“Read my heart,” she demanded.
“That’s impossible,” he stated.
“It didn’t used to be. When we were dating, and before the church, you used to know when something was bothering me. You’d stop to see what it was. We’d take a weekend off, go somewhere and reconnect, make a plan to overcome. And I felt safe. But now…” her voice cracked with emotion.
A flood of anxiety rushed through Mark’s veins as he realized his wife was about to start crying. Her lips quivered, her eyes watered, and her button nose flushed red. He’d been expecting a barrage of smart comments from his wife, but not that. Not crying.
“Baby,” he tried to sooth her with words as well as a hug across the console.
“No.” She gave him the hand.
“Sharla, honey, I’m only trying to help.”
“Don’t touch me right now,” she wiped her nose, her dainty fingers shaking.
Mark sat in amazement, watching his wife try to compose herself while her body betrayed her attempts. The tears kept flowing, her hands kept trembling.
Suddenly, his mind flashed back to his Aunt Jackie, his mother’s youngest sister. Aunt Jackie had been perfectly fine until Mark’s cousin, Kendrick, drowned in the lake. Mark was too young to know what a “nervous breakdown” was, but he remembered the day before the mysterious occasion. Aunt Jackie had been sitting in their living room crying uncontrollably. Rocking herself back and forth. And he distinctly remembered her fingers shaking the way Sharla’s shook now.
This is not the time for Sharla to be having a nervous breakdown, Mark thought, not with the church on the verge of a huge paradigm shift, not when I’ve finally gotten back into the groove of hearing from God and walking in His direct guidance.
Sharla’s condition had to be the work of the enemy, Mark surmised. “Baby, let’s pray.”
“No! I don’t want to pray!” she practically screamed. “I’m tired of you and all this pastor stuff. I want my husband—Mark Wayne Carter, III—back!”
Now he knew she had flown the coop. But Sharla’s tears kept Mark from flying off with her. “Okay. We can go to counseling like you wanted.”
She sniffed. Gave her eyes a sloppy wipe. “Thank you. I already have an appointment set for Amani Tuesday evening.”
No! Not Tuesday night! Mark was scheduled for a live guest appearance with Joey Z, the metroplex’s gospel radio station’s praise-and-pray DJ. Rev. Marshall had schmoozed for months to get Mark on that show. The hope was that Mark would become a regular commentator and bring in new members.
“What time did you set the appointment for?”
His voice must have hinted at his conflict.
“Why?” Sharla baited him.
“What time?” Mark repeated.
“Six-thirty.”
The interview was from 5:30 – 6:30. “I’ll do my best to make it.”
“So…you might be there, you might not.”
“Isn’t it Amani’s counseling session?”
“Yes, but it would be nice if we could both go to show support,” she explained.
Mark didn’t quite understand how sitting on a couch while someone was in another room being questioned was actually a show of support. “I’ll be late,” he said, “but I’ll be there by the time he comes out of the room.”
Sharla rolled her eyes. “Let’s just get to the nursing home, please.”
Chapter 10
A quick glance across the sanctuary gave Mark cause for question. There were definitely fewer people in attendance that week. Mentally, he ran through a list of possibilities, including the previous night’s musical, where he had taken the liberty of sharing the good news about Christ and extending the invitation to meet Him, although he wasn’t on program to do so. Mark was well aware that some people “counted” any event where a preacher spoke as their weekly visit with God. Once they met the quota, that was it—especially with this second service.
After the announcements scrolled across giant screens, the praise dancers rendered a routine that totally rubbed Mark the wrong way. The chorus of the music, “God, please don’t turn away from me,” was impossible. God had already promised in His word that He would never leave or forsake His people.
Several people in the audience stood, raising their hands toward heaven as they mimicked the dancers’ begging gestures. Have these people not been listening to a word I’ve preached for the past two Sundays?
Maybe Sharla was right. Perhaps he should cut back on his efforts at the church. If they weren’t going to listen to him, what was the point?
Or maybe he was expecting too much too soon. The fact was, he could only point the finger at himself for their misunderstanding. What was two weeks’ worth of truth supposed to accomplish after years of politically correct social teaching on his watch, not to mention the preachers they might have had before him? No matter, he tapped a memo to himself to develop a sermon on entering God’s rest through Christ, Hebrews chapter 4.
The choir’s last song didn’t help. Though it was a classic, Mark cringed at the first line.
“The race is not given to the swift nor to the strong,” Valeria Newsome sang her heart out, “but to the one that endureth until the end.”
Mark could remember when he used to quote those words, but last year he’d stopped when he found out the saying wasn’t actually a scripture in the Bible. And he’d told the church about it, too, but obviously they’d decided it didn’t matter. It sounded good, so they sang it anyway.
There again, Mark made a note, this one to be discussed with the elders: No more unbiblical songs.
But was he being too harsh? Legalistic? Was it the end of the world if the choir’s songs and praise dancers’ music was a little…off? Even more, how was he going to micro-manage every single move the worship ministry made?
