In Justice

by Alan Sears

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  WHEN PAT AND Becky arrived at church on Sunday morning, the signs of what lay ahead were obvious. The parking lot was less than two-thirds full, and the sanctuary was half empty. There was none of the customary chatter. The place was almost silent, and there was a mood of anxiety. For the first time in his life, Pat felt like he was floating outside his body, looking objectively at the chaos around him. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

  No one said anything to him about his situation. There were no embarrassing questions, no acrimony, just polite smiles and gracious words from a few old friends. But he felt the uncertainty, suspicion, and aloofness of the members, and it hurt.

  When Pat went back to his office after the first service, he fell into his chair and sat silently at his desk for several minutes. He couldn’t focus on his sermon, or anything else for that matter. The music leader stopped by to make sure Pat was still satisfied with the hymns he had selected for the 9:30 and 11:00 services, and Pat simply nodded. Black clouds of fear, disappointment, anger, and pain hovered above him. The only sound in the room was the ticking of an antique clock on the wall. With every tock that followed every tick, Pat’s despair grew. Ten minutes before the service was supposed to begin, Pat lumbered down the hall to the office of one of his associates, Chuck Childress.

  “Chuck, I can’t do this. I’m too stressed, and the congregation is obviously upset with me. I think I need time to think this over and regroup. I’m sorry to ask you this, but would you…could you possibly…take the services for me?”

  “You mean now, Pat? You want me to preach? Today? The organ is already playing. The service starts in ten minutes.” Chuck’s face went white.

  “Yes, I know.” Pat looked down in embarrassment. “Can you do it, Chuck? I know you have something in reserve—an old sermon you can use. I’ve seen you do it before. You’re awfully good on short notice.”

  Chuck shook his head as if he were about to say no, but after a brief hesitation he looked at Pat and said he would do his best. Pat knew Chuck could take over for him. He was a gifted speaker and a quick study. Pat also believed that the members would be much happier to see Chuck in the pulpit—at least on this occasion.

  Sure enough, Chuck’s presentation for the 9:30 service was flawless. Anyone would have thought he’d been working on it for weeks. The choir, the soloist, and the hymn selections were perfect as well, and Pat was relieved. By the 11:00 service, however, Pat was on the verge of tears, not only because of his concern for what was happening to him, but because of his concern for what was happening to his flock.

  They had taken him in, loved him, and taught him what it means to be the minister of a large and vibrant church. They had rewarded him in ways he could never have anticipated, and for which he could never repay them. As he looked around the room, the names and faces leapt out. Grayson Webb, the first one to call him and champion his candidacy, and his wife Cindy. On every row were men and women who had become a part of his life. These were people who had invited him to their homes and shown such affection for Becky and the children. It felt as if he had spent a lifetime in this place, and he did love it so very much. But now he felt like a convict on the gallows, waiting for the trap door to fall open and the rope to snap his neck. Just imagining that grisly scene made him gasp for air.

  As he sat on the platform, Pat was too full of his own sorrow to pay much attention to what was happening. Before he realized it, the words of the offertory hymn drew him in. The choir was singing a wonderful old classic he had sung often as a child growing up in Owensboro, “O Sacred Head, Now Wounded.” The lyrics were familiar and the music consoling, but as he focused on the words of that ancient sermon composed centuries ago by St. Bernard of Clairvaux, it was as if he was hearing it all for the first time.

  His emotions, which he had tried so hard to smother, ignited and were soon fully inflamed. By the time the choir began singing the middle verses of the hymn, his eyes began to well with tears. He made no attempt to brush them away. He sang along, quietly:

  “O sacred Head, now wounded,

  with grief and shame weighed down,

  Now scornfully surrounded

  With thorns, Thine only crown;

  O sacred Head, what glory,

  what bliss till now was Thine!

  Yet, though despised and gory,

  I joy to call Thee mine.”

  His voice filled with emotion:

  “What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered,

  as all for sinners’ gain;

  Mine, mine was the transgression,

  but Thine the deadly pain.

  Lo, here I fall, my Savior!

  ’Tis I deserve Thy place;

  Look on me with Thy favor,

  vouchsafe to me Thy grace.”

  In his mind, Pat saw the image of the crucified Christ on the cross, lifted high above the heads of the congregation. As he gazed at the miraculous tableau of the Son of God in His agony, in the anguish and rejection He endured, Pat’s heart raced and his temples throbbed. Jesus had lived with humiliation throughout his earthly life. Even though it was God’s plan from the very beginning, the sight of the suffering Jesus tore Pat’s soul open.

