But no one seemed to mind the flowery introduction, and when Cole turned to say, “Come and preach to us, Brother Winslow,” the crowd settled back with anticipation.
Andrew Winslow rose and walked to the pulpit, a worn black Bible in his right hand. Placing it on the pulpit, he glanced at Reverend Cole and grinned a boyish grin. “I wish my mother could’ve heard all those nice things Reverend Cole had to say about me,” he remarked, and a slight laughter went over the congregation. “Brother Cole was very generous, and somehow I feel like a waffle that’s had syrup poured all over it.” This time the laughter was louder, and for a few moments Andrew spoke of how happy he was when he had received the invitation to come and preach. He told how he and his wife had heard such marvelous things about Faith Temple, and now he had seen with his own eyes the spirit of the church.
Finally he ended his preliminary remarks and let a silence fall over the congregation. Without opening his Bible he began to quote the Christmas story from the second chapter of Luke. “ ‘And it came to pass in those days,’ ” he said in a clear, ringing voice, “ ‘that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed. . . .’ ” Somehow the quoting of the old story was effective in a way that the reading never could be. The minister’s voice rose like a trumpet from time to time, and at other moments he spoke in what was little more than a whisper. He was a magnificent reader, this Andrew Winslow. His strong voice was like an instrument that could strike any chord, and by the time he had quoted the first twenty verses, every person in the auditorium sat stock still waiting for the application.
Suddenly Andrew asked, “When is Christmas?”
He looked around, and every person in the large crowd seemed to feel he was looking directly into them. Jolie felt the electric blue eyes touch her, and she blinked, certain that he knew everything in her heart.
“I suppose the answer is December the twenty-fifth,” Andrew said slowly. “That’s the logical answer, but somehow I feel in our day, in this age, in this country, it is not answer enough. Oh, it’s easy to set a day and call it Christmas. It’s very simple to go out and buy presents and wrap them in colorful paper with red and green ribbons, then put them under a tree and call that Christmas. But that,” he said firmly with a slight shake of his head, “is not Christmas.”
Leaning forward, Andrew Winslow placed both hands on the pulpit. An electric energy seemed to flow out of him as he went on, sometimes rapidly, sometimes slowly, quoting from both the Old Testament and the New Testament, bringing in history to reinforce his points. He wove humorous and sad stories into his message. But again and again he would pause and say, “When is Christmas?” He did this more than twenty times during the hour in which he spoke, and finally when he came to his conclusion, he said, “I want to tell you my concept of when Christmas is. Christmas,” he said, “is when we exalt the Lord Jesus Christ not only in our hearts but in our acts and in our words. No matter what day it is, when we love the man, or the woman, or the young person next to us and let them have the best that’s in us for the sake of the Lord Jesus. That is Christmas.”
His strong voice rolled out across the congregation as he spoke on about the necessity of worshiping God in spirit and in truth and in deed. “Only when all three of those are one,” he said, “is it Christmas. And now let me introduce to you Jesus Christ who is Christmas. He is the meaning of peace on earth. He is light—He is love—He is mercy and goodness and splendor. Without Him this world would be nothing, but with Him each man and woman, each boy and girl, can have that peace on earth that we have sung about in our hymns. We can know that what happened in that little town of Bethlehem can happen in our own lives, and that’s why on this day I bring you not a new and strange and complicated doctrine.” He paused, and the tears in his eyes rolled down his cheeks. “I bring you the Lord Jesus Christ, Lord of heaven and earth, and this morning He is asking one thing from each one of us. Make Christmas happen every day! On Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. Every day of the week. Every month of the year. Every year of our lives. When Jesus reigns in our hearts, when we have made Him Lord of all, it will truly be Christmas.”
All over the church handkerchiefs were being pulled from women’s purses, while the men struggled valiantly to control their emotions. Then he said, “I want us to stand to our feet and I want us, this day, each one of us, to bow before the Lord of lords and the King of kings. Will you join me at this altar as I kneel and ask the Lord Jesus to let Christmas be my life? Not just one day in the year, but every single day for the rest of our lives. We will find the truth of the Scripture only in the Lord Jesus Christ.”
