CHAPTER ONE
Prettiest church in town.
Pastor Otis (yes, the poor guy actually had parents cruel enough to name him that) Lauden puffed out his chest. He had waited years for an opportunity like this. Finally, he had arrived. Senior Pastor at First Church. His dad had died two years ago, but Otis KNEW he would be so proud. Too bad his mom wasn’t impressed.
Tho’ he hadn’t had time to read it yet, a specialty delivery Letter from John Von Nahum, one of the pillars of the international church movement, had been pressed into his hand by a courier who showed up during the opening prayer. Deacon Carl had come onto the platform and pressed it into his hand. Fortunately, very few people had noticed the breach of propriety. Also, fortunate that he had the prayer written out so that the flow was not interrupted. It really was one of his best prayers.
Sitting in his pastoral chair on the elevated platform, he thought back over his wonderful sermon. THAT should bring in some more in the offering. I mean, am I good or am I good?
Suddenly, he remembered the letter. Elder Hanson was already heading to the pulpit, looking all proper and polished. Quickly rising, Otis reached the spot an instant before Elder Hanson began his benediction.
“Pardon me, Elder Hanson, but we have just received a letter from our beloved brother John Von Nahum. Most of you know that he is no longer serving as pastor of his church on the west coast, due to a dispute with the local authorities.” He didn’t like the embarrassment of being associated with someone who was serving jail time after refusing to cooperate with state laws regarding worship.
“I haven’t had an opportunity to read more than the first few lines, but if the rest of the letter is anything like the opening paragraphs, you will be as excited as I am when you hear what John has to say. Please make yourselves comfortable for a little longer and I will read it to you. If you have solid commitments that demand your immediate attention, by all means, take care of that. Just remember the letter will be posted on the wall in my office for you to read later.”
A few squalling children and flustered mothers demanded husbands take them home unless they wanted charcoal or ashes for dinner. Within five minutes the room had fallen silent.
Glancing over the congregation, with a practiced, regal smile on his face, he noticed most were eyeing him appreciatively, filled with pleasure as his eyes locked for a brief moment with each member of his flock. “This is the life. I hope I get to retire here. Have I got it made or do I have it made?”
Sipping from the ornate challis reserved for him as Senior Pastor, Otis cleared his throat, and began to read.
CHAPTER TWO
This was VERY uncomfortable. Every eye was wide and many jaws were hanging below open mouths. Russell Strauss, sitting in his usual spot at the back right corner of the sanctuary was wiping sweat from his brow with one of his monogramed handkerchiefs.
The letter from dear, sweet, wonderful, beloved John should have been printed on asbestos. Otis’s hands were sweating. If he wasn’t already bracing his arms on the oak pulpit, the shaking in his hands would probably be obvious to everyone. As it was elder Carlson, sitting behind him in the elegant, upholstered throne-like chair across from Otis’s “pastoral seat” was doing a galant job of appearing relaxed – smiling, nodding at just the right moments – while casting occasional furtive glances at his pastor’s back.
What had begun as a GLORIOUS tale of the WONDERFUL vision of the Lord Jesus, had swiftly degraded into a tirade against some of the churches in the neighboring villages.
“I wish this letter had never been delivered!” Otis pulled out a handkerchief and used it to hide his furrowed brow and his clenched teeth. Casting a helpless look at elder Carlson – who kept his smile plastered on his face – Otis recognized the minuscule changes in his friend’s face which said in less time than it takes for a camera flash to go off, ‘don’t look at me, you’re the one who decided to read the stupid thing!’
Mind racing, Pastor Lauden scanned down the page. The next section was the WORST. It was written about First Church! His church! There had to be something else he could do to hide this! No way was he going to read THAT publicly. No way would he subject himself to the embarrassment, the humiliation, the disgrace!
He was going to find something to do. Something to say. Then, he would privately re-read John’s letter, write him a scathing rebuke for his arrogant denigration of the excellent standing that First Church had in the community and burn the foul missive!
The idea struck with the clarity of the steeple bell. Coughing with a little too much enthusiasm, Otis cleared his throat. Putting a break in his voice, he made a show of trying to read further from John’s tome. Glancing at the elegant clock adorning the wall above the double doors leading to the narthax, he feigned shock, “Oh my! Look at the time! I’m so sorry,” he croaked over another cough. “I’m afraid we will have to continue this another time.”
Moans erupted across the congregation. Elder Carlson was so good at his job. Arriving quickly at the side of the pulpit, he gave the image of one trying to protect the pastor, as he moved in front of the microphone, announcing, “Let’s give Pastor Lauden a hand. Can you imagine the strain on his voice? So strongly declaring to us the word of God, and then valiantly continuing with the reading of John’s letter?”
As the congregation stood to applaud, Elder Carlson moved slightly to the side, turned to face the pastor, and beaming his second best smile, made a show of leading the hand-clapping.
CHAPTER THREE
“Look at this!”
Elder Carlson, Benson Carlson, barely had stepped in the opulent study before John’s “wonderful” letter was flung at him. Catching it, well, it was more like juggling it, since he looked like a circus performer catching all his paraphernalia at the conclusion of his show of skill, Ben gently settled the paper and ink “bomb” on the pastor’s desk and slid it toward Otis.
“It’s yours, my friend. That’s why you get the big bucks.”
