Godless (27 page)

A swell of affirmation followed. Alex knew it would result in a quick exit for all, and the signatures of none.

Fifteen minutes later Alex drove back to the office trying to sort through conflicting feelings. He blamed himself for failing to make a compelling case. Why else would so few join a cause clearly in the right?

Or had the entire effort been a mistake? Who was he, after all, to question the philosophy of a man who had built one of the largest, most influential churches in the state? What had Alex done besides barely keeping Christ Community from shrinking into irrelevance? Maybe the more seasoned leader had a point. Perhaps Alex should focus more on sharing the good news of the gospel than on condemning evil.

The conversation with the young woman in his office came to mind. It had felt so good inviting a lonely soul to accept God's welcoming grace. Calling national leaders to repentance, on the other hand, had done nothing but put a knot in his gut and, he feared, a label on his chest: Pastor Alex Ware had become “too political.”

Kevin eased
himself out of bed before the alarm could sound. He tapped the
MUTE
icon to protect Angie from disturbance. It had been a rough night for both of them thanks to Joy's two o'clock calamity. Kevin had stripped their daughter's wet sheets from the bed while Angie soothed her mini-trauma. Joy's accident had been Daddy's fault, they agreed. Deep in thought preparing for his upcoming convention speech, Kevin had forgotten to tell Joy to use the toilet before climbing into bed.

He checked the time while tiptoeing around the mattress. As expected, he found Joy lying beside the bed. She had spent much of the night nestled between Kevin and Angie, preventing either from getting any rest. At about five in the morning he had tossed a pillow onto the carpet and moved Joy gently to the floor, where she continued sleeping now. With any luck he could keep the household quiet while Angie and Joy caught a few more winks.

Moving to the kitchen, Kevin poured himself a cup of morning verve before positioning himself in front of the computer. He reopened a document that he had finally abandoned around midnight. Then he frowned at the words on the screen. In one week Kevin would deliver the most important talk of his life. This, he knew, was not it.

He reviewed the key points.

He had intentionally omitted an overt endorsement of the prospective nominee. Kevin still didn't trust Senator Franklin. So he limited his comments to motivating delegates to consider the positive impact of bright spot communities.

But something is missing
, Kevin thought.

He took another sip of coffee while staring at the screen. Then he tapped an image of Troy Simmons, his most trusted advisor. After one ring Kevin remembered the time zone difference. It would be four o'clock in the morning in Colorado. He hit
CANCEL
.

Kevin sighed at his inability to focus. He had crafted hundreds of speeches before. Why, all of a sudden, such a struggle? Was it because this would be his first in front of a nationally televised audience? Or was it that he, and he alone, could give voice to ideas that ran diametrically opposite to his party's current trajectory? What's more, opposite to Franklin's own agenda?

Kevin felt the familiar tingle of his wife's fingers sliding around his chest from behind. “Morning, babe,” she yawned into his ear before planting a peck on his whiskered cheek.

He spun in the chair to invite Angie onto his lap. She accepted.

“Joy?” he asked.

“Still asleep.”

“Good. Sorry about last night. I've been a bit distracted.”

“Of course you're distracted,” said Angie. “This is only the biggest speech of your life.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

She offered an affirming squeeze. “I'm not worried a bit. You'll be wonderful.”

He suddenly believed it. If…

“Would you take a look?”

“At what?” she asked.

“My speech.”

“You already read it to me, silly. I said it was very good. Don't you remember?”

“I know, but you lied.”

She slapped his chest playfully. “I didn't lie!”

He laughed. “Well, maybe you didn't lie. But you didn't tell the whole truth.”

She said nothing.

“Fess up,” he said, positioning his hand over the ticklish spot on Angie's thigh. Her brow threatened retaliation for any attempt. “Now,” he said, “are you going to help me make this speech better or do I need to squeeze?”

She waited. Kevin's tickles usually ended up prompting a different sort of play. A mischievous smile and a wink told him she might welcome the attack.

“Joy is still sleeping in our bedroom,” he reminded her.

“Oh, yeah,” Angie said while gently pushing his hand away from her leg. “In that case, show me what you've got.”

