With that, Mark waved and left the room. Jonathan trailed slightly behind, but slipped ahead of Mark when he entered the pastor’s suite so that he could unlock the door for them both.
“Pastor, the pastoral advisory meeting will convene in thirty minutes. Rev. Marshall has already printed the spreadsheets and placed them at your seat in the conference room.”
“Great,” Mark said.
“Can I get you anything? A bite to eat before we start?” Jonathan offered, following Mark into the inner office and laying the Pastor’s belongings on his desk.
“Yeah. A two-piece from Popeye’s. With fries and a Sprite, if you think you can make it back in time.”
“I’m on it.” Jonathan scurried out of the office.
That boy certainly was an eager beaver. For what, Mark wasn’t quite sure. Maybe a shot at the podium? A chance to lead something? No matter, Jonathan would get nothing but high praise from Mark if he kept up this pace.
He was a good assistant. Not as good as Sharla had been, though. She used to ask him on Saturday nights what he wanted to eat Sunday, if he had a meeting planned. Then she’d pack the meal in his lunch bag. She used neat plastic containers and wrapped all necessary plastic ware in a napkin. She might throw in a piece of candy for dessert. Often, she would stick a little note inside: I love you! or Got a surprise for you when you get home. He’d almost gotten to the point where he looked forward to the notes more than the food.
Those were the good old days.
“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice called from the reception area.
“Yes?”
And there she was again, standing at his private doorway. Mark pieced it all together and realized that in his rush, Jonathan must have left the suite door unlocked.
Mark stood and walked toward her. He opened the door wider and ushered her right back toward the hallway where he knew a fair amount of after-church traffic would keep them both in plain sight.
Problem was, in his effort to keep this woman in front of him, he got a good look at her behind. Mark was just about ready to question the Lord as to why on earth He would give one woman all that to work with.
Granted, she wasn’t the first beautiful woman to come on to him. But something about this woman, this time…Mark empathized with David, Solomon, Sampson and every other man of God in the Bible who had a weakness for women. He knew he didn’t need to be within ten feet of her without a flock of witnesses.
He played with the change in his pockets. “How can I help you?”
She lowered her chin. “I was hoping we could meet alone.”
“I thought you said you were already a member. Why were you in the visitors’ receiving room?”
A grin slithered across her face. “I’m glad you noticed.”
Mark wondered when the game had changed. When did women get so transparent about their intentions? Shouldn’t she at least ask for him to touch and agree? Prayer for her chest area? Even if he were going to consider cheating on Sharla—which he was not—but if he did, he would cheat with somebody who had the decency to at least act decent.
“Sister, I don’t know why you joined New Vision, if you joined New Vision, but this is a family church. I’m a family man, happily married to my wife of fifteen years, and—”
“Sixteen, Pastor,” she cut him off. She waved the visitors’ information brochure before his eyes. “You’ve been married sixteen years.”
Mark coughed. How could I have forgotten? “Right. Anyway—”
“And your wife should have been here,” she interrupted again.
“Don’t tell me where my wife needs to be.” Mark felt the heat rising in his face. “You need to be on the altar.”
The woman dropped her face, laughing softly. She batted her eyelashes twice. “The truth hurts, but it will set you free, Pastor.”
Mark fixed his lips for a rebuttal, but the woman turned and walked away, her hind quarters switching from side to side in perfect harmony with the stride of her long legs.
Mark tore his eyes away from the picture of temptation set before him and locked himself in his private sanctuary. He stepped to the side of his desk, swiveled the chair toward him and dropped to his knees in prayer.
“Lord, I need You. Your word says You always make a way out of temptation,” he started. But he really wasn’t tempted. Not totally. The problem was the situation more than anything. This woman’s advances weighed heavily on top of Sharla’s…fussing, resisting him in bed, nagging him about Amani, being off in her own world now that the church was up and running.
“God, I don’t know what’s going on, but You do. Show me. And help me. Amen.”
Chapter 5
Rev. Jackson, who might have been a perfect mentor to Mark if he hadn’t been so busy sneaking off to the boat to gamble on the first of every month, opened the meeting in prayer. Mark had done his best to surround himself with upstanding, older men of good character when he founded New Vision. Some of them had even come from Greater Fountain of Hope, where Mark had been spiritually fathered by that church’s pastor, Dr. Kevin McMurray.
And yet, Mark had come to the realization that his pastoral staff, consisting of two older brethren and one younger, were still people. Each man had his struggles and problems. If not gambling, cursing. If not cursing, pride. Maybe a combination of all three, if the state lottery jackpot got to be over 50 million.
One good thing about his crew, though, was that they ran a tight ship with regard to church funds. Thanks to a sound system of checks and balances Mark set in place, New Vision had been nearly impeccable in handling its members’ tithes and offerings. Though they weren’t quite a megachurch, the membership was able to generously support four full-time (including Mark) and three part-time employees. These bi-monthly meetings were an integral part of sound fiscal management.
“Gentlemen, Jonathan has prepared the reports for our review,” Mark said as he slid a packet to each man seated at the cherry wood table.
