This Present Darkness (19 page)

“I’ve not seen you before!” he said gruffly, and all the other spirits focused their attention on him and the stranger. “From where do you come?”

The stranger, Chimon of Europe, said nothing. He only riveted his eyes on those of Lucius and stood firm.

“I’ll have your name!” Lucius demanded.

The stranger said not a word.

Lucius smiled slyly and nodded. “You are deaf, yes? And dumb? And as mindless as you are silent?” The other demons guffawed. They loved this kind of game. “Tell me, are you a good fighter?”

Silence.

Lucius drew a scimitar that flashed blood-red and droned metallically. On cue, all the other demons did the same. The clatter and ring of burnished blades filled the room as crimson crescents of reflected light danced about the walls. The other messengers of God were barred from intervening by an armed ring of demons as Lucius continued to toy with this one single newcomer.

Lucius peered at his solid, unmoving opponent with a burning hatred that made his yellow eyes bulge and his sulfurous breath chug out through widely flared nostrils. He toyed with his sword, waved it in small circles in the stranger’s face, watched for the stranger to make the slightest move.

The stranger only watched him, not moving at all.

With an intense cry Lucius swept his sword across the front of the stranger, slashing his garment. Cheers and laughter came from the
crowd of demons. Lucius poised for a fight, held his sword with both hands, crouched, his wings flared.

Before him stood a statue with a slashed tunic.

“Fight, you listless spirit!” Lucius challenged.

The stranger did not respond, and Lucius cut his face. Another cheer from the demons.

“Shall I remove an ear? Or two? Shall I cut out your tongue if you have one?” Lucius taunted.

“I think it’s time we got started,” said Alf Brummel from the pulpit. The people in the room stopped their hushed conversations, and the place began to quiet down.

Lucius leered at the stranger, and motioned with his sword. “Go stand with the other cowards.”

The newcomer stepped back, then took his place with the other messengers of God behind the demonic barricade.

Eleven angels had managed to get into the church without raising too much ire from the demons: Triskal and Krioni had already entered with Hank and Mary. They had often been seen with the pastor and his wife, so they were not paid much attention other than the usual threatening expressions and postures. Guilo was there, as big and threatening as ever, but apparently no demons were the slightest bit interested in asking him any questions.

A newcomer, a burly Polynesian, made his way over to Chimon and tended the wound in Chimon’s face while Chimon repaired the slash in his tunic.

“Mota, called here from Polynesia,” came the introduction.

“Chimon of Europe. Welcome to our numbers.”

“Can you continue?” Mota asked.

“I will continue,” Chimon answered, skillfully reweaving his tunic with his fingers. “Where is Tal?”

“Not here yet.”

“A demon of fever tried to stop the Colemans. No doubt Tal has encountered an attack on Duster.”

“I don’t know how he’ll ward it off without making himself visible.”

“He’ll do it.” Chimon looked about. “I don’t see the Ba-al Prince anywhere.”

“We may never.”

“And may he never see Tal.”

Brummel brought the meeting to order, standing behind the pulpit and looking out over the nearly fifty people who had gathered. From this vantage point even he couldn’t help but try to guess the final tally. Some of the people were definitely going to give Hank the ax, some were definitely not going to, and then there was that frustrating and unpredictable group he couldn’t be sure about.

“I want to thank you all for coming tonight,” he said. “This is a painful matter for us to decide. I’d always hoped that this night would never come, but we all want God’s will to be done and we want what will be best for His people. So, let us open with a word of prayer and commit the rest of the evening to His care and guidance.”

With that Brummel began a very pious prayer, appealing to the Lord for grace and mercy in words to bring a tear to the driest eye.

In the front corner of the sanctuary, Guilo sulked, wishing an angel could spit on a human.

Triskal asked Chimon, “Getting any strength?”

Chimon answered, “Why? Is somebody else going to pray?”

Brummel finished his prayer, the roomful muttered a few Amens, and then he went on with his introduction to the proceedings.