  As the choir sang the final stanza, the words of that ancient hymn pierced his heart. He couldn’t restrain the words as they came from his lips, more loudly now:

  “What language shall I borrow

  To thank Thee, dearest friend,

  For this Thy dying sorrow,

  Thy pity without end?

  O make me Thine forever,

  and should I fainting be,

  Lord, let me never,

  never outlive my love to Thee.”

  Christ’s agony on a Roman cross made Pat’s own struggles seemed pathetic and pale. Yet, here he was, sitting in front of his own congregation feeling sorry for himself, so terrified of what was to come that he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—preach the message that God had laid on his heart.

  As the music ended and the ushers were coming forward to present the offerings at the altar, Pat leaned over to Chuck with tears in his eyes and whispered, “Chuck, I have to say something. I can’t just sit here. I have to speak to them. Will you forgive me?”

  Chuck looked at him knowingly. “I understand, Pastor.” When the music ended and the ushers had returned to their seats, Pat stood and walked to the pulpit with nothing in his hands but the Bible.

  Looking out across the sanctuary he saw so many faces he knew, and so many dear friends he loved. They had welcomed him with open arms, but in the terror of the moment as their church and their traditions were being threatened, they were wavering. How could he blame them for that? He was every bit as weak. He would have walked away, if it weren’t for the power of the vision he had just witnessed. And so he spoke to them.

  “‘What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest friend; for this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?’ We have sung those words many times, and yet how little we consider their meaning. When Becky and I pulled into the parking lot this morning, I confess, I wasn’t thinking about the reality of that sacrifice. I wasn’t thinking about the scandal of the cross, or the gift of eternal life that was delivered to me on that day two thousand years ago.

  “Instead, I was thinking about my own sorrow, my own fears, and my own humiliation. The events of the past two weeks had shoved all my noble intentions aside. Until a few days ago, the only time I had ever been inside a jail was to visit a young friend in Kentucky who was involved in a tragic car accident. But now I’ve been humbled, and personally threatened.

  “Being knocked to the floor, handcuffed, and hauled off in the back of a police car is a terrifying experience, and not something I want to repeat. But I have nothing to apologize for, and I’m not afraid anymore. I have seen the evidence of God’s love demonstrated before my eyes, just now as the choir was singing that magnificent hymn, I had a vision of God’s love for me.”

  Pat studied t
he congregation. Some looked confused and a few looked frightened. He glanced to an area were several deacons sat. They appeared worried.

  “Our Lord, who lived a perfect, sinless life,” Pat continued, “suffered so much more that any of us can ever imagine. Although he had the power of God Almighty in his right hand, Jesus Christ never lifted a finger to resist the punishment that men inflicted on him. How can I, a man of unclean lips, do any less than stand on the promises of God in my own time of testing?”

  Pat smiled as he looked across the congregation, although his heart was full of tears. “I must tell you,” he continued, holding up his empty palms, “I don’t have my sermon notes with me today. I left them in the study this morning because I had asked Pastor Chuck to speak to you. I was feeling sorry for myself, I suppose. But that’s okay; I don’t need them now. I’d like to speak to you from my heart.”

  When Pat glanced around briefly at Chuck, their eyes met and Pat saw that Chuck was apprehensive. Still, he continued, “Sitting here just now, I realized I cannot be silent any longer. I can’t run from the intimidation and accusations that are being thrust at me. My friends, there’s only one absolute and ultimate Truth in this world, and His name is Jesus Christ, the Savior of men and the only hope of this broken and lawless world. He alone is the Savior of the world.

  “There are people among us today, and maybe some of you in this room, who think they can break the law of God with impunity. They believe that if they can just pass a new law or convince enough people to vote a certain way, maybe they can establish a new order of the ages. Maybe they can redefine truth and reality. They’ve become a law unto themselves. But I must warn you: No one can break God’s law without paying a price. You can’t break God’s law; you can only break yourself. God’s law is not up for a vote. The Creator on Mount Sinai handed it down, and not one syllable of that law has changed in thirty-five hundred years.

  “If every politician and bureaucrat in America were to come together on one day and declare a new moral law, it wouldn’t make the slightest difference. God’s law is eternal, immutable, omnipotent, and inescapable; and sooner or later every one of us will stand before the Judge and give an account of ourselves. None of us survive the Judgment because of our goodness, but because of the mercy of Jesus Christ. This is the promise to everyone who puts their trust in Him.”