Despite the ornate appearance of the room, Sharla had once again, worked her decorating skills to create a professional, welcoming atmosphere without breaking the church budget.
Mark took his place at the head of the table. He gave his leaders a moment to digest the information contained on the spreadsheets, which included the departmental budget requests for the upcoming quarter, the average contribution of each adult member, and the demographic trends in new membership, as Mark had requested.
“Why does it cost three hundred dollars to host a free writing conference for approximately thirty-five people?” Rev. Kit, the youth minister, voiced an objection.
“Honorarium of fifty dollars to the speakers. Boxed lunch for each person,” Jonathan read from the proposal as everyone flipped to the detailed proposal.
Mark opened his calculator app. “That’s almost six dollars a box. What time is the workshop?”
“Ten ‘til two-thirty.”
“That’s four and half hours of instruction, less thirty minutes for lunch. Ask them to schedule the workshop for 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. Serve continental breakfast, axe the lunch. That’ll cut the cost to almost half. People eat lunch every day. They’re coming to a writing workshop to get information, not food.”
“Yes, sir.” Jonathan made a note, as did everyone else.
They found a few more places to trim costs—printing in black ink instead of color for the men’s breakfast programs, seeking a counter-offer from a contractor for striping the parking lot. Individually, these cuts wouldn’t make much difference. But taken altogether, these were kinds of small adjustments that added up to tens of thousands of dollars annually.
“Mark, have you given any more thought to what we discussed about the television broadcast?” Rev. Jackson, the only one who addressed the pastor by his first name, asked.
Mark tried his best to mask his annoyance at this topic. Going on television would be a dream come true. Ministering to thousands or even millions of souls weekly had a nice ring to it. But h
e wasn’t sure the church’s budget could support a broadcast for as long as it might take to build up a substantial and steady flow from the TV offerings. “No, Rev. Jackson, I haven’t. I don’t think we’re ready for it yet.”
Not to mention the amount of time it would take to get into a studio and record the before-and-after sermon commentary. Mondays were booked with volunteer meetings, Tuesday mornings he met with the interfaith ministers’ alliance to discuss issues they all wanted to address in the community. Tuesday evenings he tried to get his sermon together for Wednesday night service.
Thursdays and Fridays were busy on campus with paperwork, putting out administrative fires—not to mention funerals and wedding rehearsals. Nuptials on Saturdays, something with the youth every other weekend to keep those busy minds off the street.
His assistants, of course, helped—but everybody wanted Pastor there. And, quite frankly, Mark prided himself on being an in-touch shepherd. Even if Mark had wanted to do the broadcast now, God wasn’t going to grant him more than twenty-four hours in a day.
“We could try a streaming broadcast. This younger generation is more likely to watch you on a tablet or a smartphone than a television station,” Marshall suggested.
“This younger generation ain’t come into no money yet,” Rev. Kit shot down the compromise. “New Vision—and I mean you, Mark—needs to be on TV, that’s all there is to it. Look at our numbers. Look at the demographics.” He demonstrated an inch with his thumb and forefinger. “We’re this close to becoming a megachurch. A broadcast could take us over the top.”
“Or it could drag us under,” Mark said.
“Since when have you ever backed down from a challenge? It’s all on you,” Rev. Kit instigated, bearing a smile that whispered: I dare you.
The competitive geyser began bubbling in Mark’s stomach. By God’s grace, he knew better than to let it control his mind.
Marshall jumped on board. “We could start small. Local. And as viewership increases, go national. Global. Members would come pouring in from everywhere. Not to mention the online offerings from people we’ll never meet.” His eyes nearly glassed over. “I say we go for it.”
Mark surveyed the expressions staring back at him. He hoped that his leaders had New Vision’s ministry at heart, but it was hard to know. Every man at the table knew that the higher the bottom line, the more left over for salaries. Plus ministry. But mostly salaries were at the forefront of their thoughts, Mark figured.
And they had a right to be concerned. Rev. Kit mentioned his finicky pension recently. Though Rev. Jackson was only part-time and wasn’t supposed to earn more than $1200 a month because of his social security income, he wasn’t at his max yet. Marshall and Jonathan, both having no seniority, were low on the pay scale, too, but could look forward to frequent raises as the church grew and their ranks rose with it. Eventually, each of them would be a chief with devoted followers under them.
“Let’s take another look at the projections,” Mark avoided a direct answer. “How long until we have two thousand regular members?”
Jonathan grabbed a pencil and sketched a line extending the graph he’d already formulated. “Nine months. Maybe a year.”
“Okay,” Mark shrugged. “Our growth has been slow and steady all this time. Why fix what ain’t broken?”
“We could cut this lag time down to three months with a broadcast, I bet,” Rev. Maxwell said, slapping one hand on the table.
“Slow your roll,” Mark put an end to the momentum. “We don’t make rash decisions. We never have.”
“It’s not rash, Pastor. We’ve had this talk. Everybody’s in except you,” Marshall let the cat out of the bag.
Mark leaned back in his chair and perched a finger over his lip. “Is that so?” One by one, their eyes averted Mark’s, silently telling off on each another. “So you all have decided what direction New Vision needs to take.”