“The purpose of this meeting is to openly discuss our feelings regarding Pastor Hank, to put an end once and for all to all the backbiting and murmuring that’s been going on, and to end our meeting with a final vote of confidence. I would hope that we would all have the mind of the Lord in these matters.

“If you have something you wish to say to the group, we would ask that you limit your time to three minutes. I’ll be letting you know when your time is up, so keep that in mind.” Brummel looked at Hank and Mary. “I think it would be good to let the pastor have the first say. Afterwards he’ll leave us alone so we can talk freely.”

Mary squeezed Hank’s hand as he got up. He went to the pulpit and stood behind it, gripping its sides. For the longest time he couldn’t say a word, but only looked into every eye of every face. He suddenly realized how much he truly loved these people, all of them. He could see the hardness in some of the faces, but he couldn’t help seeing past that to the pain and bondage these people were under, deluded, led
astray by sin, by greed, by bitterness and rebellion. In many other faces he could read the pain they were feeling for him; he could tell that some were silently praying for God’s mercy and intervention.

Hank let a quick prayer course through his thoughts as he began. “I have always counted it a privilege to stand behind this sacred desk, to preach the Word and speak the truth.” He surveyed their faces again for just a moment and then continued, “And even tonight I feel I cannot stray from God’s commission to me and the purpose for which I have ever stood before you. I am not here to defend myself or my ministry. Jesus is my advocate, and I rest the course of my life on His grace, guidance, and mercy. So tonight, since I am standing behind this pulpit once again, let me share with you what I have received from God.”

Hank opened his Bible and read from Second Timothy, chapter 4. “‘I solemnly charge you in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who is to judge the living and the dead, and by His appearing and His kingdom: preach the Word, be ready in season and out of season, reprove, rebuke, exhort, with great patience and instruction. For the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine, but wanting to have their ears tickled, they will accumulate for themselves teachers in accordance to their own desires; and will turn away their ears from the truth, and will turn aside to myths.

“‘But you, be sober in all things, endure hardship, do the work of an evangelist, fulfill your ministry.’” Hank closed his Bible, looked about the room, and spoke firmly. “Let each one of us apply God’s Word where it may apply. Tonight I will speak only for myself. I have my call from God; I just read it. Some of you, I know, have really gotten the impression that Hank Busche is obsessed with the gospel, that it’s all he ever thinks about. Well, that’s true. Sometimes I even wonder why I remain in such a difficult position, such an uphill effort … but for me, God’s call on my life is an inescapable commission, and as Paul said, ‘Woe is me if I do not preach the gospel.’ I understand that sometimes the truth of God’s Word can become a divider, an irritation, a stone of stumbling. But that’s only because it remains unchanged, uncompromising, and steadfast. And what better reason could there be to build our lives on such an immovable foundation? To violate the Word of God is only to destroy ourselves, our joy, our peace, our happiness.

“I want to be fair with you, and so I’ll be truthful in letting you
know exactly what you may expect from me. I intend to love all of you, no matter what. I intend to shepherd and feed you for as long as you’ll have me. I will not discredit, compromise, or turn my back on what I believe the Word of God teaches, and that means that there may be times when you’ll feel my shepherd’s crook around your neck, not to judge or malign you, but to help you move in the right direction, to protect you, to heal you. I intend to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ, for that is my calling. I have a burden for this town; sometimes I feel that burden so strongly I have to ask myself why, but it’s still there and I can’t turn my back on it or try to deny it. Until the Lord tells me otherwise, I intend to remain in Ashton to answer that burden.

“If that is the kind of pastor you want, then you can let me know tonight. If you do not want that kind of pastor … well, I really need to know that too.

“I love all of you. I want the very best God has to give you. And I guess that’s all I have to say.”

Hank stepped down from the platform, took Mary’s hand, and the two of them walked down the aisle to the door. Hank tried to catch the eyes of as many people as he could. Some gave looks of love and encouragement; some looked away.

Krioni and Triskal left with Hank and Mary. Lucius watched with mocking disdain.

Guilo muttered to his fellows, “While the cat’s away the mice will play.”

“Where is Tal?” Chimon asked again.

