Find the Richard you first met, all those years ago. Find him again, and let him woo you once again.”

“Do you think he'll change? What if I change, but he doesn't?”

“I'm not the Lord, darling,” Ted said. “I don't have all the answers. But I feel that now, at this present moment, it just might be God's timing to shake the scales off Richard's eyes so that he can see the truth, too.” He was still holding her hands tightly when he said, “You're still here. Do you understand what I mean?”

After the initial shock of his front window exploding into a thousand splinters of glass, Richard opened the door and raced out into the rain, onto what had been his perfect lawn. The skies were roaring loudly above them. The rain pelted down upon Richard as he watched his son speed down the driveway. But instead of racing off, Frank stopped on the street, stuck his head out his car window and screamed at his father, “Mom needs me to run after her, because you're too proud, too heartless, to do it. You call yourself a husband? A father? A man? You're none of them. You're a disgrace! Go on back in your house, Man of God, and sit on your couch while your wife is lost in a storm out here. Go on, Man of God, and keep on living in your religious fantasy while you lose everyone and everything. Go on, make love to your religious vision one more time while you lose everyone you should be holding onto.”

Richard couldn't hold it in any longer. Rage roared out of him. He ran to the road and slammed his heel into the passenger door of Frank's car.

“Who do you think you are? You don't know me. You don't know my life. You know nothing!” he screamed.

Frank jumped out. They stood on either side of the car—thunder crashing around them and thunder exploding within them.

“Damn it!” Frank beat his own fist onto the roof of his car. “You're right. I don't know you!” he screamed with outrage. “You're my father, and I don't know you. How do you think that makes me feel? You're so self-obsessed, you can't see that your own flesh and blood doesn't even know you.”

“That’s right, you know nothing, but don’t blame me for that!” Richard said, causing Frank to bang his fist upon the roof of his car once more.

“You bastard—you egotistical, fucking bastard!” Frank roared.

That word, it ran like barbed wire through Richard's veins. He tried frantically to hold himself together. This was his son, his only son, the son he loved so much. Was this how things would end between them? If even one more word came out of Richard's mouth, he was sure it would be. The words fought to get out of him. Angry, hateful words, words that would push Frank away forever. He pressed his hands into his eyes. Hateful words raged to get out, but somehow he held them in.

Frank watched his father pulling at his own hair. He watched him try to hide the madness in his eyes. His father turned and scurried away from the car.

He was halfway across his lawn when Frank called out to him. “Do you want to know the real reason Uncle Ted left your church and stopped being a pastor there? He told me today.”

Richard cringed. He pressed his palms into his eye sockets again. Exhaling loudly, he turned to hear his son.

“At Aunt Jenny's funeral, Ted looked around at all the people there—all those who were in Jenny's world. He looked into every face, and he failed to find one person who truly knew her. He looked around at all the mourners and realized nobody knew her. They knew Jenny as the pastor's wife. They knew Jenny as the church helper. They knew Jenny for all the programs she ran or sat in on, but none of them knew her. None of them knew her heart, her fears, her questions. She had acquaintances, but no friends. She had no one to truly mourn her loss, as a friend. And as Uncle Ted looked around, he caught his own reflection in the glass door, and he looked into his own face and asked himself if he knew Jenny, if he knew his own wife. And he couldn't answer yes. He had run so hard with his beliefs in building a church for God, and she had, too. And for years they had run that path together, but they had never stopped to meet, as friends. He stood in that funeral and realized for all her work in the church, she didn't have a single true friend. No one there knew her heart, including Uncle Ted himself.

“That's why he quit being a pastor. That's why he stopped being part of Faith First, because he didn't want to die one day and have a room full of mourners where not a soul truly knew him. Not because he was angry with God for taking Aunt Jenny, but because he faced the sad truth that his heart wasn't even living—that Jenny had to die without him ever knowing her heart, because she was always second to the church, since the church took all his attention. After he told me all this, he asked me if I could imagine what it would be like to be married, but never know your wife. To live with her, but never live in her heart. I told him I couldn't, and I started to cry. But I didn't cry for myself—I cried for you. I saw you in his story, and I wondered if a single soul in the whole world knows your heart, and if you know theirs. I cried, Dad, for you.”

Frank himself had to hold back the tears. He didn't want to cry, not now. He was too angry. He jumped in his car and started the engine. Before he left he rolled down the window and cried out, “I cried for you because I realized that nobody will cry at your funeral, nobody will say you were a true friend, not even the woman you're married to. You wait for the woman you're meant to be protecting. You sit in your house waiting, while she is lost in a storm. Don't you see how utterly sad your situation is? You don't know your own wife. You don't know your own son. And the saddest truth of all is you don't even know yourself.”

And with those words still hanging in the air, he sped off into the stormy night.

Richard stood in the rain, in the hard rain, and his thoughts fell upon his wife. Walking in the dark, alone and lost.

Bang, bang, bang.

Shame pounded upon him. He tried to remain standing but couldn't handle the weight. He fell to his knees. He tried to hold himself together—to be strong. But the weight was too much. He cracked. He broke into pieces. He began to sob so hard he thought his heart would die right there and then. His tears poured out of him, burning away the long-worn mask he had been wearing, and exposing himself, to himself, and he was disgusted at who he saw. It gripped him with such shame, he wondered if he would ever be able to stand up again.

He remained on his knees, the storm raging all around him and prayed that God would have mercy on him—but God did not answer him. Jane did.

Jane got out of the cab at the end of her street. She still wanted some time to pass before she got home. As she was paying the cab driver, she heard Frank's car scream down the opposite end of the street. She stood on the sidewalk. From the distance she could just make out Richard on the lawn, on his knees. She stood out of sight for several minutes and watched the rain beat down on him. Slowly, she approached the house.

“Richard,” she said. He looked up.

“Jane, I . . .”

“Let's go inside.” She walked in, leaving the door open. She threw her umbrella to the side.

Slowly, Richard followed her.

They stood in the living room together. Neither said a word. Jane glanced at the post box, surrounded by broken glass, on the floor.

“Did Frank do this?” she asked.

“No,” Richard replied in a whisper. “I did it.”

“You . . . did this?”

“Yes, but not just the window. I've broken everything. I've broken everything I care about. Frank threw the post box, but I'm the one who caused all this brokenness.”

He fell to his knees and began to weep bitterly once again. “Leave me. I'm sorry. I don't deserve you.”

He knew she would walk out now. He had seen it in her eyes earlier.

She wouldn't say another word. She would leave him there in tears and surrounded by brokenness. Perhaps she came back to grab her wallet and her car, but she would be gone before he looked up. He wondered if he would ever look up again. The pain tore him apart, and he didn't even attempt to defend himself against it. He wept, with his head hung in weakness, and let the Shame Monster continue its beating.

Bang, bang, bang! You've ruined everything!

Bang, bang, bang! You've lost everything!

Bang, bang, bang! You're a monster!

Jane looked down at her broken husband, beaten by the ever-increasing pressure of his religious zeal.

“I’m tired of this half-life. I’m tired of never really living at all. I’m tired of religion, and if this religion is God, then I’m tired of God as well.”

Richard listened silently, his eyes to the floor.

“Look at me,” she said.

He looked up, his eyes red with sadness. The only thing he could think of was his own shame. He had neglected the woman he loved for so long. He had betrayed her by loving his own church-growth vision more than he had loved her. His guilt overcame him, and he wept once more. “Oh, dear God, what have I done?” he said, with a deep cry of sadness. “What have I become? What have I done to you?”

Jane looked down at her husband. There were so many conflicting emotions within her: love and hate, compassion and anger, reconciliation and separation. She stared at the man she had married 22 years ago, and she saw in his brokenness the possibility of a new beginning. He was like a seed that had fallen to the ground and died, that new life could spring from . . . but nothing was certain.

What she understood now was that the weight of his religious obsessions was far heavier than anyone of them had believed, and the yoke of religion, his life’s ambition of building a big church, had brought him to this place. After all he had worked to build, he now sat in its shambles.

“You became a superhero for God,” she said. “Only, I don’t think God ever intended anyone to be a superhero for him. It’s not just your fault. I know, I tried, too. God knows I tried to be a superhero’s wife, a good wife. But it didn’t work, this life, with a big church vision and all its programs and expectations and responsibilities. This life of one program you had to go to, or I had to go to, and the programs you spent so much energy getting others to go to. All this time wasted in endless programs while our family slowly fell apart. All these visions and missions, while we no longer even know how to communicate with God, let alone have any time for God, because we’ve been too busy working for him.”

Richard continued to cry. He realized it was all true. He was so burdened. So tired of being a superstar for God. So tired of hardening his heart to avoid seeing how he was losing the love of his wife and son. So tired of losing the feeling of his own soul.

Richard looked up to his wife, red eyed and broken. He turned his face to the floor once more and wept. “What can I do? Dear God, I don’t know what to do!” He wept at the truth of his confession. He wept at losing everything that mattered. “I don’t deserve you,” he said.

Jane walked to the sofa and sat down. Her husband remained on his knees in the middle of the room.

“You're right,” she said. “You don't.”

After what seemed like an eternity, Richard pulled himself off his knees. Jane was still sitting motionless upon the sofa.

“I should leave,” he said. “Of course, that's why you are still here. That's what you're waiting for. How selfish of me to think you'd have to leave. God, I'm sorry. I'm sorry it all came to this. I'll go now.”

He had just picked up his keys and dragged his feet to the door when Jane said, “I went to the hospital. That's where I've been. I visited Ted.”

“Oh—how is he?”

“He's a good man, that's how he is,” she said bluntly. “Tell me, why did you block him out of our family's life?”

Richard turned back and stared at his wife. “Fear,” he replied. He didn't even know that that was the reason until he said it, but with no defenses trying to uphold his lies, the truth came to him easily. “I'm sorry, but I was afraid his perspective on faith would damage mine, and yours, too.”

Jane shook her head.

“That's what you feared? How ironic.”

Richard didn't say a word. He just let Jane speak.

“You know, he's the reason I'm here. I was so mad at you, and I went to see Ted thinking he would join me in my fury against you. But he didn't. Instead he showed me something I haven't seen for so long. He showed me what love looks like. I was so mad, and I'm still mad, but I don't want this anger to win.”