Otis’s smirk registered the comment. His leather desk chair squeaked as he leaned forward to take the envelope. Lunch had been a waste of time. I mean, prime rib? Perfectly prepared? Huge baked potato? Butter, chives, sour cream, bacon bits… It might as well have been a two day old peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich. After reading what he had seen in that letter, nothing tasted good. The only good thing about the meal was that it had been quiet. No arguing.
But here they were. The ornate grandfather clock by the eastern window didn’t have the decency to tick softly. After what seemed like forever, both men reached for the letter at the same time. “Oh, by all means, take it. My fingers are still sore from being scorched at the end of the service.” Leaning back, Otis held both hands up,,as if Ben was holding a gun on him.
Clenching his teeth, Ben leaned forward again and picked up the letter. He actually hadn’t heard what it said about First Church. All he knew was that his friend’s parting words were, “3:00, my office. It mentions us.” Meaning First Church.
The first words weren’t too bad. It did kind of call to mind those historic words of that old President, Harry Truman, “The buck stops here.” It said, “John, write this to the pastor of First Church:”
Glancing across the huge oak desk, Ben asked, “Do you mind if I read it out loud?”
Otis answered with a wave of his hand as he swung his chair towards the south wall, with its tinted, double paned, sliding glass doors opening onto a well manicured private garden.
Settling back, Ben smoothed the pages and began: “These are my words to you. I am the Amen. I am The Faithful and True Witness. I am The Ruler of God’s creation.”
Pictures flashed thru Ben’s mind as the words sped by.
The Amen: the last word, the this-is-the-way-it-is declaration.
The Faithful and True Witness: boy, regardless of how great you think you are, I, Jesus, am THE one. Listen up, and do as I say.
The Ruler of God’s creation: I know you think you have the world by the tail with a down hill pull, but – look at me when I’m talking to you, boy – you are only in charge of what I say you are in charge of.
Otis was looking at him with an impatient glare. Pulling himself out of his expository thoughts, Ben continued reading. “I’m watching you.” But after three words, he stopped reading the words and – somehow – began reading the meaning, the message. And it made him sit up straight. “You are a wishy-washy kiss-up. You need to take a stand. I am taking a stand. Matter of fact, I took a stand a long time ago. And My stand is that I can’t stand the tepid, food-too-cold, ice-cream-too-melted way you do things! Like a mouthful of last night’s coffee, I’m going to spit you out- blow disgusting coffee spray all over the place! Then what will ‘stand’ is the stale stench of wasted coffee, taking a ‘stand’ where you refused to take a stand!”
Otis smirked, “Getting a little melodramatic, are we?” But he waved his hand absently, staring instead at the robin out in the patio garden, cocking its head to search out a worm for its dinner. Just as it pounced, Ben continued.
“You SAY you are rich. You SAY that the mortgage is paid off. You SAY that you are totally set for years to come. WRONG! You are WAY messed up and beyond pitiful. In the stuff that REALLY counts, you are below poverty level. You see less reality than a blind man! Remember that Scripture quote about all our righteous doings being like filthy rags? Well, take another look in the mirror, wait, here, use my mirror. What you THOUGHT was a $4000 suit, is – as I look at you – stinky rags, AND they’re not even holding together enough to be considered modest.”
I’m not E.F. Hutton, but I’ve got some REAL good investment ideas for you. You want gold, and all the trappings of wealth and riches? I’m your man. Come to me. Invest right here. I’ll dress you in finery beyond you wildest dreams. Having trouble seeing what I’m telling you? Ask about the drops I have for you failing eyes. You will see things so much more clearly! Seriously, call me. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
Ben’s heart and mind were doing double duty. His heart was racing wildly, while at the same time it was experiencing a peace that had been missing for a LONG time. His mind was facing yet another “split decision”. Part of him was thinking, “This makes no sense, and is totally scary,” and another part of him was saying, “Yes, Lord, I’m home!”
Jesus, watching, sighed as He saw the two hearts taking different paths. Otis tightened up and pressed on. Ben, slowed, bowed, turned, and followed. And as he followed, he got the impression that his old friend was no longer at his side.
“I’ve heard enough. First thing Monday, I’m going to dictate to Joan, a letter to John. He is NOT going to like what I have to say. The nerve of that guy! He got jailed and taken out of his own church, and now he’s writing to the rest of us, telling US what WE’RE doing wrong! Well, who’s still got a church? Who is respected in the entire community? Tell me that!”
“Ben, if you want to read that drivel, be my guest. Just read it out at Joan’s desk. I can’t stand to hear any more.”
Nodding silently, Ben gestured with the letter toward the door to the public part of the church office, and exited. Shutting Otis’s door, he pushed Joan’s chair back and paused to turn on her desk lamp. The last part of the note to First Church had a different feel to it. Open. Accepting. Full of hope and promise: “You can have victory in these things. Oh, and remember who I am? I mentioned it. I said that I am the ruler of God’s creation. Yep, I got a throne. A pretty nice one, actually. Tell you what, if you are victorious I’ll bring you up to sit next to me on my throne. Think you’d like that? I know I’d like it– having you next to me. You know, when I was victorious, I went home and sat on my Father’s throne next to Him.”
“Well, that’s all I have to say to First Church. Except for this: my Spirit is speaking all the time. If you have ears, turn ’em on and listen.”