They both turned toward the screen.

“It's all there,” she said after reading the entire document. “But I see what you mean. It's positive, forward-looking, and clear, yet seems to be missing your usual charm.”

“My charm?” he said in surprise.

She kissed him briefly on the lips. “Yes, Kevin Tolbert, your charm.”

How, he wondered, was he supposed to add charm to a nationally televised speech?

A sound came from the computer. Kevin tapped the screen.

“Well, well,” said an obviously groggy Troy Simmons. “It looks like you two are having a good morning!”

“Hi, Troy,” said Angie while leaping up from Kevin's lap to move toward the pantry. “How are Julia and Amanda?”

“Sound asleep,” he said. “So was I.” He looked at Kevin. “Did you call me on purpose? I heard a ping and saw your icon.”

“Sorry about that,” said Kevin. “I ended the call when I remembered the time difference. Go back to bed. It can wait.”

“I'm up now,” he said while wiping sleep from his eyes. “What'd you need?”

Kevin explained his dilemma before sending a copy of the draft to Troy. Then he waited.

“I see what you mean,” Troy finally said.

“Angie says I lack charm.”

Angie huffed while placing a bowl of cereal on the table. “I didn't say
you
lacked charm! I said the speech needs your charm.”

“She's right,” said Troy. “As it is, the content comes across fine. But it needs to connect skeptical listeners to the beauty it implies.”

“I guess I was kind of hoping that message would come from your pastor's letter. I figured it was my job to make the economic case for bright spots and let the ministers give my proposal a human face.”

Troy said nothing. Kevin tried to read the look in his friend's eyes. Disagreement? No. More like disappointment.

“What's wrong?”

“About the clergy letter,” he began. “The process hasn't gone as well as we had hoped.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning Alex has only managed to recruit a handful of signers.”

“How many?”

“Not enough.”

“How many, Troy?”

“Nine.”

“Nine? That's it?”

“Afraid so.”

“I thought you said Pastor Ware was the man for the job.”

“I did. And he is. I couldn't have asked anyone to try harder. He contacted practically every minister in the state, including a very influential alliance of pastors from the largest congregations in Denver. None of them signed on.”

“None?”

“Not one. In fact, Alex says he's been catching heat from several of them.”

“For what?”

Troy appeared embarrassed to say. “They've accused Alex of hurting the cause of the gospel by stirring up controversy.”

“You're kidding me!”

“I wish I were,” said Troy.

“Did he explain that millions of people are being pressured to die in the name of heroic self-sacrifice?”

“They know.”

“Doesn't it make them angry?”

“Not angry enough, it seems.”

“And he showed them the letter?”

“Of course he showed them the letter.”

“Then how can they call it divisive? You couldn't write a more affirming, non-controversial statement about human dignity.”

“Most of them agreed with the content of the letter,” Troy explained. “They just didn't want to sign it.”

“Why?” asked Angie over Kevin's shoulder.

“They don't want to become political,” said Troy.

“Political?” Angie said. “How is defending human dignity political?”

“I'm still trying to figure that out myself. Apparently they don't understand the difference between the public square and partisan politics.”

“But they're pastors!” shouted Kevin. “They
should
know the difference.”

“Shhh,” warned Angie. “You'll wake the kids.”

Kevin willed himself calm while attempting to make sense of what he had just heard. Why would anyone consider such a simple action out of bounds, especially those called to teach the truth? Why would men and women who spoke for God silence themselves on such a foundational subject as human dignity?

The three said nothing as Kevin absorbed a disheartening realization. “It's no wonder we live in a godless world,” he finally said.

For the past several years Kevin had sacrificed his family's financial stability in order to run for public office. He had endured false accusations that had nearly destroyed his marriage and reputation, and had put it all on the line in order to make a difference in the public square. Despite everything, however, he had taken strength from the knowledge that other believers, and especially ministers, stood shoulder to shoulder with him in the effort to defend God's image on earth.

But the truth, it appeared, was that Kevin's tiny band of comrades stood exposed in the cross hairs of enemy fire. And reinforcements were nowhere in sight.