Richard was shaking. Not just because he was drenched, but because his nerves were a wreck, and he didn't know what to do with himself.

“I'm not very stable at the moment,” he said. “I don't know what to say. I know I've failed you, and God knows I'm disgusted with myself.” He began to weep again. “I don't know how I'm going to face another day. I think I should go away. I'm so sorry.”

He picked up his keys and walked out of the room and into the garage. Where would he go? He didn't know. He didn't know anything at all.

As the automatic garage door opened, he saw Jane outside, standing in the center of the driveway. He gazed out at her. The rain, mixing with her tears, gripped his heart as she mouthed the words, “I'm still here.”

He got out of the car and walked over to meet her, stopping a few feet away.

“Do you understand?” she said. “I'm still here.”

He nodded and said, “Thank you.” Though he didn't really understand at all. He couldn't think of anything else he could say. He went to step closer, but Jane held out her hand and motioned him to stop.

“No,” she said. “I'm still so angry with you. I'm mad and bitter, and I have good reason to be. Don't think this is going to be fixed overnight. Even now, I'm sick at the sight of you—but I'm not leaving. We'll see what comes next—but first, go and see your brother,” she said. “He's the one you should thank. I wouldn't be here if he hadn't convinced me to give you a second chance. He's in St. Anthony's Hospital. Room 202.”

Richard nodded. He turned to get back into his car and noticed the large hole in the front window.

“Call Frank, he's worried sick about you. I'll be back home soon.”

CHAPTER NINE

Richard pulled up to the hospital and promptly made his way to room 202. He opened the door without knocking, and crept in. His brother was in bed reading.

“Hi Ted.”

Ted put down his book. “Hello . . . is this the Mighty Pastor Richard visiting me?” he asked.

“No, just your idiot little brother,” he replied. “Pastor Richard got royally fired this evening.”

Ted gave a sympathetic smile.

“I know. Your wife was here earlier, and she told me all about it. What on earth happened to you? You're soaked and covered in, what is that, mud—or shit?”

Richard was silent.

“It's mud.” He took a few more steps forward, saying, “To be honest, I look a lot better on the outside then the inside right now.”

Richard was still standing over near the door. He didn't know what to say. He knew his brother was the reason Jane had come home again. What he couldn't figure out was why Ted had done that for him. After all he had done to Ted, how he had treated him over the years, it made no sense. Richard didn't know what to say about his brother's operation, either. All he knew was that he was having one hell of a crappy day.

“She left me, you know. She said she wasn't coming back. But she did come home, and somehow we managed to talk honestly—maybe the first honest conversation we've had in years. I don't know what to say, but—thank you.”

When those words came out of his mouth, a flood of tears poured from his eyes as well. He couldn't stop the tears. He didn't want to stop them. He was sick of deadening his emotions. He wanted them to live, even if they were sad, even if they were exposing his brokenness, he wanted tears to be a part of him once again. He wanted to be honest, even if it showed just how far astray he had wandered from the path of love and truth.

“I only did for you what I'd like done for me. The golden rule, you know,” Ted said.

“No, you did more than that.” Richard replied. “You did it because you love me. I now realize that's the only way you could have done it. I've distanced myself from you all these years. I've thought of you as a troublemaker, a villain against God's work, an enemy to God's plans for his church to grow. I thought you were a backslider, a critic, a worldly disgrace. I thought bad of you all these years, and I'd hardened my heart against you. But tonight, what you did, you did it because you don't have a heart like mine. Your heart is soft. It's soft enough to love—to love me—to help me even though I don't deserve it. I've treated you like an enemy, but you've loved me like a brother anyway. You saved my marriage, my life. I thought I'd lost everything, and then Jane walked back in the door. I was about to fall into a black hole from which there was no escape, and then she walked in. Oh, God, my brother, you loved me! You saved my marriage—and my life.” The tears flowed harder and longer than before. There was no way to stop them. They flowed down Richard's face, and he let them. He didn't bury his head in his hands. No, he just stood there, straight and open, and let the tears escape from him.

“What happened to me? How did it all come to this?”

Ted looked at his brother. He looked like a picture of himself ten years ago. It was a sad picture, a picture of a man trying to grasp how he had let his religious ambitions overtake his life. He loved God, Ted knew that, just as he knew it of so many who had fallen into the same situation. He was, after all, one of them. A man who had always loved God, but somehow had become caught up in his own ambition to save the world for Jesus and build him an empire at the same time. He had been shaken out of his Religious Disneyland ten years ago, now his brother was experiencing that same shaking.

“Good intentions, Brother. I'm sure of that. It started with good intentions.”

Richard continued to sob.

“I'm a monster,” he said.

“No, you're not,” Ted said sternly and honestly. Richard's gaze was now cemented to the floor.

“Listen to me, Richard. Look at me, and listen.” Ted said.

Richard raised his eyes from the floor.

“You're a good man. Do you hear me? You've always had a heart for God. Don't let this experience pull you apart. You have to let it pull apart the religious obsessions that have led you here. You have to let it pull the hardness off your heart, but you are not part of the fall. God will keep you standing. Do you understand me? You're a good man, you've always had a heart for God.”

Richard looked at him with a blank stare.

“What am I supposed do? I'm lost. I'm truly lost, and I don't know what to do.”

“Let the good Shepherd bring you back, let him bring you back to the start of your journey with him, back to the graceful Richard. Back to the Richard who just wanted to enjoy God's presence. Back to a time when the yoke of Jesus was light. Back before you began carrying all the pressures of building an empire for God.”

“I don't know how to even get there.”

“It's not your job to lead the way on this journey, little brother. That may take you some time to accept, but it's not your role to lead. Your role is to follow.”

Richard rubbed his chin.

“I've spent most of my Christian life being the leader. I've always had the vision. I was always the guy who knew the way to go. I've been leading for so long, I don't know if I can follow. I don't know how to even do that.”

“Welcome back to Faith 101, little brother.”

Richard laughed through his sobs. He looked at his brother, shook his head and chuckled some more.

“I'm a fool. Oh, God, I'm a fool.”

“Well, you're right about that. But you've always been a fool, even when we were kids.”

Although Richard was caught up in his own despair, he couldn't help but laugh.

“You remember that time we tried to build a tree house out in that field next to our house?” Ted asked. “And you climbed up too high, and suddenly realized you couldn't get down?”

“Yeah,” Richard replied. “And your brilliant solution was that I should take off all my clothes, make a rope out of them, and swing down.”

Ted laughed. The memory was sweet.

“And just as you did it, Rachel Brown and her friends walked by and saw your naked ass swinging from the tree!”

“I never heard the end of that. For weeks kids would pretend to drop their pants and moon me in school.”

Ted cracked up. “Brilliant. Oh, Lord, that was brilliant.”

They both enjoyed the memory. Richard pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down.

“I guess you're right. I have been a fool my whole life.”

“Only in the sense that we've all been fools,” Ted said. “How many people do you know who haven't made any mistakes in life? None, right? Being a fool is just part of the human experience. But with it comes the chance to see the mistakes we've made, take responsibility for them, and change direction. You're at a crossroad now. You can leave all the religious baggage there, strip down to just you and God, and let him lead you and allow yourself to follow.”

“Follow? I think it's easier to lead,” Richard said.

“Yep, but that's why we call it a walk of faith. It takes faith to follow a God we can't see with our eyes, and listen for a voice we can't hear with our ears. It's an internal spiritual reality, and to follow God from within is what our faith is all about.”

“I've looked for God in the numbers for so long,” Richard replied, “and in the amount of butts on seats in the Sunday service—in how much money was coming through the offerings. I don't know how to even look for God now that all has been stripped away from me.”

Ted thought about it for a minute.

“Richard, you know I was just like you, just as zealous for my church-growth vision. After all, I was the one who taught you how to be as zealous as you eventually became. I'm no stranger to what you're going through. I went through it all, too. You've been trying to bump into God through the growth of your church services, but now that that has been removed as an option, perhaps you'll start bumping into God in a far more divine way.”

“Where do you find God?” Richard asked.

“In you, that’s where.” He pointed to Richard’s heart. “Right there, right now, I’m looking for God in you—and I see him, too.”

“In me?” Richard replied. “I think today is the last day God would want to be found in me.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I've never been a weaker man than I am right now.”

Ted laughed. “That's the best place to find God. You think weakness is a negative characteristic, but it's actually divine. You've been 'strong' all these years, and what has it done for you? Caused you to harden your heart—to push on despite the Spirit calling out to you to lay down all your religious obsessions. You see, it was your strength that allowed you to keep following your own religious ambitions, and now that you're too weak and broken to do that, well that, brother, is the very reason you'll find God. There’s no more gas in the tank to drive after your religious passions. You’ve only got enough strength to sit and rely upon the mercy and grace of God.”

“I get it,” Richard replied. “As much as it hurts, I see what you mean.”

“Yes,” Ted said, “but what you need to grasp is that weakness will never leave you. It's not just a moment, not just a season, it's part of life. The challenge is to allow yourself to accept your weakness. The challenge is to not harden your heart and create a religious fantasy to live in instead—a fantasy world where you have nothing but strengths. If you want the truth, you'll have to come to terms with your weakness. It's part of you, and it is an important part of you, for it is in your weakness that God's power is made perfect. It is in your weakness that God's grace becomes sufficient for you.”

“But you're strong, Ted.” Richard said. “I couldn't see it before, but I see it now. You're strong.”

Ted laughed again. “I'm passionate about God. I understand the reality of God’s gospel. I trust in his spiritual gifting in my life. I trust in his power. But trust me—I'm also weak. Often, I'm terribly weak. I agree, I have my strengths, but I can also freely embrace the reality that I have a lot of weaknesses, too. I am able to be honest to that reality. And in that honesty, I find it easier to embrace God’s promise of rest.”

“Rest?” Richard asked.

“Yes, rest. And I can rest because I recognize that I have limited love. I want to love more, but I am weak. When it comes to love, I often fall short with most things, and yet here's why I can rest: because I understand God’s grace and am able to fully receive his acceptance of me just as I am, I can freely be honest about my limitations, and it's that honesty concerning my limitations that allows me to recognize God’s limitless ability so much clearer. Being honest about myself—having my eyes open to the good and the bad—is a heavenly gift I embrace. It allows me to lose my mask and all those imaginary personas.”