The choir began to sing, and Andrew Winslow walked down off the platform and knelt simply and bowed his head. For a moment the church was stunned. It was not something they were accustomed to. Suddenly Paul Sears left his place on the platform and joined the kneeling man, and then Dr. Gunn did the same. The other elders quickly joined them and knelt around Andrew. Soon a crowd began to pour out of the pews into the aisles. They came weeping, but with a note of victory, and soon the altar was filled so that there was no more room. The choir continued to sing, and the members of Faith Temple fell on their knees before the Lord.
Cass and Serena had gone down to the altar with their children, as had Dorothy with Amelia in her arms. Peter wanted to go, but he knew he would be a hypocrite. He watched Priscilla go forward. He glanced over at Jolie and saw tears running down her cheeks. Leaning forward he saw that Easy was moved, too. His eyes were shut and his teeth seemed tightly clenched. The three of them stood there until the service was over.
As they filed out, Easy grabbed Peter’s arm and said, “I guess you and me and Jolie are just too hardhearted. Too late for me, but not for you, Jolie.”
Jolie suddenly turned and stared at Easy. “It’s not too late for anybody,” she whispered. Then she whirled around and walked rapidly away, her face filled with emotion.
The two men looked at each other, then silently filed out after her.
****
The elders somehow made their way back to the meeting room, bringing Andrew with them. When the door was closed, Cyrus turned to the elders and said, “After a meeting like that, there’s no doubt in my mind. I move that we extend an invitation to Brother Winslow to come as our pastor.”
Every elder, including Harold Parsley, spoke up with an “Amen,” or a “Yes,” or a “Bless God.”
Cyrus Tompkins turned to Andrew and said, “We feel that it’s the will of God for you to come, but I know you’ll want to talk with your wife and pray about it.”
Andrew was somewhat overcome at the openness and the instant quality of the invitation. His eyes fell on Nolan Cole, who had also come in with the elders. Cole said nothing but stood with his back against the wall, his eyes turned down.
“Yes, of course, I will talk to my wife at once.”
“We don’t want to rush you,” Cyrus Tompkins said, “but we’d like your answer as soon as you hear from God.”
“You will have it,” Andrew said. “And now I must go find Dorothy.”
He turned and left the room, and Cyrus turned to Nolan Cole, who was standing silent. “Brother Cole, I think we’re all agreed that you’ve done a fine job as associate pastor, and I know that the board would like you to stay on in that position if Brother Winslow accepts the call.”
Cole looked up and seemed to have trouble speaking for a moment, then he cleared his throat and nodded. “I appreciate your invitation and will certainly pray about it.”
He turned quickly and left the room. Harold Parsley shook his head. “He’s not too happy, is he? He expected to take the pulpit himself.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t go to another church,” Dr. Gunn said. “He’d be a good senior pastor.”
Sears had been watching as Cole left, and he said nothing, but there was a strange look on his face as he left the room with the other elders.
****
Andrew said no
thing to Dorothy during dinner. They had gone out together with the children, although they had received many invitations for dinner from members of the church. Every one of the elders had asked them out, but Andrew had graciously refused, saying, “My wife and I need some time alone.”
Now they sat in a quiet restaurant only a few blocks from the church. Both of them had been too excited to eat much. They had spent most of the time at the table trying to prevent Phillip from destroying everything in sight and seeing that Amelia was fed. Finally, Andrew said without preamble, “The elders have asked us to come to the church.”
“They want you as pastor?”
“Yes. It was unanimous.” His eyes glowed, and he reached over and took her hand. “We will pray about it, but what’s your impression?”
Dorothy squeezed his hand as hard as she could and started to speak, then something came to her and she closed her lips and dropped her head.
“What’s wrong, Dorothy? Don’t you like the church?”