“Now?” Alex
said to Mrs. Mayhew's image on a flat screen on the wall. “But I just walked in the door. We're sitting down for dinner.”

His assistant offered a sympathetically tortured frown. “I know. I'm so sorry. I told Mr. Crawford it wasn't a good time to meet since you had several hospital visits late this afternoon. How is Mrs. Bingham feeling, by the way? The poor dear.”

“The doctor said she'll be fine once they zap the kidney stone,” Alex said impatiently. “So Phil is waiting for me at the church right now?”

“Oh, not just Mr. Crawford. Most of the board.”

“What? He called a board meeting without my knowledge?”

“They started at six o'clock.”

Alex glanced at the time. In session for over an hour. Not good. “Why didn't you call me earlier?”

“Mr. Crawford said to wait because they had a sensitive matter to discuss before you arrived.”

Alex looked at Tamara. Her eyes asked what it could mean.

Alex shrugged dismissively. No point in upsetting her with paranoid speculation. “OK, Mrs. Mayhew,” he said nonchalantly, “I'm on my way.”

He decided to finish his meal before rushing out the door.

After forcing Chris to finish his green beans and skimming “the icky stuff ” from the bottom of Ginger's meatloaf, Tamara leaned close. “What are they meeting about?” she asked.

“Not sure,” he said. “Probably the budget.”

“Why would they call an unscheduled, last-minute meeting about ‘sensitive matters' just to discuss the budget?”

He flashed an awkward grin. “They want to give me a raise?”

By the time Alex arrived, whatever conversation had prompted the meeting had run its course. And, judging from the uncomfortable stiffness in the room, had led to unpleasant conclusions.

As usual, Phil Crawford was seated at the head of the conference table. He looked impatient, as if the fifteen minutes Alex had spent eating had inconvenienced some perfectly sequenced timeline. Kenny James sat to Phil's right, his eyes fixed to a tablet screen. Like everyone else in the room he seemed to intentionally avoid eye contact. Clearly this was not about bumping up the pastor's salary.

“Sorry I'm late,” Alex began. “Mrs. Mayhew just called me thirty minutes ago. I didn't realize we would be meeting this evening.”

“Please, Alex, have a seat,” said Phil.

Brandon Baxter was missing from the room.
Unavailable or never invited
? he wondered.

“We've spent the past ninety minutes discussing our dilemma,” Phil began while Alex settled into a chair.

“What dilemma is that?”

Phil glanced at Kenny, who accepted the hand-off with a hesitant nod.

“‘Pastor Ware,'” Kenny began reading, “‘we wish to bring to your attention several recent incidents that require resolution if we hope to restore stability and unity to this congregation.'”

Alex looked at Phil. “A letter? Really? You're going to read me a letter? Please, just tell me what's going on.”

“I'll tell you what's going on,” Phil said eagerly. Apparently the letter had been someone else's idea. “You've put us in quite a fix.”

Mary Sanchez, seated to Phil's left, placed a hand on the chairman's arm as if to offer a gentle reminder of an agreed-upon approach.

Phil sucked in air before pursing his lips. Then he waved his hand in surrender to the will of the board. That's when Kenny continued reading.

“‘Two specific concerns have been brought to the board's attention, both related to what could be described as a lack of wisdom in handling matters that affect the financial health of Christ Community Church.'”

Financial health? Had someone accused him of squandering church resources, or perhaps embezzling funds?

“I don't understand,” said Alex. “Every expenditure is cosigned by—”

“This isn't about the budget,” Phil interrupted. “It's about meddling in politics.”

“Please, Phil,” said Stephen Wilding, “let's not jump ahead of—”

“The man can read the official letter after the meeting,” Phil barked. “I don't want to waste any more time beating around the bush.” He looked directly at Alex. “The bottom line is that you've placed this church at serious risk.”

“And how, specifically, have I done that?” asked Alex.

“First, by condemning family members of those in the congregation who made the difficult choice to volunteer. Some of them, I might add, who have been very generous to this church.”

“But I've never condemned anyone,” Alex said. “I haven't mentioned transitions in a single worship service.”