“Masks. I know about them all right. My face has been worn out by mine. But I don't know too much about embracing weakness.” Richard said.

“Well, Faith 101 will explain it to you. Don't worry, the Spirit is a much better teacher on these things than I am. All I know is that I understand I am a weak individual in need of a greater love to embrace me in order to make me stronger. And it's happening. Jesus continues to make my love stronger; he continues to show me how to live a life of love. But it takes time. In the meantime, God is okay with my weakness.”

Richard's eyes welled up again.

“That's beautiful. I can't believe I'm saying that about weakness, but it's beautiful.”

Ted smiled and said, “I am limited. I am weak. I would like to do more, but often I fail. I fall. I see how I can help, but, for a number of valid or invalid reasons, I don’t. The thing is, I understand that I am not able to save the world. I am not able to love the world completely. I cannot reconcile the world. I am limited. The gospel is a glorious spiritual reality, but I am still bound up in a jar of clay that is fragile and cracked—but I understand now that God's all right with that. I realize I can rest in God's presence, not in spite of my weaknesses, but because of them.”

What Ted said reminded Richard of a Bible Scripture, and he found himself sharing it.

“Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling,” Richard said, quoting the Apostle Paul. “You know, I never liked that Scripture,” he said. “But I guess I've just been reading it wrong all these years.”

“The way I understand it,” Ted said, “is that I have an unlimited God dwelling within a very limited earthly tent, but I don’t lose heart or confidence because of that, rather, I embrace it. I understand the hope. I believe in the power. I trust in the unfailing love of God within me and at work in me, but I also understand that by myself I am weak. Whatever good is done in my life, it will be an act of God working his strength through my weakness.”

Ted gazed over at his brother, and continued, “That is why I find rest in God’s love, because it can and will do all the things I cannot. I am weak, but he is strong. Yet he is in me, and we are one. And so, if we are one, then I can be honest about my own weakness, and at the same time freely embrace Christ in all his strength. I’m thankful God is the strong one. I hold onto him all the more because of it.”

“I'm the weak one, Brother. I'm the weakest man on the planet.”

“And the biggest fool, too,” Ted said, with a smirk. “But you do have a wonderful wife at home, waiting for you to love her like she deserves to be loved. You have a gift waiting for you—a divine second chance waiting for you.”

“Thank you, brother, for loving me . . . though I didn't deserve it."

Tears began to fall down Ted's face. “Brother, let me tell you a truth I live my life by.” He smiled at Richard, and said, “If we waited for people to deserve our love, we'd never love a soul. Better to follow God's way of love, better to love even when people don't deserve it, because it is love that heals the hearts around us. It's love that brings people back to God. It's love that brought us back together once again, as family.”

Richard stood up and wrapped his arms around his brother. They wept. For a long time they didn't say a word, they didn't need to, and they let their tears comfort one another.

When Richard returned home, his son's car was parked in the driveway. The front window of his house had been covered over with cardboard and tape. He pulled into the garage and turned off the ignition.

When he entered the house, Frank was sitting at the kitchen table drinking some coffee.

“Mom went to bed,” were his first words.

“Oh, well. That's good. She's had a big day.”

“We've all had a big day, I'd say.”

Richard poured himself a cup of coffee. “Thanks for fixing the window.”

“I just patched it up to keep the rain out,” Frank said. “I'll call the window guy in the morning.”

“Yeah, that would be good.”

Small talk. They were both dying to talk deeper, but it was so hard to find the way there. Richard noticed Frank staring at some of the broken remains of Henry's iPod still scattered on the floor.

Frank smirked at his father. “Mom told me about the hammer incident.”

“Yeah, heck of a scene here tonight.”

They both took a sip of their coffees and sat momentarily in silence.

“Dad,” Frank said. “You okay?”

Richard had never cried in front of Frank before, but there was a first time for everything. The tears didn't flow though, not yet, they just hung around the outskirts of his eyes.

“No, not really,” he replied.

Frank ran his hands through his hair.

“Did the elders really fire you tonight?”

Richard nodded.

“I didn't think a senior pastor could get fired.”

Richard wiped his eyes. “To be honest, I didn't either. I knew it was possible in theory, but I never expected it to actually happen.”

“Maybe you can fight it? You know, you can say that—”

“It's over. I'm not going to fight it.”

More silence. Both of them took another sip of their coffees. Still silence. What was there to say? Finally, Frank thought it best to leave.

“I'll let you get some sleep. I guess you need it. I'll call tomorrow.”

As Frank got up to leave, Richard grabbed hold of his arm.

“You know, what I said to you this morning, about how you no longer submit to Jesus and you've become your own man, no longer a servant to our Lord?”

Frank nodded.

“I was wrong. As wrong as I've ever been. The last twelve hours have turned my entire life upside down, and with it, my understanding of my own faith. But those words I said to you, they keep coming back to me, and I don't want to go to bed without asking for your forgiveness.”

“Don't worry about it. It's already forgotten.”

“No, it shouldn't be, not yet. It was wrong, and before you forget about it, let me make it right.” He poured himself another coffee. “I'm the one who became my own man, not you. I'm the one who stopped serving the Lord.” He took a sip of his coffee. His hands were slightly shaking. “I've always loved the Lord, I've always wanted to serve him, and him alone—but something happened along the way that got in between me and that desire. Something that seemed so innocent and good.”

“Money?” Frank asked.

“No, not money. Money was just another weight attached to the real issue.”

“What got in the way?”

“My vision,” Richard said, taking another sip of his coffee. “Incredible, isn't it? It wasn't some ungodly, wicked act that got between me and the Lord. It was a vision to expand God's kingdom—a great vision to build and grow his church. Somehow, very subtly, this vision split my loyalty between simply serving the Lord and serving my vision. In my zeal, I became a servant of my own vision, and through my obsession I ended up as a slave to it. And now, after all I've done to build it, I've been discarded by that very vision, too.”

“Welcome to the outside,” Frank said empathetically.

“An outsider.” Richard thought about that for a few moments. “I don't know what to do on the outside.”

“Learn to live again. Learn to love again—that's what I'm trying to do, anyway,” Frank said.

“Learn to love again. Yeah, I think that's it. That's what I've forgotten all about. On the way home from the hospital I thought about your uncle. How different we are. How different our definition of serving the Lord has been. For me, serving the Lord has revolved around building things for God. But for Ted, serving the Lord is all about loving others, and that's it. Something happened to me tonight. I think that truth finally fell into my heart. I get it—I'm a broken fool, but I think I get it now. It's about loving people, and embracing genuine relationships as the bridge to experiencing intimacy with God, right? For all these years, instead of letting my love for people be the bridge, I've spent all my time and focus trying to build the bridge through church services, ministries, and anything else I could count and measure. I forfeited the notion that serving the Lord is simply living a life of love. Instead, serving the Lord, for me, became all about building things: programs, buildings, ministries. Serving the Lord became all about the work of my hands and no longer about the love in my heart. Oh, God—”

Richard pulled his hands over his face. He took in a deep breath—a deep, sad breath. “I've failed to love you all these years, Son. I've failed to live from my heart. All the times the Holy Spirit was calling me to spend more time with you, with your mother, I resisted. I justified my lack of love for you through the vision I was serving—the need to build, to increase, to succeed in reaching my church-growth goals. And now, what do I have to show for it? I've failed to love my own family, and I've been discarded by the very church vision I devoted my life to achieving. I'm sorry, Frankie. I'm sorry I was such a failure to you as a father. I'm so sorry I failed you all these years.”

And then the waterworks came. Tears poured out of Richard once more.

“I don't know what's happening to me. I haven't cried for 20 years, and now I can't stop it. I'm sorry.”

Frank sat back down. He put his hand on his father's shoulder. “You did your best,” he said.

“No, I didn't. Not for you. I did my best for myself. I did my best for my church-growth vision. But not for you—not for you. You're my only child, and I squandered the time I could have spent with you in one religious commitment after the next. I failed you, and I want to tell you,” he really had to work hard to speak through his tears, “how sorry I am. I can't make it up to you. The time is already past, but I'm so sorry.”

He looked into his father's sad face and saw the honesty in his confession. He saw the pride that he hid behind for so long topple to the ground. He saw a broken man, and through the cracks he saw the father he had always loved. It was the father he had waited to see again for longer then he could remember.

“There's time,” Frank said.

“But you're not a child anymore,” Richard said with a bitter cry.

“But I still need a father.” He stood there and watched his father cry, and whispered again, “There's time, Dad. We're still here, aren't we?”

Henry closed the front door. His wife was up. An empty bottle of wine stood on the table. She was drinking, again.

He walked into the living room.

“My dear, we need to talk.”

She was watching the television.

“About what?” she asked.

“About church.”

She took a long drawn-out sip from her glass.

“Of course, about church.”

She looked at him wide-eyed. Henry was out most evenings due to his pastoral commitments, and she had grown tired of always being alone. She wondered if he noticed that they were drifting apart, or did he only notice the empty wine bottles? Did he notice his obsession with his job was pulling their marriage apart, one day at a time?

“Richard was fired by the elders tonight, and they have appointed me to take his place as the Senior Pastor.”

“Oh, is that right?” she said.

“Yes, that's right. It is a lot more responsibility, but I feel God calling me to accept the position.”

Called by God? On the Almighty's direct line, are you? If so, ask God what he thinks about our marriage next time!

God seemed to speak awfully clear to her husband about church related activities, but what about their life together?

Hello, God, anyone there?

“All right. If you think that's what God wants,” she replied.

“I do,” Henry said, relieved.

He noticed her attention was already back on the television. It frustrated him. Didn't she understand how important this calling was? Didn't she see the spiritual significance of it?

He picked up the remote control and switched off the television. “I have invited the elders over tomorrow night to go through the technicalities. But now I think prayer is appropriate. Would you like to pray with me about it?” he asked, although it wasn't really a question.

She placed her glass on the table, and hardened her heart just enough to get through the religious motions expected from her.

“Sure,” she said.

“Thank you, dear.” He sat down next to her. “Your prayers mean a lot to me.”

My prayers?

