The Other Side of Darkness (8 page)

The girls head off to the kids’ worship service in the gym, but Matthew refuses to go to the high-school youth group that meets in the youth house next door. “I’m not in high school anymore,” he points out. Still, I can tell he’s dragging his heels as he and I walk toward the sanctuary together.

“Ruth!” Cynthia is playing the role of greeter tonight, and she warmly shakes my hand as we enter the sanctuary. “I was just thinking of you.”

“I might as well tell you,” I say with a smile. “I would be honored to be your prayer partner. I believe the Lord has given me the green light. And I’ve already been praying for you and the first Bible study that you’ll teach next week.”

“Bless you! That is really good news!” She turns to Matthew, who is just a step behind me. “And how are you tonight, Matthew?”

He sort of grunts, “Okay,” and I try not to feel too embarrassed.

“Well, I won’t keep you from getting your seats.” She turns to greet the couple coming in behind us.

We’re nearing my favorite place to sit, right in the center and
near the front, when Matthew says under his breath, “I don’t see how you can stand her, Mom.”

“Matthew!” I stare at my son.

“She’s such a fake.”

I give him the look—the you-better-keep-your-mouth-shut-young-man look. And fortunately he seems to get it. Still, I’m appalled at his lack of respect for his elders, and I can’t help but think he’s picking up on things his father is doing, or rather
not
doing. I hope that being in church tonight will remind Matthew of what’s really important.

He sits hunched over like a sack of potatoes as some announcements are made from the pulpit, including the reminder that women’s Bible studies start up again next week. Then when it’s time to stand and worship, my son just sits there like a lump. Even when I nudge his shoulder and give him another warning look, he refuses to stand with the rest of us. This is truly alarming. I’ve never seen Matthew act like this before, and I’m worried that he could draw the attention of Pastor Glenn. I can’t imagine how humiliating it would be to have my own son publicly rebuked in front of God and everyone. And just when I’ve agreed to be Cynthia’s prayer partner.
Dear Lord, forgive me, I wish I’d let Matthew stay home tonight!

I nervously glance around the room, trying to see if anyone is looking our way, and I’m surprised to notice that the congregation is much smaller than usual tonight. I can’t help but notice large sections of empty seats throughout the church. And it occurs to me that they were just as empty this past summer, but as usual that was attributed to families being off on vacation. But here it is early October, and numbers still seem to be severely down. Well, it’s a good
thing we’re having this outreach ministry to the community this month. Pastor Glenn is absolutely right; we are in dire need of some fresh faces around here!

I don’t see Colleen and her husband here tonight. Come to think of it, I can’t remember seeing them at midweek services much lately. I hope their problems aren’t too serious. I suspect it has to do with their marriage, and I’m aware that they’ve had their ups and downs over the years, but for the most part they seem fairly compatible. And the twins are only seven. What a difficult age that would be for their parents’ marriage to fall apart. I’ll have to remember to diligently pray for them. Maybe I should give Colleen a call. Not to gossip, of course, but to encourage her. I can invite her to Cynthia’s Bible study.

As everyone sits down, my attention is drawn back to the pulpit. It’s that part of the service, between the worship time and the message, when Pastor Glenn often gives a word of knowledge. And occasionally Cynthia or Carl will go forward and give one as well. This seems to be the case tonight as Pastor Glenn gives her a somber nod and steps away from the podium. I watch Cynthia’s squared shoulders, her long dark braid streaked with gray trailing down her straight back as she walks up the steps to the podium. Then she turns around, and closing her eyes, she lifts her head and raises her hands and begins to speak in a dramatic tone. Cynthia isn’t a beautiful woman, not by anyone’s standards, but when she speaks like this, with the kind of authority that comes from the Lord, she takes on an almost regal appearance that always captures my attention.

“ ‘I am gathering my children,’ says the Lord, ‘gathering my faithful ones,’ ” she begins. “ ‘I am separating the sheep from the goats, the believers from the doubters, so that I might be lifted up and glorified. Search your spirits, my children; dig out the roots of
rebellion, secretly buried in your hearts by the deceptive seeds of sin. Purge yourselves with my fire. Burn away your evil with holy flames!’ ” She opens her eyes and points down at the center of the congregation, and I’m afraid she’s pointing at me or perhaps even Matthew. I actually hold my breath, waiting with trembling knees.