Marshall backpedaled, “No, Pastor. We—”
“Look,” Rev. Kit intervened, “I can only speak for myself. A few months ago, I got an offer from Fresh Start Community Church. I turned it down because I believe in New Vision. I believe this church is going somewhere. The people love you, Pastor.”
“Aw, Kit, take your nose out the man’s behind,” Rev. Jackson groused. Then he pointed a finger and declared, “Mark, you’d be a fool not to take advantage of what God is doing here. Maybe it’s so hard for you to see, considerin’ as you don’t need a pay raise like the rest of us.”
And there it was for the third time in only a few months. Though Mark was the highest paid person on staff, he actually needed the church’s money least. The residuals from his successful 15-year run in insurance sales before becoming a full-time pastor still had his family sitting quite nicely.
“Gentlemen, it’s one thing to base a decision on dollars and cents when we’re talking about printer ink. But this is different. We need to pray and seek God’s counsel about exactly how He wants to grow this church,” Mark preached.
Jonathan pushed his glasses up on his nose. He’d stopped taking notes and seemed more enthralled with Mark’s message now than when he’d been standing at the podium only an hour before.
“God’s been faithful to us for the past six years. I know He will continue leading us down the right road,” Mark concluded.
Rev. Maxwell mumbled, “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink it.”
Against his better judgment, Mark asked the reverend to explain himself.
“Don’ you want it, Pastor?”
“Want what?”
“Think about it. T.D. Jakes, Creflo Dollar, Joel Osteen—those men are no better than you. They probably didn’t even get as far as you have in six years. Why are you slowing down the progress of God’s work in this church?”
Finally, Rev. Maxwell had asked a question that needed to be answered.
Problem was, Mark didn’t have a good one that wouldn’t come across as selfish or lazy. If he said, “I don’t want to,” the men would think he didn’t care about their well-being. If he said, “I don’t have time to,” they’d help him open up a spreadsheet and analyze his time management.
He settled on a reply that they couldn’t argue with—at least not for a while. “I hear your concerns. But I don’t feel led to go down that road at this time.”
Rev. Kit bristled. “Then what road are you taking to ensure the prosperity of this church and the people who’ve helped you build it?”
Mark was tempted to tell Kit to hit the road if he felt like he could do better at another church. Nobody was holding a gun to Kit’s head, making him stay at New Vision.
And yet, the man had asked another fair question.
Suddenly, Mark realized the reason he didn’t know the answer to where this church was going was because, in truth, he’d been so busy with ministry that he hadn’t talked to the Head much lately.
Mark’s only answer came as a request. “I need your prayers so I can hear from Him.”
Chapter 6
The knot in the pit of her stomach twisted as she heard Mark’s car docking in the garage. These meetings with the ministers and auxiliary boards and volunteers and whoever else needed her husband’s ear were ridiculous. Sure, Sharla had her share of appointments with the ministers’ wives and the Mother’s Board, but they hadn’t taken over her life. Somehow, women knew to back down when another woman said, “My child has a fever.”
Maybe it was because of slavery or World War II that women had figured out how to step in for one another. No matter, Mark needed to get with the twenty-first century and learn how to leave things undone at church instead of at home.
She whispered to the Lord, “Please help me not to go off on my husband tonight.” It was Sunday, after all.
Well, if she couldn’t put on a happy face for Mark, she could at least put on one for Amani. At the sound of shoes on the kitchen tile, Sharla twisted her body toward the entry. “Hey.”
“Hey,
” Mark barely responded.
She could tell the meeting had not been completely pleasant by the wrinkles in his forehead. Then Sharla felt the wrinkles on her own face. “Where’s Amani?”
“I don’t know,” Mark scowled. “You tell me.”
“I thought he was with you,” she enunciated harshly.
Mark’s mouth crimped in annoyance. “When was the last time ‘Mani stayed with me after service for a meeting?”
Sharla jumped off the couch, yelling, “You’re right. I should have known better than to think my husband might actually be with my son,” as she stomped toward their bedroom.
She called Amani’s cell and breathed a sigh of relief when he answered the phone. “Where are you?”
“I’m coming in the front door right now.”
She ended the call and dashed back to the front door as Amani waltzed through with a McDonald’s bag in one hand and a drink in the other.
“Where have you been?”
“I went to Derek and Desmond’s after service,” he chirped.
Sharla looked upside his head. “Did you not think to tell either me or your father where you were going?”
Mark joined her in the makeshift interrogation space in the main foyer. “Son, we didn’t know where you were.”
“I texted you and told you where I was going,” Amani said to his father.
“First of all, you don’t tell me where you’re going. You ask,” Mark took the wheel.
Sharla’s breath steadied. She was glad to know that she and her husband were on the same page, for once.
“Second, after you ask, you don’t follow through with your proposal until I actually acknowledge you and give you permission to proceed. You got that, Jack?” Mark threatened.
Sharla added her two cents, “And I’ve told you about hanging at the twins’ house. I know they’re your friends, but that little sister of theirs isn’t so little anymore. I’m not comfortable with you being over there unless I know their parents are home.”
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