She groaned inwardly. Why did it have to be her prayers, or her talents, or her role as the faithful pastor's wife? Why didn't she mean something to him? Screw her abilities, she just wanted to be loved for being herself.

God, she wished they had more than a commitment. She wished they truly loved one another.

But how can I love you, and how can you love me, when we don't even really know each other?

They bowed their heads to pray.

Jane lay in bed. She'd heard Richard's car parking twenty minutes ago and knew her two men were downstairs, but she couldn't hear their conversation. After going back and forth in her mind about whether she should go downstairs or not, she decided to get up. For the first time in a long time, she actually wanted to get up instead of staying in bed. Slowly, she made her way down to the kitchen.

“Jane,” Richard said as she appeared by the door.

“Mom—you okay?” Frank asked.

“I'm fine,” Jane said, “all things considered.”

“Everything okay—with you two?” she asked.

Frank glanced at his father. “No,” he said. After a moment he added, “But it’s not as bad as I thought, either.”

They stood in the kitchen, apart, alone, and weak. It was a moment when each one of them realized just how isolated they had become from one another.

“Frank, it's already so late. Why don't you stay over tonight?” Jane said.

Frank turned and looked at his father, “Do you mind?” he asked.

“This is your home as much as it is mine.”

Frank smiled. What a day. Man, he needed sleep.

“Yeah, I'm pretty wrecked, actually. Maybe I will crash here tonight.”

Frank looked at his parents. He wanted to hug his father, but he couldn't. He was surprised to feel his heart wanted to, and that was enough for now.

“Well, then, see you in the morning.”

He nodded at his father and gave his mother a kiss and made his way out of the kitchen. Before he reached the door, he heard his father call him back.

“Frank, just a moment.”

He turned and faced his parents.

“I want to thank you.”

“For what?” Frank asked.

“For your sermon—for preaching from your heart without trying to please the crowd. I've worked as a pastor in Faith First for almost twenty years, and I never came as close as you came to speaking completely from my heart. I'm glad to know that sermon was the catalyst that got me fired, even if it wasn't my own.”

Frank smiled. He stood by the door, staring blankly. So much had happened during the past 48 hours.

“Dad, to be honest, I don't know a lot myself. I'm so confused about so much. The one thing I know is that I want the truth, but I've realized that it's not a short journey to discover it. You know what I mean?”

“No, I don't know,” Richard replied. “I hope I come to understand, but at the moment I don't know much at all.”

Frank smiled and said, “Goodnight.”

His parents replied, “Night, Son.”

He walked out of the room. Richard and Jane stood there, motionless, unsure of what to do next. They drifted to opposite ends of the room. An uncomfortable silence settled once more between them.

“Jane, about earlier, with Henry—”

“How's his nose, anyway?” she asked. A slight grin surfaced on her face.

“I think you did more permanent damage to his ego than to his nose.”

She cleaned up the table, putting the empty coffee mugs in the dishwasher.

“I think each of our egos received some permanent damage today,” she replied.

She turned and walked out of the kitchen, saying, “I'm going to bed, alone,” and disappeared.

Richard rubbed his forehead, and winced at the inner pain he felt.

He stripped down to his underwear and passed out on the sofa.

Ted switched off his bed light and laid his head down. There would be no more guests tonight. Just himself and the Lord. He tried not to think about the surgery. Instead, he began a conversation.

“It's been a heck of a day, Lord.” He gritted his teeth and shook his head. A mix of emotions swirled wildly within him: Worries for what was to come, and thankfulness for what had already taken place.

“I've got a request, and you know I don't make too many, but this one I want you to promise me. If the surgery doesn't go well tomorrow, and I've got to leave, please let it be that when I open my eyes, I find myself in the arms of my wife, Jenny. Promise me this one thing, that I can wrap my arms around her, hold her, and cry with her. I don't need to speak to her, at least not right away. No, Lord, I won’t say anything. For the longest time I just want to hold her in silence. Let me hold her, Lord, and let me cry my soul dry of all the pain I’ve lived through in this life and all the shame I could never release. I'll hold her, if you give me this second chance, for the longest time, without a word. And when I do speak, may I tell her that I love her, may I tell her that I've always loved her.”

He began to weep. They were tears of hope. They were signs of sadness. They were wounds that would only fully heal when he walked with Jenny into the arms of their Lord.

CHAPTER TEN

Jane woke up late. She made her way downstairs. Frank was in the kitchen, drinking coffee. He poured her a cup.

“Thanks. Where's your father?” she asked.

“He went to the hospital. He wanted to be there for Ted. He asked me to stay here with you and said he'd call as soon as he knows how the surgery went.”

Frank took a seat at the table. Jane sat down next to him.

“Is everything all right between you two?”

Jane looked into her cup and pondered that question in silence.

“I don't know,” she finally responded. “I just don't know.”

“I've never seen him so broken,” Frank said. “He's always presented an image of iron-like strength. But last night, he was a different man.”

“A broken and ruined man,” Jane said.

“No, that's not what I meant. I saw him differently, because I saw an honest man. He was honest to me, and he didn't try to hide behind any excuses. Did you notice that in him?”

Jane stirred her coffee. “Yes, I did. That's why I don't know if things will be all right between your father and I.”

“You don't want him to be honest?” Frank asked.

“The exact opposite. That's all I've ever wanted from him, but for so long I was never offered honesty. He was always on show, even in our marriage. Yesterday, I wanted to leave him—and part of me still wants to leave him. But what I didn't expect was the honesty he showed last night.”

“So what do you think now? Do you still want to leave him?”

Again, she gazed into her cup in silence.

“Yes—and no. I think what I really want is to find him again.”

They sat there in silence for a few moments. Jane looked down at the table and noticed Frank's pack of cigarettes lying there.”

“What's it like?” she asked.

“What, to smoke?”

She nodded. He just smirked.

“Pretty nasty, actually. But it's a nice way to ruffle the feathers of a lot of religious people.”

She laughed, reached out and took a cigarette out of the pack.

“Got a light?”

“You're not really going to smoke it, are you?”

“What?” she said, snatching the lighter from him. “You going to preach me a sermon now?”

Frank just smirked. “Touché.”

Audrey was already there when Ted woke up. She had been busy helping and comforting any way she could. At Ted's insistence, she had also taken some notes on his final wishes, should the surgery not go well.

A nurse walked into the room and politely told Ted they would be moving him into surgery in ten minutes. As she stepped out of the room, Richard entered. “Hi, Brother,” he said.

“Richie,” Ted said. He hadn't called him that since they were kids.

Audrey stood up. “I'll leave you two alone. I'll just be outside.”

“No,” Richard said gently, “please, stay.”

Audrey smiled politely and sat back down.

“How're you feeling?” he asked his brother.

They talked for a few minutes, small talk mostly, but that was just what Ted needed. All that they needed to say to each other was said the evening before. They had made their peace with one another. Ted was thankful his brother had decided to visit him again before the surgery. He could see in his eyes this wasn't a pastoral visit. It was a visit by a brother who loved him.

“Hey, I jumped online before I left the house and managed to get two court side seats to the Sonics game in two weeks.” He flashed the tickets. “Best seats in the house.”

Ted's eyes lit up. “Court side. Hey, big spender.”

“Not at all—they didn't cost me a cent,” he gave Ted a wink, “I've still got the church's credit card.” They both laughed at the joke.

The nurse walked into the room pushing an empty wheelchair. Ted nodded at her, then looked to his guests, saying, “Looks like it's time to go.” He stood up and wrapped his arms around Audrey.

“Thank you, my beautiful friend, for everything.”

He turned to his brother and they embraced. “We lost too much time being angry with one another, much too much time,” Ted said. “But I thank the Lord that he brought us back together, as brothers. You're a good man, Richie. Don't you forget that. You're a good man, with a good heart.”

Richard couldn't bring himself to speak. He just nodded, took a moment, and then managed to say without breaking into tears again, “We'll see you in a few hours.”

Ted smiled. “Tell Jane and Frank I love them, and I'll see them soon.” As the nurse wheeled him out of the room, he leaned back, saying, “And don't waste a single second of time! Love them, Richie. More than anything in the world, love them.”

Richard smiled.

“We'll be here when you wake up, Teddy,” Audrey called out.

“One way or the other, I'm sure of that.” He gave Audrey one last wink, and said, “Look outside, after that terrible storm yesterday, here comes the sun, as always—do you remember what I told you yesterday?”

Audrey could not hold back her tears, so she spoke through them, “The sun shines on everyone, Teddy Bear.”

He nodded, “That's right, my dear. After every storm, no matter how much damage it causes,” he gave them both a big smile, “here comes the Son.”

He raised one hand in the air as they wheeled him away, waved without looking back, and placed his future in the hands of his God.

Audrey and Richard sat in the waiting area. They had exchanged some small talk for a short period of time, and Richard had apologized for how rudely he had treated her at Ted's house the day before. But after a while, they had fallen into a more sullen state. Audrey sat near the window the whole time, staring out at nothing in particular. Richard paced up and down the hall for most of the time.

Three hours after the surgery started, a doctor appeared in the waiting room. Richard and Audrey stood as he walked up to meet them.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “There were complications. Fatal complications.”

Richard arrived home and was met at the door by Jane and Frank. As soon as they saw his face, they burst into tears.

“No!” Frank cried out. “No!”

“Oh, Lord,” Jane moaned.

Richard began to shake. He covered his mouth with his hand and began to weep uncontrollably. All of them wept. None of them had any strength to comfort the other, so they stood alone like three empty islands, and wept at the loss of the one person who could have brought them together.

“I need to go,” Richard said. “I need time. I just wanted to tell you that the surgery failed. Ted's gone to be with the Lord.” As these words left his mouth, he began to weep once more. He turned, walked back to his car, and drove away.

Frank turned and embraced his mother, and together they cried their farewells into the air.

Richard had been given Ted's possessions at the hospital. His house keys, his clothes, and a small note that he had written before he went into surgery. It was this note that moved Richard to go to Ted's place. He could be alone there. He had failed to be a brother for so long, but at least he could make good on his brother's final wish.

He arrived, unlocked the door and walked inside. The house felt so empty. It was empty. The life that had filled it was now gone, and Richard's own presence changed nothing.

Am I even alive? Have I even been living all these years?

He pulled out the note once again and re-read it. He rebuked himself for thinking of himself.

