“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 …”
Brummel had taken his jacket off, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. He was gathering a pile of small squares of paper, the ballots.
“Okay, this will be by secret ballot,” he said, handing the slips of paper to two quickly appointed ushers who passed them out. “Let’s just keep it simple. If you want to keep the pastor, say yes, and if you want to find someone else, say no.”
Mota nudged Chimon. “Will Hank have enough votes?”
Chimon only shook his head. “We’re not sure.”
“You mean he could lose?”
“Let us hope someone is praying.”
“Where, oh where is Tal?”
Writing a simple yes or no didn’t take long, so almost immediately the ushers were passing the offering plates among the people.
Guilo stood still in his corner, glaring at as many demons as would look at him. Some of the smaller, harassing spirits flitted about the sanctuary trying to see what people were marking on their ballots, and grinning, scowling, cheering, or cursing accordingly. Guilo could envision three or four of their wiry little necks in his fists. Someday soon, little demons, someday soon.
Brummel took charge again. “All right, in the interest of fairness, let’s have representatives from the two different … uh … viewpoints come up and do the counting.”
After a bit of nervous chuckling John Coleman was selected by the yeas and Gordon Mayer by the nays to count the ballots. The two men took the offering plates full of ballots to a back pew. A flock of flapping, hissing demons converged on the scene, wanting to see the outcome.
Guilo stepped out too. It was only fair, he thought. Lucius swooped down from the ceiling in an instant and hissed, “Get back in your corner!”
“I wish to see the outcome.”
“Oh, don’t you now?” Lucius sneered. “And what if I decide to cut you open as I did your friend?”
Something about the way Guilo answered, “Try it,” may have caused Lucius to reconsider.
Guilo’s approach sent the little demons fluttering away like a flock of chickens. He bent over the two men to have a look. Gordon Mayer was counting first, silently, then handing the ballots to John Coleman. But he stealthily hid a few yea ballots in his palm. Guilo checked to see how closely the demons were watching, then made a stealthy move himself, touching the back of Mayer’s hand.
A demon saw it and struck Guilo’s hand with bared talons. Guilo jerked his hand away and came infinitely close to tearing the demon to shreds, but he caught himself and honored Tal’s orders.
“What is your name?” Guilo wanted to know.
“Cheating,” the demon answered.
“Cheating,” Guilo rehearsed as he went back to his corner. “Cheating.”
But Guilo’s move had succeeded in foiling Mayer’s effort. The ballots dropped out of Mayer’s hand and John Coleman saw them.
“You dropped something there,” he said very sweetly.
Mayer couldn’t say anything. He just handed the ballots over.
The count was finished, but Mayer wanted to count again. They counted the ballots again. The count came out the same: a tie.
The two reported the result to Brummel, who told the congregation, which moaned quietly.
Alf Brummel could feel his hands getting very damp; he tried drying them on his handkerchief.
“Well, listen,” he said, “there may not be much chance that any of you will reconsider, but I’m sure none of us wants to prolong this thing past tonight. I tell you what, why don’t we take a short break and give some of you a chance to get up, stretch, use the restroom. Then we’ll regather and vote again.”
As Brummel spoke, the two demons posted around the church saw something very unsettling. Just about a block up the street were two old women, hobbling toward the church. One walked with the assistance of a cane and a helping hand from her friend. She did not look well at all, but her jaw was set and her eyes bright and determined. Her cane clacked out a syncopated rhythm with her footsteps. Her friend, in better health and stronger, kept up with her, holding her arm to support her and talking gently to her.
“The one with the cane is Duster,” said one demon.
“What went wrong?” the other wondered. “I thought she’d been taken care of.”
“Oh, she’s ill, all right, but she’s come anyway.”
“And who is the old woman with her?”
“Edith Duster has many friends. We should have known.”
The two ladies made their way up the church steps, each step a major task in itself, first one foot, then the other, then the cane placed on the next step, until they were finally up to the front door.
“There, look at that now!” cackled the stronger one. “I knew you could do it. The Lord’s gotten you this far, He’ll take care of you the rest of the way.”
“What Edith Duster needs is a stroke,” murmured a sickness demon, drawing his sword.
Perhaps it was simply luck, or incredible coincidence, but just as the demon lunged forward with great speed to slash at the arteries in Edith Duster’s brain, the other woman moved to open the door and stepped right in the way. The tip of the demon’s sword struck the woman in the shoulder, which could have been concrete; the sword stopped short. Sickness did not, but catapulted over the two women and fluttered like a fractured kite into the church yard as Edith Duster moved inside.
Sickness gathered himself up off the ground and screamed, “The host of heaven!”
The other demon guard stared at him blankly.
Brummel saw Edith Duster come in, alone. He cursed silently. This would be the vote to break the tie, but she would most certainly vote for Busche. The people were gathering again.
The messengers of God were elated. “Looks like Tal succeeded,” said Mota.
Chimon was concerned, however. “With such a heavy cover of the enemy, he most certainly had to show himself.”
Guilo chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure our captain was very discreet.”
A few of the demons were in fact wondering what had happened to Edith Duster’s companion between the front door and the sanctuary. Sickness continued insisting it had been a heavenly warrior, but where was she now?
Tal, Captain of the Host, joined Signa and the other sentries at their concealed position.
“You had me fooled, captain,” said Signa.
“You just might attempt it yourself sometime,” Tal replied.
&nb
sp; On the platform, Brummel mentally groped for a trump card. He could just see the burning eyes of Langstrat if this vote went the wrong way.
“Well,” he said, “why don’t we come to order now and get ready for another vote?” The people settled in and quieted down. The yea side was more than ready.
“Now that we’ve prayed and talked about it, maybe some of us will feel differently about the future of the church here. I … umm …” Come on, Alf, say something, but don’t make a fool of yourself. “I guess I could say a few words; I haven’t really shared my feelings. You know, Hank Busche is a little young …”
A middle-aged plumber on the yea side piped up, “Hey now, if you’re going to put in some negative input we’ve got to have equal time for some positive!”
The yeas all murmured in agreement while the nays sat in cold silence.
“No, listen,” Brummel stammered, his face bright red, “I had no intention of trying to sway the vote. I was just—”
“Let’s have the vote!” someone said.
“Yes, vote, and quick!” Mota whispered.
Just then the door opened. Oh no, thought Brummel, who’s coming in this time?
The silence fell like a shroud of death over the whole group. Lou Stanley had just come in. He grimly nodded greeting to them all and took a seat in a back pew. He looked old.
Gordon Mayer piped up, “Let’s have the vote!”
The ushers passed out the ballots while Brummel tried to plan a good escape route in case he had to throw up—his nerves were just about shot. He caught Lou Stanley’s attention. Lou looked at him and seemed to laugh nervously.
“Make sure Lou back there gets a ballot,” Brummel told one of the ushers. The usher made sure.
Chimon whispered to Guilo, “I think we’re ready for any tricks Lucius might have.”
“Any tie breakers, you mean,” Guilo answered.
“We may be in for a long night,” said Mota.
The ballots were collected, and Lucius kept his demons tightly around each offering plate and his eyes on every heavenly warrior.
Mayer and Coleman counted again as the tension in the air tightened. The demons watched. The angels watched. The people watched.