Lifting her eyes, Dorothy said, “I like it too much. I’m afraid to make a decision, Andrew. I’m afraid I want you to say yes because it’s a lovely house, and you’ll be with us instead of on the road all the time. You’ll have to decide. My judgment is no good. I can’t even pray about it.” She smiled humorously for a moment, then said, “I tell God that I want His will to be done, but all the time He knows I’m saying behind His back, ‘Let your will be for us to come to Faith Temple.’ ”
Andrew squeezed her hand and laughed aloud. “I don’t see anything wrong with a preacher’s wife and a preacher having a little comfort. This is a fine church. It can do a mighty work for God. We’ll pray about it.” He looked at her with one eyebrow lifted and said, “I’m almost as bad as you are. I want to come here as pastor, and I can’t decide whether it’s because I’m tired of being on the road and tired of the responsibilities of being superintendent, or because it’s something I want to do for the Lord.”
“Your sermon was magnificent this morning. God was surely in it.” Dorothy looked very pretty as she sat across the table from him. She had bought a new outfit, a salmon-colored dress, with matching short bolero, trimmed in a dark gray. The neckline had a tiered lace trim and the dress had decorative seams with fine pleated inserts of gray. Her face, which had been so tired and worn when Andrew had returned to Kansas from his last recruiting trip, was now fresh looking.
“You look like the girl I courted in Africa,” he whispered. He was rewarded by her smile, then he said, “I think we’ll get an answer soon.”
The answer came on December 31. There was a watch service at the church, and Andrew and Dorothy attended, leaving the children with Cass and Serena. They joined the prayer group gathered there, and when midnight came there was a time of rejoicing and thanksgiving for the past year and the year to come. Andrew was filled with joy at the sight of the large crowd that filled the church. He could sense their spirit of prayer and was moved by the warm acceptance he felt from the people. He turned to Dorothy, put his arm around her, ignoring those who were smiling at them, and whispered in her ear, “God is in this, Dorothy. I’m going to accept the call to this church.”
“Oh, Andrew! Are you sure?”
“Very sure!”
“Then I’m sure, too,” she said and without thinking kissed him. She heard a muffled giggle and looked around to see many of the church members grinning widely at them. “Well, a woman can kiss her husband if she wants to on New Year’s Eve, can’t she?”
“Certainly can,” Dr. Gunn grinned. His own wife, a petite brunette named Marilyn, sat beside him, and he suddenly turned and kissed her, saying, “I think it’s a good habit.”
It was a night that the church remembered, and the next day, January 1, 1905, Andrew came to the pulpit. There was a serious look on his face, and he said, “Before I preach, I must tell you that my wife and I have been much in prayer about the matter of your church.” He waited until the silence was complete. As he looked out across the auditorium, he saw the people were holding their breath. He had not told anyone about his decision, and he saw Cass and Serena looking up, waiting anxiously for his words. After a brief pause he said, “It is my joyous duty to announce that Dorothy and I feel God has called us to join your fellowship—”
Someone cried, “Hallelujah!” and a spontaneous applause broke out all over the congregation. Without any urging, everyone stood, and as they applauded loudly, Andrew left the pulpit, went down to where Dorothy sat, and reached out his hand. He pulled her to him, and as they turned to face the congregation, they felt closer than they had in years.
Serena saw that Dorothy was struggling to keep back the tears, and she whispered to her husband, “Cass, we’ll have a fine pastor, and a fine pastor’s wife.”
CHAPTER TEN
A Touch of Loneliness
“ . . . and I think if I have to make one more of these motion pictures dashing around on a horse and firing blanks I will go mad!”
Priscilla Winslow looked down at the last line she had written in her journal, and with a grimace of distaste she shook her head and lifted her eyes to stare out of the window of her apartment. A light rain was falling, and the sun shone feebly through the thick clouds. Some of the leaves that had fallen from the trees were very large, and a gusty wind tossed them about. As they began to make colorful shapes on the ground, some of them glittered like diamonds, their wet surfaces reflecting the electric streetlights.