This is not the time to be introspective. This is the time to celebrate the life of my brother.

He made his way over to Ted's small bar and pulled out a twenty-one year old bottle of Scotch, still unopened. He opened it and poured himself a very short shot. The smell revolted him, as did all alcohol.

Stepping out onto Ted's veranda, he raised the glass in the air, and made a toast, “Well, here's to you, Brother.” After he drank the shot, he began to cough.

Horrible!

But less than ten minutes later, he noticed that somehow he was feeling a little better. He even managed to truly smile as he sat there thinking of his brother.

He went inside again and poured himself another whisky.

Jane sat in the living room. Frank had left about an hour after Richard, and she had been alone the whole day. Nobody called. She didn't call anyone, either. Who was she supposed to call? She didn't know. At first she tried to sleep, but she couldn't. Her mind wouldn't let her. She thought over the loss of Ted and the loss of her identity as the faithful Pastor's Wife. The loss of the fantasy that had protected her from reality for so long.

Mostly, she thought of Richard. She wondered how they would move forward from this family crisis.

Together—or alone?

She wasn't sure what she would say to Richard when he returned. Slowly, she began to worry why he hadn't returned. As the hours passed, her concerns grew. She had called Frank and asked him to go look for Richard, but hadn't heard anything back. Richard wasn't answering his phone, either.

With all the loss and tragedy her husband had to deal with within the last 24 hours, she began to fear the worst and called the police. An hour later a policeman was at her door.

“Hello, Officer. Thanks for coming.”

The policeman just nodded and said, “That's my job, Ma'am. What's the problem?”

“It's my husband. He has been missing the whole day. Yesterday, he was fired from his job, and today we received some terrible news about a family member. He is so unstable at the moment, and he's never been unstable before. What can I say? I'm worried that he might have done something—to himself.”

“Does he have a phone?”

“Yes, but it is switched off.”

“Does anyone else know where he might be?”

“No. The only place he would normally be—well, he can't go there anymore.”

“Where's that, Ma'am?”

“His office,” she said, her voice trailing off.

“Anywhere else? A friend's house, perhaps?”

“No, he doesn't really have any friends.”

“Any family members he might be with?”

“The only place I can think of that he may be is at his brother's house.”

“Can we call your brother?”

“No, unfortunately not. You see, his brother died today in surgery.”

The officer suddenly lost his iron exterior. His humanity pushing through his hardened police face. He looked at Jane with sad eyes and asked, “Ma'am, are you talking about Ted?”

Jane looked up, wide-eyed. “Yes, he's my brother-in-law. Do you know him?”

The officer nodded and said, “He was one of my best friends.”

After driving around most of the town, Frank pulled up to Ted's home. On the veranda was a lonely figure with a bottle of whisky in his hand. There he was, his father. Frank watched him pour a drink. Richard didn't notice him approaching.

“Dad, are you . . . drunk?” Frank asked, trying to make sense of this unexpected scene. He had never seen his father even hold a drink before, let alone drunk.

“Correction: I'm happy. Can't I be happy?” Richard replied, not looking at Frank. He stood up on wobbly legs. “Ted told us to celebrate his life, so here's to you, brother!” He held the shot glass overflowing with whisky in the air. “I'm happy. I’m ha—ppy!” He knocked down the shot of whisky, threw the glass over the veranda and plonked himself back down. Frank stared at him, confused, but mostly embarrassed and saddened for his father.

“Come on, don't look at me that way.” He patted the chair next to him, instructing his son with a nod to take a seat. “This is what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted your old man to loosen up, to enjoy life, to be ha—ppy!”

Frank looked over his shoulder. There were already a few houses with the lights on. “Can we sit inside? I'll have a drink with you in there.”

“No, no, this is where I'm staying. Right here, on Ted's veranda. Come on, take a seat.”

Frank did just that.

Richard continued to babble, “You know, I've never sat on this veranda before. Never. Can you believe that? Oh, Frankie,” he leaned over and hung his head in Frank's lap, looking up at him, “you must think I'm a real piece of crap. And you're right. I tell you, I am.”

Frank exhaled loudly and slowly. “Yeah, I know that. But this—” he picked up the half empty bottle of whisky, “this isn't the answer. We're all hurting today. We've all lost Ted. This is only going to make things worse.”

“How can things get worse?” Richard sat upright and began to laugh deliriously, and as he did, his laughter turned to tears, and he began to weep loudly, repeating, “How can things possibly get worse?”

“Trust me, in the morning, you'll understand how things can get worse. Have you ever had a hangover?”

“A hangover? Who, me? Mr. Holy? Mr. fucking Hole-ley!” he declared, followed by a wild laugh. “I've never even had a drink before. You know that, right? Not one. Even at weddings, when they gave out the champagne to toast with, I just pretended to drink it. Ha! What a schmuck.”

“Nothing wrong with not drinking,” Frank said.

“Yes, that's right. The problem is that I looked down on everyone who did drink. I made it a spiritual issue. How many times did Ted sit here with his friends and enjoy a few drinks, and, every time I heard about it, in my mind I pictured them all as the worst sinners. I saw myself as holier than thou—for what? Because I didn't touch alcohol. How pathetic! But Ted connected with people. He loved people. He invited people into his life, his heart. But regarding his love, I was blind to that. Don’t you see, Frankie, the shame of it all? How I looked at only this,” he pointed to the bottle of scotch, “but not at the love he shared. And what have I to show for my life? I've lost everything. I've lost my job, but to hell with that anyway. What I'm really tormented by is that I've lost my family. I've lost you, your mother, and now Ted.”

“Mom and I are still here. We're not going anywhere.”

“But who are you? Who is your mother? Oh, God, who am I? What you said yesterday, it's true. I'm not a man, not a father. I'm a coward and a liar. But the lies weren't so much directed at you—they were directed at myself. I've been lying to myself for so long. And now I have no choice but to face the truth. I have nothing. I've lost everything. My God,” he cried out in anguish, “I've lost my only brother!”

Richard shook his head with shame. Frank put his hand on his father's shoulder, saying, “We all lost Ted. We're all going to miss him.”

Richard looked up at his son and said, “But at least you had him. At least you had him before you lost him. Your hearts were connected. But what did I have? I had a brother I treated like an enemy. I have nothing but my own hard heart, and now, when I see the error of my ways, when all I want to do is sit with him and listen, he's gone.”

Richard grabbed the bottle of whisky. “What am I doing, crying? No, no—no more tears—Ted wants us to be happy!” He pushed at his son, “Go in and get another two glasses, would you?”

Frank stood up, exhaled again. Not sure what to do.

“Yeah, sure.”

He came back out with two small glasses. Richard poured them two large whisky shots, spilling half of what he poured onto the table.

Frank was still trying to find a way to get his father inside. “Hey, why don't we—”

“I'm happy, Frankie. I'm happy, just like Ted asked me to be.” Richard stood up and yelled, “Hap—py!”

“What are you talking about, Dad? What did Ted ask?”

Richard stood up and reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of crumpled paper. He tossed it to Frank. “His final wishes. He wrote it before the surgery.”

Frank un-scrunched it and began to read it out loud: If things don't go as planned and I don't wake up from this surgery, I ask that these three requests be met: 1) I want my funeral to take place on my veranda, where I've enjoyed so many great moments with my friends. 2) I want everyone to celebrate my life, not mourn my passing. Be happy. Remember me with joy, not sadness. 3) I want Richard, my beloved brother, to give my eulogy.

With you always,

Ted

Frank continued to look at the note in silence.

Richard pointed to the note, then said, “You see? You see why I want to sit here on his veranda, and why I'm trying to be happy?” Richard put his drink back on the table, and focused all his mental ability on the task of sitting back down. “The chair keeps on moving,” he mumbled.

Frank shook his head. It was a sad sight. “How much have you had to drink? Half this bottle?”

Richard leaned his head forward and closed his eyes, saying, “Why does this chair keep on moving?”

Frank rubbed his chin, and then pushed his hand through his hair. His father was punch drunk, and he knew there must be far too much alcohol in his stomach than he could cope with. He hesitated before finally standing back up. He pulled his father up, too.

“Come on. I want to show you something.”

“What?”

“Over here, by the edge of the house. Come on.”

Richard held onto Frank's shoulder as they stepped off the veranda and walked to the side of the house.

“You've drunk half a bottle of whisky, Dad.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his speech hardly understandable now, “and there's still the other half too—”

While he was babbling, Frank stuck two fingers deep into his father's throat, causing Richard to vomit. After he threw up, he fell backwards and sprawled out on the front lawn.

“What just happened?” Richard asked, blind drunk.

“Nothing. You just fell over. Come on, let's go inside.”

As Frank helped his father up, Richard squinted at Frank's arm, slowly realizing it was covered with vomit. “Frankie, did you throw up? Boy, that's pathetic.” Richard began to laugh.

“Yeah, I threw up. Trust me, if I didn't I'd feel ten times worse in the morning.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The elders were in the church office meeting with Henry and his wife. They were going over all the technicalities associated with making Henry the Senior Pastor and how to best make the transition. At the end of the meeting, just as they were about to wrap things up, one of the elders shared the news of Ted's passing. It was an awkward moment, and they all waited to see how Henry would handle it. He was, after all, the new boss.

“Well, Ted was the Senior Pastor of Faith First at one point, the Founding Pastor, even. I think it would be appropriate if we offered our condolences on behalf of the community of Faith First.”

“That's good, Henry. I thought the same and even brought with me a card we can sign on behalf of Faith First. Perhaps we can express our condolences now, and you can go and give it to his family?”

“I think, under the circumstances, that's not the best—”

“Of course we will,” Lori said. She hadn't spoken throughout the whole meeting. Indeed, if it weren't such a significant meeting, she would not have been invited at all. “As soon as your meeting here is over, we'll bring it to his family,” she said.

Henry turned to his wife with an annoyed look. He then tried to save face by turning to the elders, and saying, “She has the heart of an angel, doesn't she? Yes, of course I'll bring the card personally to the family.”

Henry, however, lied. The last place he wanted to be was with Ted's family. So after they got in their car and had bid farewell to the elders he drove not to Richard's home, but to Ted's.

“Where are we going?” Lori asked. “This is the wrong direction.”