“Shauna Banks,” she says in a stern voice, and I slowly exhale. “The Lord has shown me your heart. His Spirit has revealed to me your spirit.”

The sanctuary grows silent as a tomb, and from the corner of my eye, I glance at Shauna, just a few seats to my right. And while I feel sorry for this young mother, a woman Colleen has mentored, I am vastly relieved that it’s not me. I feel that I have missed a bullet, and consequently my compassion is shallow. However, I do notice Matthew is intently looking at Shauna. I hope that perhaps he will learn something from this. It could’ve been him under fire.

“You have convinced yourself that your words are righteous,” continues Cynthia, “but your words are toxic and lethal, and you are poisoning others each time you open your mouth to speak. The Lord has warned you, sister, ‘Do not gossip’ and ‘Do not succumb to gossip.’ But you refuse to obey. You refuse to heed his warnings. Like a dog returning to his vomit, you return to your wicked ways again and again.”

I can’t help but look at Shauna now. Everyone else is staring too, and the room is deathly quiet. Shauna’s eyes glisten brightly, and her cheeks are flushed, and I really expect her to confess and to repent, to make her heart right before the Lord, but her jaw remains firm, her lips pressed together, and she says absolutely nothing.

“Until you acknowledge your wicked ways and repent, you are no longer welcome in the fellowship of the saints.” Cynthia’s still
pointing at her. “We will be travailing in prayer for you, Shauna, and we will welcome you back with wide-open arms—but only if you confess your sins and ask for the Lord’s deep cleansing and forgiveness.”

Without saying a word, Shauna stands up, picks up her purse and her Bible, and then walks out of the sanctuary. Pastor Glenn steps up to the podium now. He pats Cynthia on the back, then clears his throat and nods to the pianist. He begins a song about turning our hearts back to the Lord and leads us in worship. We sing several songs, and I am, not for the first time, impressed with his singing ability. I wonder why he doesn’t always lead us in worship.

Then the sanctuary grows quiet again, and he gives a moving altar call, inviting us to recommit our hearts to the Lord and to repent of our sins and be made whole and clean. As usual, I go forward. How can I not? I feel the need to repent on a daily basis. Sometimes on a minute-by-minute basis. But I am a little dismayed when I notice that only a handful of people have come forward. I just don’t understand what’s happening to our church, but I do believe we are under some kind of spiritual attack. It seems that people’s hearts are growing hard and cold, and I find it frightening.

Pastor Glenn’s sermon is about spiritual darkness and how it’s pressing in around us. He speaks of all sorts of demons—demons of deception, lust, selfishness, murder, idolatry, jealousy, drunkenness, debauchery, and such—and how they are lurking around every corner, ready to attack anyone who lets down his guard even for a moment. And I can’t help but believe that he’s right on target. I have the exact same sense of evil pressing in on us, so strongly I can almost see it. I constantly feel the need to be prepared for an attack, to be vigilant for the Evil One, who seeks to devour and destroy.

I glance over at Matthew. I hope he’s absorbing some of this spiritual wisdom, particularly the bit about the demons of drunkenness, but my son’s face is totally blank, and I suspect he’s tuning it all out. How can he do that? Has he become spiritually blind and deaf and dumb? Sometimes I want to shake the boy, to tell him to wake up before it’s too late!

People usually linger in the sanctuary after the midweek worship service, just visiting and fellowshipping, but the large room empties quickly. Even Matthew has skittered away, probably lurking in some dark corner of the parking lot where he can attempt to conceal his sinful heart. But I decide to go forward and greet our pastor. I know that his role isn’t an easy one, that speaking the truth can make enemies. His wife, Kellie, is usually at his side. But right now she’s standing off to the right, having what appears to be a fairly intense conversation with Cynthia. Pastor Glenn is standing alone, his palms pressed together almost as if he is in prayer, although his eyes are open. He smiles at me as I walk toward him, and he greets me warmly.

“That was a great sermon, Pastor Glenn. My spirit really resonates with your message.” I’m pleased with myself that I actually used the word
resonate
.