“Come on, Alex!” Phil said. “You know what I'm talking about.”

“No, I don't.”

The chairman snatched the tablet out of Kenny James's hand and began scrolling. “Here it is,” he said after scanning a document. “Christ Community Church has been named in a lawsuit filed by a Mr. Frederick Baxter Jr., son of longtime member Ellie Baxter.”

“Wait. Freddy Baxter is suing the church?”

“Filed two days ago,” said Kenny.

“For what?”

Phil continued reading. Apparently Freddy Baxter had been anticipating a large transition inheritance after the death of his mother. She had been denied approval for a surgery necessary to remove her tumor. The son had expected Mom to transition rather than suffer.

Alex recalled the meeting with Mrs. Baxter. “I sense that the Lord wants me to tell you to stay the course,” she had said while encouraging him to oppose the Youth Initiative. Despite her courage, however, Ellie Baxter had also seemed sad. No, hurt. Her son clearly desired his mother's wealth more than her presence.

The lawsuit, Phil went on to explain, claimed that the leadership of Christ Community Church had intervened in a family matter by convincing Mrs. Baxter that volunteering would be a sin against God.

“That's not true,” Alex objected. “If anything, Ellie Baxter convinced
me
. In fact, she's the one who suggested I take a stand against the Youth Initiative.”

“I'm glad you brought that up,” said Phil. “It raises the other purpose of this meeting.”

Alex braced himself for more.

“As I feared, your letter to elected officials has come back to bite us.”

“But it hasn't been sent yet,” Alex explained. “It's not scheduled for release until next week.”

“Word gets around. And in this case, word reached Freddy Baxter's lawyer. He has a copy of the draft with your signature on it. He says it's all the proof needed to substantiate Freddy's claim that the leadership of Christ Community has a vendetta against the transition industry and, therefore, heaped guilt on a vulnerable old woman.”

“That's nonsense.”

“Which part?” asked Phil.

“Ellie Baxter is no vulnerable old lady. She has spunk, and more courage than anyone in this room, myself included.”

“That may be,” answered Phil, “but it doesn't change the fact that we have a serious problem on our hands.”

A prolonged silence.

“So, what do you want me to do?” Alex finally asked. “Should I meet with Freddy Baxter?”

“Absolutely not!” said Phil. “The last thing we need is for you to mess this up more than you already have.”

“But I—”

Phil raised his hand to halt the pastor's objection. “We don't want to hear it, Alex. The board has already decided that I should handle this directly. I deal with tough negotiations every day in my profession. I don't have the time for this mess, but I'll make it a priority in order to avoid escalating tensions.”

Alex scanned the room. Every eye was staring at the floor. “I see,” he said. “If that's what the board has decided.”

“It has,” snapped Phil.

“But, if I may make one suggestion.” All eyes moved back toward Alex. “I think you should speak to Mrs. Baxter before you respond to her son's claim.”

“That's a good idea,” braved an otherwise docile Lydia Donovitz. But she pulled back into her shell when Phil frowned at the comment.

“It's too late for that. I'm set to meet the lawyer over lunch tomorrow. Our goal tonight,” he said toward Alex, “was to inform you of the situation and ask you to cease and desist this political nonsense until after I've settled the case.”

Alex swallowed hard. “I understand. I'll lift you in prayer.”

Phil appeared to squirm at the sentiment. “Uh, thanks. I could use it,” he said. “For now, however, I need to ask you to leave while the board handles one other item of business.”

“Of course,” said Alex. He rose from the conference table and turned toward the door.

“Thank you, Pastor,” he heard from behind. He looked back toward the voice of Mary Sanchez.

“For what?” he asked.

“For trying,” she said, like a mother hoping to cheer a child who hadn't made the cut.

Alex nodded gratefully before walking out of the room.

“Mrs. Mayhew?” he said after bumping into his assistant, who had, it appeared, been listening through the door. “I thought you went home.”

“Oh, sorry, Pastor,” she said sheepishly. “I just had a few more details to handle before heading out.”

Great
, he thought. The entire gossip network probably already knew what Alex clearly sensed: his days as pastor of Christ Community Church were numbered.