“I'm going to drop the card directly at Ted's home. I think it's the better option.”

“He's dead, Henry!”

“They'll still check his mailbox.”

“Oh, you—you are—” but she did not finish her sentence. She turned and looked out the window, refusing to communicate anymore.

“It's for the best,” Henry repeated.

A few minutes later Henry drove slowly onto Ted's street. He turned to his wife.

“I'll just put this,” pointing to the condolence card, “in the mailbox.”

She continued to stare out the window without a word.

As he rolled up in front of Ted's house, he was shocked to see Richard's car in the driveway. A few seconds later he noticed two figures on the lawn. One was lying on the ground laughing, and the other was trying to help him get up.

“Don't you drive away,” his wife said coldly, her eyes burning with distain. “Don't you dare. You wanted to come here. Now get out and give them that card.”

Henry stopped the engine, gave his wife a dirty look, then stepped out. He stood on the lawn, staring. He took a few more steps closer to the two men on the lawn.

“Richard?” he asked. “Are you drunk?”

Richard began laughing again, “Oh, great. Here comes my betrayer in my moment of weakness—look, I'm on the ground. Don't be shy, lay your boots into me!”

“What are you doing here?” Henry asked.

“I'm being ha—ppy!” Richard replied.

Frank stood up and walked over to Henry. It was the first time he had seen Frank since his scandalous sermon earlier in the week.

“This isn't a good time,” Frank said.

“Oh, now it's time to be graceful, is it?” Henry asked. “Now that it concerns something you love? But what about me? What about my church, that I love? You didn't have much mercy last Sunday.”

“Listen, we can talk about this some other time. But my uncle just died this morning. This is not the time to discuss your grudges.”

Henry handed Frank the card. “I know he died. Here. Our condolences. On behalf of Faith First.”

Richard was now on his feet and stumbling over to them both.

“Hey, Senior Pastor Henry, you jack ass, want a drink?”

Henry shook his head in disgust.

“You're a disgrace, Richard. Look at yourself. Have you no shame?”

“Hey!” Frank yelled, grabbing Henry by the shirt, “His brother just died. Don't you dare start with your religious bullshit—not today, not now.”

“Get your hands off me,” Henry yelled. “Now!” But Frank kept hold of him.

“Or what? What are you going to do?”

“It is not what I will do, but God!”

At this Frank released his grip. Not out of fear, but pity. He pitied Henry, who was still hiding his hard heart and hatred behind his religious doctrines.

Henry straightened his clothes, then turned without a word, walking back to his car. Before he got in, he did turn back around. He felt compelled. He called out to Richard, “This car here,” pointing to Richard's Mercedes, “belongs to Faith First. If you don't have it returned within the week, I'll have you charged.”

“What'd he say?” Richard asked, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Did he say he wants the car?”

“Don't worry about it, Dad. Come on. Let's go inside.”

But Richard didn't budge. “No, no. Hold on, little man. Let me get the keys. You can have the car now.”

Richard stumbled back to the veranda, but instead of picking up some keys, he picked up Ted's baseball bat that lay under the chair.

Henry immediately jumped into his car for protection, thinking Richard was about to assault him. But Richard did not head towards Henry's car. He stumbled towards his own.

“This car. You say it belongs to Faith First? Well, here's how much I care!”

He swung the baseball bat at the windshield. But instead of it smashing as he imagined it would, the bat just bounced off and went flying out of Richard’s hand. Richard himself fell forwards, hitting the lawn. He laughed and didn't attempt to get up. “Why is my bed moving?” he mumbled as he passed out beside the back wheel of his car.

Henry jumped back out of his car, and began wagging his finger at Richard and said, “Look at him, he's drunk himself unconscious!” He stared at Frank, “Does he have no shame? Hasn't your family caused enough damage to Faith First? Wasn't it enough that you and your heretical preaching humiliated every member of our church last Sunday, and that your mother dared to hit the Lord's Anointed, but does Richard have to become a drunk who physically pulls Faith First down? For shame! Your family is a disgrace. Do you hear me? A disgrace. You are a family of sinners!”

At this Frank raced over to Henry again. This time he didn't grab him, he knocked him to the ground with a right hook. While Henry was still on the ground, Frank screamed at him, “Are you so stupid that you have nothing on your mind but your fucking church program? My family is grieving the loss of a family member, and you, you narcissistic monster, you don't even care! You give it lip service with a card—but look at you—your actions demonstrate what's really in your heart!”

Henry slowly pulled himself off the ground. Then he turned to Frank and bellowed an evil roar as he ran towards him, plowing into him and trying to wrestle him to the ground. As he did so, Henry began to pummel his fists into Frank's sides.

“How dare you! How dare you hit the Lord's Anointed!” Henry screamed. Frank finally managed to push Henry off to the side. They both stood six feet from each other, staring angrily at each other.

“Come on, then!” Henry screamed as he lunged at Frank again, throwing his fist at his chin, but Frank dodged it, grabbed his arm, and pushed Henry to the ground. Again Henry got up and lunged at him. This time Frank caught him with a left jab, then another.

Henry's wife stepped out of the car, and screamed, “Stop it!”

Frank turned to look at her, unaware she had been in the car at all, and saw her eyes were full of sadness. While he was gazing at her, Henry plowed his fist into Frank's face, sending him flying backwards. Frank lay on the ground, dazed by the punch. Henry used the moment to jump on top of him, straddling him. They wrestled, but Henry overpowered Frank. All the sounds around him zoned out.

Henry was now out of control, and all the suppressed hatred lurking within him sprung out of its cage at once. He roared at Frank again as he pinned him to the ground. Frank had his hands up to cover his face, and so Henry used the opportunity to plow his fists into Frank's sides instead. He threw one punch, then another, and another. Then, to Henry's great surprise, he felt someone yank him up violently, slam him into his own car, and handcuff him.

After the initial shock, Henry could just make out in his peripheral vision that there was a cop car parked nearby. Though he couldn't see the policeman, he suddenly realized how the whole scene must have looked, and he desperately tried to clarify the situation.

“Please, Officer, listen. I'm the victim!” Henry called out, practically crying. “I'm the victim. The victim. It was self-defense!”

“Shut up.” the officer replied. “You'll talk when I tell you. Got that?”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” Henry replied, “it's just—”

“Shut. Up.”

The policeman pushed Henry down onto the ground. He lay there on his stomach with his hands cuffed behind his back. The officer turned and asked, “You want to tell me what's going on here, Frankie?”

“What?” Henry cried out, “You, you know him?”

“Yeah, I know him. He's the nephew of my best friend, who passed away today.”

At this Henry went ghostly white, realizing his pastoral title was not going to hold any weight, and he may very well be charged.

I haven't been the Senior Pastor of Faith First for even 24 hours, and now this? I'm going to go to jail!

The thought dried his mouth and saturated his pants.

The officer walked up to Frank and put his arms around him. “I'm so sorry about Ted. I only found out a few hours ago myself. God, we're all going to miss him.”

He let go of Frank, then pointed to Jane, who was just getting out of the police car and walking over to the lawn. “Your mother's here. She's been worried for your father.” He looked to where Richard was lying on the ground, passed out. “Is that him?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he all right?”

“He's drunk. He'll be in a world of pain tomorrow, but he'll live.”

Pointing back to Henry, he asked, “You want to press charges against this guy?”

Frank turned and looked at Henry, who was pale with fear.

“No, we're all on edge today. Let him go.”

The officer nodded. He turned and un-cuffed Henry.

“All right, I think everyone here would like to go home and forget about this little incident, correct?”

“But, I was the victim!” Henry said. “I have done nothing wrong. Nothing. And I want to press charges against him!” pointing to Frank, then swinging and pointing to Jane, “And her!”

Thinking the power had swung back in his favor, he found his courage again. “And against this drunk on the ground, this disgrace, him, too! I want to press charges against all of them—the whole God-forsaken family! Officer, just look at him,” Henry cried out, walking over to Richard and pointing, “This man is a drunk! He is a disgrace!”

While Henry was ranting and pointing the finger at everyone, his wife stepped out of their car and screamed, “Stop it!” She walked over, and yelled right in Henry’s face, “When will it be enough with you? You want to point out the drunk here, then point your finger at me—come on, be the judge and point, because I am a drunk!”

“Lori, please, you're not a drunk—”

“I am and you know it!”

“A glass of wine does not make someone a—”

"A bottle, Henry! I drink a bottle a day, not a glass. Surely you know it—God, I leave enough bottles lying around for you to find. Don't you see them? Don't you hear my cries for attention from you? You want to condemn everyone here for the very things that happen in your own home, you hypocrite! You spend all your time judging others while you ignore the cracks in your own household. Haven't you noticed that I am drunk almost every day? I'm desperate for you to see me, but you see nothing. You want to point the finger at this family—well, start pointing it at your own! Most importantly, point it at yourself, for you are the disgrace. It's not these people. It's you.”

“Lori, enough. Why are you saying these lies? What has gotten into you? You are not a drunk. You are my wife.”

“Your trophy—your fashion accessory—that's what I am, but that truth doesn't fit in your religious fantasy. You ignore reality so you can continue in your delusion that God has made you his Anointed on earth. Meanwhile, I have turned to wine for comfort, because you offer me none. Did you hear that? To wine!”

“I—I didn't know any of this.”

“You don't want to know. And tomorrow you'll make yourself forget it once again so you can carry on in your religious delusions! Now, listen to me, if you don't leave this family alone,” she stamped her feet and screamed, “I mean it—alone!” she walked up to him and stuck her index finger right in his face, “I'll tell the entire church what is going on within your own home, and I don't give a damn about the consequences.”

Henry looked around at everyone. No one said a word. Everyone's heart was pounding loudly. He looked at his wife, his eyes wild and broken, and he did not know what to do. Silently, he walked to his car and got in. Turning on the engine, he waited for his wife. She turned and looked at the others, then at Jane, and said quietly, “I'm so sorry for your loss.” She bowed her own head and got into Henry's car. As soon as she did, the car took off like a bullet.

They all watched as the car sped away.

“All right people, someone want to explain just what the hell is going on here?” Officer Jackson said.