  Pat paused briefly, his eyes scanning the sanctuary again. “It breaks my heart to think of all the men and women, all the kings and rulers, and all the great nations throughout history that have hurled themselves against God’s law only to be shattered into a thousand pieces. You can see the evidence of those shattered lives today in the cemeteries, asylums, prisons, and gutters of this city. How many more will end up there before all is said and done?”

  Some members of the congregation shifted nervously in their seats, whispering to each other. Pat ignored it. He had gone too far to turn back.

  “My dear friends, I happen to believe that we’re living through what the New Testament refers to as the Last Days. Jesus told us these days would come. Now we know it’s true. There has never been such an age of lawlessness, with so much hostility and rebellion against God’s law. The leaders of this nation have turned their backs on God, and I’ve come up against the reality of that rebellion over the last several days. Leaders at the highest levels of government have tossed the Ten Commandments overboard and knowingly plunged themselves into a sea of wickedness and perversion. The one thing they cannot abide is the truth that God is the ultimate judge, and He hates sin.

  “But, again, Jesus said these days would come. In one of his parables, Jesus speaks of a nobleman who went to a far country, leaving his beloved servant in charge. But the rebellious citizens of that country rejected the one left in charge. They shouted, ‘We will not have this man to reign over us!’ Dear friends, this is not just a colorful parable; it’s a true story. It is our story. We’re the ones Jesus was talking about. We’re the ones in rebellion against the Father. And we’re the ones who will have to decide whether or not we will obey the Lord’s anointed.

  “Recently I spoke to a man who said, ‘Well, Pastor, I believe you’re only accountable for the light you have, whatever that may be.’ And I said, ‘What a nice idea! But that’s a fairy tale. My Bible says, “This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but men loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil.”’ We all want to have it our way, don’t we? Wouldn’t it be nice if we could just make up our own salvation? But Jesus says that’s not good enough.

  “Those who are antagonistic toward the gospel like to embarrass Christians. On a television interview not long ago, I was one of three ministers who had been invited to discuss the teachings of our various faiths, and at one point the host turned to me and said, ‘Rev. Preston, don’t you believe that anyone who’s not a Christian is going to hell?’ I knew what he was doing, but I went ahead and said I believed the words of Jesus in John 14:6, where He says He is the only way. At which point the host sprung the trap and said, ‘Ah ha! So you believe that Rabbi Goldman, sitting beside you there, is going to hell. Is that right?’

  “I know Rabbi Goldman. We’ve been on many programs together over the last few years, and I’ve had him to my home for dinner. I have no animosity toward this man or his religion. But when I responded, I simply said, ‘Sir, I don’t know what God will do. He has unlimited power, and His ways are greater than my ways. He may have plans that I know nothing about. But as a Christian minister of the gospel, I’m responsible to follow the Word of God.’

  “As a Christian, my job is to share the good news with everyone I can, in the hope that some of them will come to Christ. I know that works because the Bible says it does, and I’ve seen the evidence. But I don’t know what else God may have up His sleeve. He may have other ways He hasn’t shared with me. And then I told the host there was one more thing I could say about that. I said I looked forward to spending a lot more time with Rabbi Goldman, both on earth and in heaven one day.”

  Glancing at the clock in the back of the sanctuary, Pat said, “I think I’ve said enough, so let me wrap up my thoughts this way. Before I ask the deacons to come forward to speak to those of you who would like to learn more about how you can have the certainty of eternal life, let me pose a question. Do we want to conquer sin? Do we want to see converts coming to Christ? No one is going to be won by a cowardly gospel that, as Paul says, has a ‘form of godliness’ but is lacking in power. When Jesus said, ‘Blessed are the meek,’ He didn’t say ‘Blessed are the wimps.’ The meek are blessed because they’re humble, not because they’re weak. They’re willing to stand up for what they believe in.

  “As followers of Christ, we’re called to be different. Jesus said, ‘All men will hate you because of me, but he who stands firm to the end will be saved.’ The meek that Jesus blesses are those strong enough to endure the curses and insults and, despite everything the world throws at them, they fight the good fight. And, dear friends, that’s the commitment I will make to you today.

  “There are people who say, ‘It’s not the job of the church to talk about the issues of the day.’ But can that be true? Did Jesus talk about the issues of his day? Did he challenge the tax collectors and scribes and teachers of the law, calling them whitewashed tombs full of dead men’s bones? John the Baptist lost his life standing for the truth about marriage.

  “And what about the abolition movement that freed the slaves? How did that happen? It was godly men like William Wilberforce in England, and Alexander Hamilton, John Jay, and Benjamin Rush in this country who led the struggle. There were righteous men and women in the government in those days. They were defenders of religious liberty who dared to take a stand against evil. I pray that you and I may be half as strong.”