Brummel stood before the group. “We’ll now hear statements from the congregation. Just raise your hand to be recognized. Yeah, Sam, why don’t you go first.”

Sam Turner stood, and walked to the front of the sanctuary.

“Thanks, Alf,” he said. “Well, I’ve no doubt you all know me and my wife Helen. We’ve been citizens of this community for over thirty years, and we’ve supported this church through thick and through thin. Now I don’t have a lot to say tonight. You all know what kind of man I am, how I believe in loving one’s neighbor and living a good life. I’ve tried to do right and be a good example of what a Christian should be.

“And I’m angry tonight. I’m angry for my friend, Lou Stanley. You may have noticed Lou isn’t here tonight, and I’m sure I know why. It
used to be he could show his face in this church and be a part of it, and we all loved him and he loved us, and I think we all still do. But this Busche fellow, who thinks he’s God’s gift to this earth, thought he had a right to judge Lou and kick him out of the church. Now, friends, let me tell you one thing: nobody kicks Lou Stanley out of anything if Lou doesn’t feel like it, and the very fact that Lou went along with this whole smear on his character only shows the goodness of his heart. He could have sued Busche by now, or he could have settled the matter like I’ve seen him settle other matters. He’s not afraid of anything. But I just think Lou’s so ashamed of the horrible things that have been said about him and so hurt by what he thinks we must think of him that he decided he’d better just stay away.

“Now we have this self-righteous, Bible-pounding gossip-monger to blame for these troubles. Forgive me if I sound a bit harsh, but listen, I can remember when this church was like a family. How long now since it’s been that way? Look what’s happened: here we are, having a big bicker meeting, and why? Because we let Hank Busche come in here and stir us all up. Ashton used to be a peaceful town, this church used to be a peaceful church, and I say we do what’s necessary to get it that way again.”

Turner took his seat as a few nearby nodded their silent encouragement and approval.

John Coleman was recognized next. A shy person, he was very nervous about speaking in front of everyone, but concerned enough to do it anyway.

“Well,” he said, nervously handling his Bible and looking at the floor a lot, “I don’t usually say much, and I’m scared to death to be standing up here, but … I think Hank Busche is a real man of God, a good pastor, and I’d really hate to see him go. The church Pat and I came from, well, it just wasn’t meeting our needs, and we were getting hungry: hungry for the Word, for the presence of God. We thought we’d found those things here, and we were really looking forward to being involved and growing in the Lord under Hank’s ministry, and I know a lot of other folks feel that way too. As far as this stuff about Lou is concerned, that was not just Hank’s doing.
All
of us were involved in that decision, including me, and I know Hank’s not trying to hurt anybody.”

As John sat down, Patricia patted his arm and said, “You did fine.” John was not sure.

Brummel addressed the group. “I think it might be a good idea for us to hear what the church secretary, Gordon Mayer, has to say.”

Gordon Mayer went to the front with some of the church records and minutes in his hand. He was a tense man with a tight expression and gruff voice.

“I have two items I’d like to address before this group,” he said. “First of all, from the business side, you all need to be aware that the offerings have been decreasing over the past several months, but our bills have been staying steady if not going up. In other words, we’re running out of money, and I personally have no doubts why. There are differences among us we really need to get resolved, and withholding your giving is not the way to do it. If you have a gripe against the pastor, then do whatever you have to tonight, but let’s not bring the whole church down over this one man.

“Secondly, for whatever it’s worth, let me tell you that the original pulpit committee was considering
another
man for the job. I was on that committee, and I can assure you that they had no intention of recommending Busche for the office. I’m convinced the whole thing was a fluke, a grave mistake. We voted in the wrong man, and now we’re paying for it.

“So let me close with this: Sure, we’ve made a mistake, but I have faith in the group here, and I think we can turn the whole thing around and start doing things right for a change. I say let’s do it.”

And so the evening went for the better part of two hours, as both sides took turns in crucifying and praising Hank Busche. Nerves got raw, bottoms got numb, backs got sticky, and the opposing views became more and more vehement in their convictions. After two hours, a common sentiment began to mutter its way around the room: “C’mon, let’s have the vote …”