“Jack, the past few days have been a real shit fight for all of us,” Frank said. “We were already on the edge of a complete family breakdown yesterday, and with Ted's passing, it was too much—we snapped, each one of us. I'm sorry you got caught up in all this.”

“No, I'm glad I got involved when I did. And I'm glad it was me and not another officer.”

“Thank you,” Jane said. She turned to Frank, “Do you think you can stay here tonight with your father? I'm sure Officer Jackson will help you carry him into the lounge room. I'm going to take Richard's car and go home. I need to be alone. I need to sleep.”

“Yeah, sure, Mom. Are you going to be okay?”

She nodded, and walked up to the veranda, grabbed the keys from the coffee table and made her way back to the car. “None of us has time to not be all right. We've got a funeral to arrange.” She gave him a kiss on the forehead. “Call me in the morning.”

Frank watched his mother get in the car and drive off.

“You know, Frankie,” Jackson said as they watched the car disappear down the street, “Ted hinted that your family had issues, but I got to say, I wasn't expecting this.”

Frank just shrugged his shoulders, as if to say: tell me about it.

They picked up Richard and began to carry him inside and dropped him on the sofa. Frank covered him with a blanket and put a bucket next to him.

“Yeah, issues. That's an understatement,” Frank said. He turned back and shook Jackson's hand. “Thanks for being here. I don't know what would have happened if, like you said, it would've been a different cop that showed up.”

Jackson smirked and shook his head, “You'd all be sitting in the County Jail right now, that's what.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

The next morning Frank managed to get his father off the couch and ordered him into the shower. Afterwards, they sat together at the dining table. Frank was eating eggs on toast. Richard only wanted coffee.

“Oh God,” he said, holding his forehead, “now I know alcohol really is wicked. I'm in hell.”

“Lucky you threw up before you passed out,” Frank said, smiling behind his cup of coffee. “Trust me, it would have been much worse if you hadn't.”

“I threw up? I don't remember.”

“What's the last thing you do remember?”

“Well, not much. I remember you arriving, and having another drink with you, then playing a game of baseball, or something like that, then I walked inside and fell asleep on the couch.”

“You walked inside? Ha!”

Richard looked up at Frank, and noticed his son had a black eye. “I didn't do that to you, did I?”

“No, that was Henry's sucker punch.”

“Henry?” But before Richard could finish his thought, he put his hand over his mouth, stood up and ran to the toilet.

“Oh my God,” he cried out. “My head. I'm in hell.”

When he finally came back to the kitchen, Frank handed him two aspirins and a glass of water.

“Go lie down for another few hours. Audrey is coming over at lunch. We've got to get the preparations ready for the funeral. Sorry, Dad, but none of us have time for a hangover today.”

Richard returned to the couch and fell back into a tortured sleep, his head pounding.

He woke a second time a few hours later. This time, thankfully, he was feeling better. He still had one heck of a headache, but at least he no longer felt like his whole body was poisoned.

He got up and walked into the kitchen, slowly. Frank and Audrey were both seated there.

“Well, well, the raging drunk has risen,” Frank said, raising his eyebrows at his father, who looked a mess.

Audrey also smiled, then said, “I heard you had quite a night here. I was at my sister's, but I heard all about it from the neighbors this morning.”

Richard cringed. He tried to push his hair down, but it remained defiantly sticking straight up into the air. “I must look a mess.”

“Don't be embarrassed,” she said. “I've seen Ted look just as bad more than once. You boys don't know when enough's enough.”

“Not just with alcohol,” Richard replied as he took a seat. “We're religious fanatics, too.”

“Well,” Audrey said, “Not Ted. He was, I know, but he didn't die a religious fanatic. He died a lover of life.”

“I know,” Richard replied. He took a sip of the coffee that Frank had just poured for him. “That's what makes this so hard. Just when I'm willing to learn from him how to live again, he's gone.”

After a few more moments of awkward reminiscing, the three of them began to go over the technicalities of the funeral according to Ted's final wishes. Frank would make the arrangements for the cremation of Ted's body, Audrey was going to take care of the catering, and Richard would call and invite the list of Ted's friends to the funeral.

Audrey and Frank left to get started on their tasks while Richard remained in the house and began to make phone calls.

After two hours, he decided he would finish his calls in the morning and turned in for an early night, collapsing on the couch once more.

The next evening Richard knocked on Audrey's door. Sober, but still hurting a little.

“Hi,” he said.

“Oh, hi,” she replied. “I thought you would have returned home by now.”

“No, my wife needs some space, and I think I do, too, so I'm going to stay at Ted's 'till the funeral. And, since I'm here, I was wondering if you'd like to join me for a drink on his veranda?”

“Whisky?” she asked.

Richard's face went red. “I was thinking tea.”

“Sure, that's what I usually have anyway.”

They made their way across the lawn and onto the veranda. After a few minutes of small talk, Richard said, “I'm not so good at conversation. I'm sorry. It's just, all I've talked about for most of my life is theology. But I take it you're not that interested in theology, huh?”

She laughed. “You're right.”

“Do you think I'm a fool?” Richard asked.

“No,” she replied. “I think you're hurting. But I am, too. I've never had a friend quite like Ted. He was so light to be around.”

“Did he share his faith with you?”

This made Audrey laugh. “Yes, sneaky man that he was. He did it all the time, and I didn't even realize it.”

Richard looked at her, confused.

“He didn't use words,” she clarified. “He used love. You see, he never placed any expectations on me. He never tried to convince me of certain information. But he connected with me. He reached out with genuine friendship. He dared to let me into his heart. He let me touch his heart, and in doing so, he touched mine. Yesterday, for the first time, he told me who God is, and I realized I'm a believer.”

“Really,” Richard said, fascinated. “What did he say?”

“He said God is love. Love—that was what he told me.” She turned and squirmed. “Of course I know he believed in Jesus. He never hid that belief from me, but he never tried to force it on me either. I tried to get him to lay it on me last night. Really, I did. I gave him open permission to give me the God talk, expecting to get the full Jesus treatment—but he didn't rattle on about holy books and ancient stories like I thought he would—instead, he talked about love. He talked about God not as a theory, but as the essence of his life. As love. That touched something deep within me, it really did. Don't get me wrong, I still don't believe in Jesus or the Bible, but I realize I believe in God more than I thought. I see a glimpse of him now when I think of the everyday love I share with others, and I think that's enough for me, at least for the time being.”

She turned and looked back at Richard, who was sitting in silence.

“Of course, I know you don't think that way,” she continued. “I'm still a lost soul, right? I've got to believe in Jesus, got to jump through the hoops—I've got to say I believe in all the information you tell me, right, Pastor?”

“I'm not a pastor,” Richard replied. “I'm a very broken man. Don't think too highly of me. Trust me, I'm only just hanging onto my sanity by a thin rope at the moment.”

“You're a good man,” Audrey said. “Ted always said that about you. Misdirected, a little mad with the intoxication of religion, but he always said you had a good heart, and were a good man. I believe it, too. Sitting here, right now, I see it.”

She smiled at him. He smiled back. His eyes began to well up.

Richard shook his head, then smiled again, and said, “Audrey, you’re probably not going to believe this, but you've just explained God better than I ever have. Sure, I've got a head full of information, but you seem to have caught a deeper reality of God within your heart. I've always treated Jesus like a medical prescription I could hand out to people. But what have I even known about love? Practical love, like what you got to share with Ted? With what Ted gave away to everyone who crossed his path? I don't know. I've failed in life. I've lost everything. I don't know what to do, and to be honest, I'm scared to death about it.”

Audrey took a sip of her tea.

“Well, you screwed up, you can't change that. And for a lot of what you've done in the past, you can't even make up for it. But don't let it destroy you. Don't waste the gift of life you still have. Ted's gone. We can't get him back. But you're still here, aren't you?”

Richard nodded. “Yeah, I'm still here.”

“Then don't waste another day sitting in the ashes of your shame. That's what Ted would tell you. I know, because not too many years ago I was the mess sitting right where you are now, feeling like my life was worthless, and my past nothing but rubbish. When my ex-husband ran off with another woman and left me with a mouthful of hateful words, I wanted to die. I really did. I wanted to wallow in my sadness and shame. But Ted saw through it. He saw the beauty in me I couldn't see in myself. He saw my good heart when I thought I had no heart at all. And he showed me how to start living again. What he said to me, I think he'd say the exact same to you: Don't waste another day sitting in shame. Be brave. Stand up. Forgive yourself. Give yourself permission to start again, and get busy living a life of love.

Richard began to weep loudly. He tried to stop, but Audrey didn't let him. “No,” she said, “let those tears out. Let all of them out, every drop. I'll sit here all night with you if that's what it takes.”

And so Richard did continue to weep; his moans were loud and full of pain, full of shame. Now and then he would cry out how sorry he was, but for most of the time he just wept. He let a river of shame run itself dry. During this whole time, Audrey sat silently by his side, her hand softly on his back comforting him.

Eventually the tears did run dry. Yet more than the tears had been emptied out of him. The shame monster, with all its banging on his soul, was no longer there.

“Thank you,” Richard said. Wiping the tears from his face, he turned to Audrey and said again, “Thank you so much.”

“How do you feel?”

“Broken—but better,” he said. He turned to her and smiled, nodding slowly, and continued, “It's hard to forgive myself. It's hard to be brave. But we have this funeral tomorrow, and I want to send my brother off just as he asked. I want to celebrate his life, and I want to be happy. I want to start living a life Ted would be proud of. To do that, I know I've got to start by forgiving myself. I've got to stand up and leave my shame behind me.”

They fell into silence, and for the next ten minutes watched the sun set. When it finally fell behind the horizon, Richard broke the silence by saying, “You know what—I think I'll have some whisky after all.”

Audrey laughed loudly and slapped Richard on his arm. “Oh, you're just like your brother!”

Three days had passed since Ted's death. The family had been busy with preparations since then. Ted didn't want a funeral, not a traditional one anyway, so they had been working together with Audrey to arrange for one final party. Jane had also helped with the preparations. Richard had spoken with her each day over the phone, but they had not seen each other since his little whisky debacle.

Ted didn't want to be buried. Instead, he had asked to be cremated. His ashes stood in an urn on the veranda, and would later be scattered over the ocean, in accordance with his request. As Ted's friends began to arrive, they greeted one another. The place was filled with a great sense of loss—a heavy sadness at the departure of a friend who was truly one of a kind.