  With those words, Pat stepped aside and asked Chuck to come forward and give the closing prayer. As the organist began playing the hymn of invitation, Chuck asked for all those who would like to make a commitme
nt to follow Christ to come forward. At least fifty people walked the aisle.

  And no one was more stunned than Pat.

  MANY OF THE members felt the Lord had used Pat’s words and said so. But the reaction of the deacons to Pat’s extemporaneous sermon was less than positive. His defiance shocked them. He had, against their expressed wishes, given another sermon in which he attacked the government and the administration. Several of the men brushed past Pat, ignoring his outstretched hand.

  At home, Pat and Becky sat at the dining room table eating their afternoon meal. The children had bolted down their food and were outside playing. The moment they left, Pat felt the tension in the room rise. Becky had been bottling up her emotions, just as he had, and he could see the bottle was full.

  “Pat,” she said, “why is this happening to us? Why do you have to stir up trouble like this? I can’t take much more of it.”

  “Becky, I know you didn’t do anything to deserve this, but you’ve seen what’s happening. It’s the government; they’ve taken a few cases completely out of context in order to use them as a weapon against people of faith, and they’re making me out to be the bad guy. If we didn’t have a successful broadcast ministry, in this church, or if—I hate to say this—but if I’d never met John Knox Smith, probably none of this would be happening.”

  “But why? What did we ever do to them?”

  “Don’t look for logical answers, Becky. They have an agenda that’s motivated by their belief system, which has nothing to do with the Christian values we once took for granted in this country. They see people like us as dinosaurs from some ancient world who hold back their visions of government-enforced equality. We’re defenders of that other vision—the vision of the founders and our Christian forbearers—and, for them, that makes us the enemy.”

  “I can’t take this.”

  Pat laid his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. “Becky, do you remember what we learned at Southern Seminary, when you were working in President Al Mohler’s office? That the ‘renewal of the church will come only when from pulpit to pulpit we preach as a dying man to dying men?’”

  “Pat Preston, that’s all well and good, but you know my daddy, who was a preacher for forty years, would never have put mama in a position like this. He never would have put her…” Her words and her strength faded.

  Pat struggled to hold back his own tears. The pressure was mounting and he knew Becky wasn’t going to be able to take much more. She had done some volunteer counseling with the women in the church over the past couple of years. Such things were never her calling, but at least she was willing to lend a sympathetic ear. It wasn’t until she started hearing complaints from some of those same women about her husband’s hardline preaching and intolerance—especially his referring to homosexual behavior as sinful—and how that upset so many of their neighbors that she realized how difficult being a pastor’s wife could be.

  “Do you know what one of the ladies said to me after services today? She said, ‘Where is your husband taking this church? Why is he always talking about things that are so scary and controversial?’ What bothered me most was I didn’t have an answer.”

  “People shouldn’t say things like that to you. If they have a problem with me, then they should come to me.”

  “But they do speak to me.” She drew a hand under her eyes. “Pat, wherever you go, you have been the star. That’s okay. I enjoyed that. You have always been my strong, masculine hero; always the provider and defender of our family. But suddenly you seem weak and I don’t know how to deal with that.”

  “I’m the same man I always was. I may have lost my emotional footing for a few days—”

  “People are treating me like I’m part of a conspiracy. I’m a good woman. I love God and do my duty. I’ve been faithful. I’ve given you two beautiful children and served the people of our church. Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Becky, I’m not doing this to you.”

  “You didn’t have to stand up there and blast the government again. Have you forgotten what they did to you?”

  “Of course not. I still have the bruises.”

  “Then why risk more? You can soften your sermons for a while. What do I tell the kids when you end up in jail again, or when they see your face on the news? What happens if the DTED agents or U.S. Marshals or Marines come to the door and drag you off while our children watch?”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “Did you expect what happened last week?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I think it’d be best if I take the kids to their grandmother’s for a while.”

  “But they’re in school.”

  “I can make arrangements with the district for homework assignments. Things are too…too…volatile for them.”

  “You’re really going to go back to Louisville?”

  “Mom can help me with the kids. It’s been awhile since we’ve been there. We’ve only visited a couple of times since Daddy died. It will be good for the kids.”

  “You mean it will be good for you, don’t you?”

  “What if it is? Would you begrudge me that?”

  Pat thought for a moment. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  The next morning, immediately after breakfast, Becky and the children backed out of the driveway and drove away.