He nods and shakes my hand. “Thank you so much, Ruth. I really appreciate the feedback. I can’t always tell what people are thinking.”

“Well, you really nailed it on the head.” Okay, maybe that’s not quite as eloquent as
resonate
, but the spirit is the same.

“It’s not easy having to say the hard things. But as a shepherd, it’s my role to protect my sheep from evil. Sometimes that means giving some tough warnings.”

“Well, speaking as a dumb sheep, I really appreciate the warnings.”

“Cynthia tells me that you’re going to be her prayer partner this year.”

I’m surprised that she’s already informed him of this, but I’m pleased too. It makes me feel important to be noticed like this. I nod happily. “It’s such an honor to serve her. I’m really looking forward to it.”

“You have a good heart, Ruth. Cynthia is blessed to have you on her team.” He pats me on the shoulder. “And so am I.”

I know I should be humbled by this attention and praise, but it also feels very good, very satisfying. And then I begin to feel uncomfortable. What if he knows what I’m feeling? What if I’m being spiritually proud and he’s about to point this out to me? “I … uh … I guess I should go find my family now.”

“Rick’s still on the swing shift?” he asks as he walks me toward the door.

“Yes. Unfortunately, it goes along with his promotion.”

He shakes his head but makes no comment.

“Hopefully it won’t last too long though,” I quickly add. “Rick said there’s a chance he can go back to days in a year. If another guy retires, that is.”

“A year is a long time.”

I nod. “I know. It’s only been a couple of months, and it feels like forever.”

“Well, you continue being the godly woman that you are, Ruth. Keep leaning on the Lord and obeying him, and I’m sure it will go well for you.”

And that’s what I tell myself as I drive my moody family toward home. Matthew is sitting way in the back, sulking, I’m sure. And Mary and Sarah got into a little snit over who could sit in the front
seat by me. Sarah was certain it was her turn, but her older sister beat her to the punch, and I couldn’t remember whose turn it really was. I don’t like them fighting over it anyway, so I made them sit behind me in the middle seat, beside each other, until they learn to get along.

I silently pray against the demonic forces that seem to be focused on my family as I drive through the dark, wet streets of our town. Like Pastor Glenn said, I can feel them pressing in, trying to lie and cheat as they attempt to steal our peace and joy. I must learn to do better warfare!

C
ynthia and I meet at her house on Monday morning to discuss my new role as her prayer partner. I’ve never been to her home before, and I am surprised that, while it’s neat and clean, it’s rather small, and being an older home, it seems a little run-down. The porch has a loose board, and the linoleum in the kitchen is cracked. But something else is different too. Something I can’t quite put my finger on at first. Then I realize that it seems to lack personal touches.

“It’s like you’re my assistant,” she explains to me. “Most important, you pray for me and for the word that I’m teaching. But you also pray for the women in our study. Here’s a list of names.” She hands me a paper. “I know it seems like a small group for now, but I expect more women to join us once we get started. And even more after we have our outreach concert.”

I nod and look at the list. There are only four names on it.

“My Bible study has always been held at the church, Ruth, but the Lord has been telling me that it’s time for a change.” She looks around her sparse living room. “We need to meet in a private home, where women feel free to really share and minister to each other. However, I don’t think this is exactly the right location.”

Once again I nod. I couldn’t agree more.

“How about your house?”

Now this alarms me. While my house is much warmer and friendlier than this, I’ve never really had the confidence to open it up much to visitors. “I … uh … I don’t know. And, of course, there’s Rick to consider. He works swing shift, you know, so he sleeps late in the morning.”

“Then he would be asleep when we met.”

“Well, I … uh … I suppose, but …” I imagine Rick walking out of the bedroom in his boxer shorts, scratching himself, while the women are prayerfully gathered in my living room. I think I would die.

“I sense the Lord is at work in you, Ruth. And although it might stretch you to open your home like this, I believe there is a blessing in store, for you and your family.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Are you open to this blessing?”

And so it’s settled. Friday morning at nine thirty Cynthia Leman will lead the Bible study at my house. I feel a mixture of nervousness and pleasure as I drive home. I
do
want to serve the Lord, and I
do
want his blessing, but at the same time I don’t feel completely ready to open my home like this. And I have no idea how Rick is going to react to this news.