Inside, Audrey was busy speaking with the caterers. They had just arrived and were setting up the buffet. She had helped Richard with all the arrangements. In fact, she had taken care of most of them.

Richard had spent most of his time in conversation with Ted's friends, calling each of them to inform them of his passing. With each call, he was met with deep emotions. Many of the people he spoke with, when asked if they could share with him how they met Ted, recounted beautiful stories of their friendship. It was a way of bringing comfort to them in the face of losing their friend, and hearing their stories brought a great deal of healing to Richard's heart, as well. He learned more about his brother during those conversations than he would have ever imagined. He wondered after each call why Ted hadn't asked one of his friends to give the eulogy, why had he asked Richard to deliver it. It was a question he had pondered for days, and it was only as he stood on the veranda that fine afternoon that he finally understood why.

Audrey came out of the house and gave Richard a nod, the signal that all the preparations were finished inside and that all the guests had now arrived.

Richard asked everyone to gather around the veranda. He indicated he had a few words he'd like to share about his brother.

“Here we are,” he began, “on a familiar spot for most of you: Ted's veranda. A place where many of you enjoyed spending time with Ted: my brother, your friend, and a man that we shall all miss terribly. A good man, the very best of men.”

Richard looked over at Audrey and gave her a nod.

“I'd like to thank Audrey for all her help in preparing for this day.”

The group acknowledged her with thankful gestures.

“I've got a few instructions here that Ted left. He wrote them down just before he went in for his surgery: his final wishes about today.”

Richard pulled out the small piece of paper that Ted had left him.

“The first instruction was he wanted his funeral to take place here, on his veranda. The second was he wanted people to celebrate his life, not mourn his passing. And lastly, he wanted his little brother,” he looked up and smiled, “that's me, to give the eulogy.”

Richard put the piece of paper back in his suit pocket.

“I want to share why I think he requested for these three specific things. First, why are we here on his veranda? After talking with many of you earlier, it seems clear to me why this is the gathering spot. Because it is here that all of you have spent time with Ted, enjoying one another's friendship and company.”

He looked around at the group of forty-odd people, and he saw in each of their eyes how much they loved Ted and how much he had loved them. The eyes always gave the most honest of answers, and every set there was shining. Even through their tears of sadness, they glimmered with love.

“This veranda, this very place, has been associated with great joy for so many. It was here that Ted lived a big part of his life, because life for Ted revolved around the love he shared with others.”

The group nodded. That was Ted.

“Secondly, he wants us all to celebrate his life, not mourn his passing. Why did he want that? I've thought about it for three days, and I've concluded it's because you all have a reason to celebrate—a personal reason, not just a corporate one. Ted shared his life with all of you. I think everyone here got to know Ted within the past ten years. I know that, because his whole life changed ten years ago. He went from being a man hardly anybody would have known personally when he died, to being the man he is today, a man you will personally miss as a friend. I never understood his change in life and perspective. I was angry at him all these years, thinking he had walked away from God's will. But what I've come to realize is that he didn't walk away from God's will. Instead, he made the difficult choices that were needed so that he could actually turn in the direction of God's will.

“He broke away from his religious passions that were solely focused on building a program for God, and chose instead to walk the path where he prioritized building friendships—and this, I've come to believe, is the greatest work of God we can partake in. Friendship—the sharing of our hearts with others—is a divine act. It's what brings heaven to earth. It's the vehicle through which our faith in God can truly shine. I didn't understand that, and all these years Ted tried to explain it to me, but I simply pushed him away. It is only now that I've had a chance to reflect on his life, that all these conversations have come back to me with great clarity. Ted chose to live out his faith in a way that blessed everyone he became friends with.”

Richard cleared his throat, and continued, “So, here we are together in this place. And I see that the lives he connected with are truly blessed, and that all of you have a reason to celebrate his life. I'm sure you'll continue to do so in the years to come, too, every time you remember the love you shared together.

“This brings me to his last request. That I should give this little eulogy. Why? I'm the last person here who should be sharing. I say that honestly. I believe you all know Ted better than I do. Even if I've been his brother his whole life, each and every one of you have been his friend. So why did he want me to share today? I've been trying to answer that question for three days, and this is what I've concluded. Ted loved me, the last person he should have loved. And therefore I'm convinced he loved everyone in his life. I pushed him away for years. I even cut off all communication between him and my family—although,” he nodded at Frank, “my son, the little rebel he is, still found a way to enjoy spending time with him on this very veranda.”

The crowd smiled, and so did Richard. “And thank God he did. I wish I had spent more time here, as well. But I didn't. I was too busy, too angry, and too proud. Worst of all, I allowed my heart to grow cold towards my brother. But he always kept his heart warm towards me, and just one day before his surgery we made our peace with each another. But it was more than that, for Ted's love is also the reason my family—me, my wife, and my son—are still together. It was my zeal for my religious obsessions that brought my family to the brink of destruction, but it was Ted's heart of love that pulled us all back together. I'm still broken. My marriage is still broken. My relationship with my son is still broken, but broken is better than destroyed. Broken can be fixed. Broken is not a bad thing if you can recognize it and change direction in time, to walk together along the path of healing.

"I wish Ted were still here now that I'm ready to listen to him, to really learn from him, but he's gone. But before he left, he deposited something in me, and it’s something I'm sure I'll never forget. I believe it's the same thing he's deposited in all of you, too. He deposited his love, his genuine love for me. That's what I still feel in my heart. I think all of you here do, too. If you were asked to give this eulogy, you'd do it proudly, knowing all the things you had to say about your beloved friend. But he asked me to share, and I have come to believe it's precisely because I don't deserve the honor. I failed him for so long as a brother and a friend, but he kept me in his heart all along. And it was his love that reunited us.”

Richard began to gently weep along with everyone else there. He looked around at the group, and in each of their eyes he saw the love they had for Ted, he saw the friendship they would miss. He saw Ted in the reflection of their eyes, a man who had truly lived, for he had made genuine relationships the center of his life.

“Now, Ted asked that we celebrate, not mourn, so let's get these tears over with and get busy with his final wish. Let's celebrate the life of a man we love, the life of a man who loved us all. There's plenty of food inside, and the drinks are at the end of the veranda. But before we get this party under way, I'd like to share one final thought. It's something Ted said to me the night before his surgery, and they are words that will forever live on in my heart.”

He looked around at the crowd once more with a smile. His gaze finally fell onto his wife, who was standing at the back of the group, and said: “If we waited for people to deserve our love, we'd never love a soul. Better to follow God's way of love, better to love even when people don't deserve it, because it's love that heals the hearts around us. It's love that brings people back to God. It's love that brought us all back together again, as family.”

Epilogue

After ushering everyone inside for some food, Richard walked back outside. His son stood off in the distance, smoking. He made his way towards him.

“Nice speech,” Frank said. “If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were speaking from your heart.”

“Yeah, about that,” Richard said. “I was wondering if you'd be interested in spending some time with this broken fool and helping me find my good heart once again? I've got two tickets to the next Sonics game, court side seats, if you're interested?”

Frank took another puff of his cigarette. “Yeah, sounds cool.”

Looking over his shoulder, Richard spotted his wife standing at the end of the veranda on her own. He turned back to his son.

“You think I could have one of those?” he said, pointing to the cigarette in his hand. Frank put the cigarette in his mouth, took the pack from his back pocket and flipped it open. Richard reached in, took a cigarette, and placed it behind his ear.

“You going to smoke that?” Frank asked.

“Nah, just want to make myself look 20 years younger.” He took off his suit jacket and handed it to Frank. “Gimme that leather jacket you're wearing.”

Frank handed it over and Richard put it on. It was too small for him. He couldn't even zip it up. Frank laughed. Richard looked ridiculous, but that was the point.

He flicked the collar up, and pointed back to the house. “Do you see that good-looking woman there?”

“What? You mean Mom?”

“Yeah. You think she'd go out on a date with a guy like me?”

Frank laughed, replying, “I doubt it.”

“Ye of little faith,” his father replied. Giving him a wink, he turned and walked towards Jane. She looked at him with a confused intrigue.

“Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice you standing here on your own, and thought I'd introduce myself. I'm Richie.”

She smiled, playing along. “I'm Jane.”

“That's a lovely name. Say, this might sound crazy, but I was wondering if you'd like to go get a bite to eat together. We could get to know each other a little. What do you think?”

“Sure, that would be nice.”

Richard leaned in and said softly, “I've got to warn you though: I've got issues.”

She shrugged her shoulders and replied, “Who doesn’t?” Glancing up at the cigarette behind his ear, she asked, “Do you smoke?”

“Does it bother you if I do?” he asked with a juvenile smirk on his face.

She reached into her purse, pulled out a cigarette from her own pack and lit it. Blowing the smoke to the side, she turned back and replied, “Why should that bother me?”

Richard stared, momentarily shocked, before shaking his head with a laugh of disbelief and amusement.

She smiled, followed by another puff. “No more secrets. Let's get to know each other this time around without the secrets.”

“No more secrets?” he repeated as he gazed out at the horizon. “God, I like that idea.”

SNAP, the series

The novel you just read, SNAP, is the first book in a four part book series, I hope you enjoyed it. The final three books in the series will each be narrated by a different main character of SNAP. The second book is called: An Outsiders Guide to the Gospel, narrated by Frank. The third book is called: Losing the Christian Economy (Confessions of an Ex-Superpastor), narrated by Richard. The fourth and final book in the series is called: This is Heaven (A Message Written from Inside the Next Life) narrated by Ted. You can sign up to my mailing list and I’ll drop you a line when each of them is released. Plus, as a special thank you for subscribing, you’ll also receive the audio book version of my previous book: God’s Grace Apart from Law. To receive this free audio book—and keep in the loop for new releases in the SNAP series—you can subscribe to my mailing list here.

If you’d like to share your thoughts on SNAP, it would be great if you could write a review on amazon. Everyone loves reading reviews, and it is a great way to help support my work as an author. Thanks.

Blue skies,

Mick Mooney

Other Books available by Mick Mooney

God’s Grammar: a novel

The Gospel Cannot be Chained

God’s Grace Apart from Law

Look! The Finished Work of Jesus