Leaning back in her chair, Priscilla leafed idly through her journal for the past year. She noted the world events that she had commented on throughout the months since she had been in California: men had started digging like moles to create a canal in Panama; a scientist named Albert Einstein had put forward a theory that he called relativity, which the world seemed excited about, but which Priscilla did not fathom in the slightest.
She noted on January 17 of that year that Russian troops had killed more than one hundred unarmed protesters at the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, setting off terrible unrest and bloodshed throughout Russia, and in the Far East the Japanese army and navy had thoroughly defeated the Russians, slaying over two hundred thousand Russians in one battle and destroying the Russian navy at Tsushima.
As she turned the pages, she read the note she had made when the body of John Paul Jones, long buried in an unknown graveyard in France, had been recovered and brought back to the United States. The largest diamond in the world, over three thousand one hundred and six carats, had been found in the Transvaal and had been named the Cullinan Diamond. She smiled as she remembered what Peter had said: “If I had just a chunk out of that, I could build the best race car the world ever saw.” She read on, remembering that Peter had attended the annual automobile show in Madison Square Garden and had come back raving about the motorcars he had seen there. She leaned back and thought of what had happened in the world of the theater. Peter Pan, starring Maude Adams, was still a big hit.
But death had taken its toll, for in that year Henry Irving, the first actor to be knighted, had died, as had Maurice Barrymore, another great actor who had left his heritage in his children—John, Ethel, and Lionel, who were beginning to dominate the stage themselves. In the realm of literature, the world had lost Jules Verne, the popular French novelist, and the Russian writer Anton Chekhov had also passed away from the scene.
Somewhere outside her window a dog barked sharply, and she looked out to see a large mustard-colored dog charting purposely across, leaving his footprints in the carpet of leaves. He appeared to be following after something and determinedly plowed on through the heavy wind.
The year had been rich in music; especially popular were the contributions of George M. Cohan. Two songs from his Forty-Five Minutes From Broadway had swept the country. One bore the title of the play, and the other was “Mary’s a Grand Old Name.” America had also been singing “Wait ’Til the Sun Shines, Nellie,” “My Gal Sal,” “In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree,” and “Come Away With Me, Lucille, in M
y Merry Oldsmobile.”
With a sigh, Priscilla picked up her pen and began to make another entry in her journal.
Here it is December 15, 1905. In two more weeks we will celebrate Andrew’s first year as pastor at Faith Temple. The church has grown unbelievably, far more than any of us ever dreamed. Andrew is such a marvelous preacher, and people in the countryside are coming for miles to hear him preach. The church has been forced to go to three services on Sunday to accommodate everyone. The decision to build a huge new building was difficult. Most people were afraid of the move, even the elders, but Andrew has a way of pushing his way through difficulties, and now the architects have done their work, and the cornerstone will be laid on December 25, Christmas Day, the anniversary of Andrew’s acceptance by the church.
Tired of writing, Priscilla put her pen down, threw on a woolen coat, and left her apartment. Peter had urged her to learn to drive a car, but she had no desire to ride in such a noisy contraption. Women were not drivers, for the most part. She hailed a cab that was moving slowly down the street and gave the driver Andrew Winslow’s address. The cabby, a short, rotund man with rosy cheeks and bushy black eyebrows, grinned. “That’s the preacher’s house, is it now?”
“Yes, Brother Winslow’s home.”
“Sure, and I know it well, miss. I’ll have you there in no time.”
The sun came out and the wind ceased to blow as Priscilla made the short trip to the parsonage. By the time she paid the driver, giving him a generous tip and taking his hearty thanks, the day had brightened to its usual California splendor, although it remained chilly. Dorothy met her at the door, greeted her with an embrace, and the two women went at once into the large living area on the southern side. The sun shone through the windows, and as they sat down and Dorothy served hot chocolate and small tea cakes, they chatted steadily.
“How is the picture going?” Dorothy wanted to know.
The Silver Star Page 15