Not possible.
Finally, the song ended with yet another partial-verse-scramble and Mark took the pulpit. His message that day was almost the same as last Sunday’s: Free from sin.
“If you have your Bibles with you, go ahead and turn to first John, chapter three.”
While he knew that some congregants were busy swiping virtual pages, the familiar melody of thin pages flipping, flipping, flipping sent a pleasant ripple through Mark’s soul. Breaking the bread of God’s word with people filled him more than a six-course meal.
“I have to forewarn you,” he started, “some of you may not like this sermon. It’s what I like to call a mirror sermon.”
“Ah hah,” from Mother Herndon, sitting on the second pew. “Preach it anyway.”
Her words made Mark laugh inside. He had been encouraged when Mother Herndon joined New Vision. She’d been a long-time Mother at Dr. McMurray’s church but, according to her, the Lord wanted her to follow him and Sharla as they started their own ministry.
“You need the old and the young alike at every church,” Mother Herndon had wisely stated.
He had no doubt that she prayed for him and his family on a regular basis. He hoped the Spirit would lead her to add a little extra for Amani and Sharla.
Mark spotted Amani in the crowd. Arms folded, eyes looking as though he might fall asleep at any moment. But at least he wasn’t texting anymore during service.
Sharla sat on the front row to his right, where she always sat. Same fake grin. Different hairstyle.
After focusing himself with the thought that at least his family was physically present in the house of God, Mark trained his eyes on the Word again, reading verses one through nine. “May the Lord add a blessing to the hearers and doers of His word.”
“Amen,” the congregation agreed.
“My brothers and sisters, I want to talk to you today about the fact that you don’t have to live in sin. You don’t have to live in obedience to your flesh. Because Christ died and rose again, those of us who believe on Him have died with Him, according to Colossians three and three. And we find here in First John the product of a life lived in Christ—freedom
from the rule and reign of sin, even as we go about our lives in this mortal body.”
The audience resembled deer in the headlights.
“You see, before Christ, you and I didn’t have a choice. We had to obey our flesh because it was our master. But once we believe and receive Christ, we exchange our lives for His.”
A few amens.
“Now, Paul did say in Romans that there is a war going on inside of us—the flesh still wants what it wants.”
“You right about that!” from someone.
“You still have cravings and desires and suggestions that rise out of your body,” Mark continued.
He got a whole chorus of amens on that one. But his heart sank as he realized his congregation could relate more to their human shortcomings than to the victory already secured in Christ.
He had failed the people miserably, and he’d have to answer to God for it. What do you want me to do?
Mark yanked the microphone from its holder and stepped down from the pulpit. Jonathan quickly followed behind him, wearing a confused look on his face. Mark pointed for Jonathan to sit down next to Sharla.
“Saints of God, members of New Vision, I have a confession to make.”
An audible rattling swept through the building. People straightened up in their seats. The balcony seemed to lean in closer. He could see Jonathan shaking his head and mouthing the words ‘I don’t know’ to the fellow ministers.
Mark knew that he was making everyone uncomfortable, perhaps most of all his wife. To calm Sharla, he flashed a quick smile in her direction.
“The Lord has been dealing with me about something,” Mark continued. “For the past six years, I’ve been preaching to you about many, many things.”
“Mmmm hmmm,” they prodded.
“Many things that are beneficial.”
“Mmmm hmmm.”
“I’ve taught you how to pray more effectively, how to get out of debt, how to get healed, how to get whatever you want from God.”
“That’s right,” they played along.
“I’ve given you plenty of how-to’s, but not the who.”
“That’s right,” Mother Herndon bellowed. “Help him, Jesus!”
“I stand up here week after week telling you all stuff that I thought you all needed to hear when, really, all you need is in Jesus—the very last part of what gets mentioned every week. But you can’t know peace, you can’t know love or joy or prosperity without Jesus Christ.
“When you think about the one person you love more than anything, even when they do wrong, you don’t want them punished to the fullest extent possible. We got people in this church who have given all kinds of collateral—houses, cars, savings accounts, taken second and third jobs—to get a good attorney to argue the case for a child they know did wrong. But even though they know that boy did wrong, they still want mercy.
“That’s exactly what Christ did for us. He sacrificed Himself so you and I could have mercy. Hebrews seven and twenty-five says He ever lives to intercede for us. And then he turned around and gave His life for us and to us so we wouldn’t ever have to submit to sin again. Even when we get off track, the sacrifice He made for us is still in effect. It is finished.
“The only requirement is to believe. If you’ve been listening to sin, if you’ve been trying to argue your own case before God, trying to do everything right so God will forgive you—you can stop. He already has. Fall in love with Him the way He’s already in love with you.
Mark felt the leading to give the invitation a different way. “Every head bowed, every eye closed. Right where you are. You don’t have to stand or walk down the aisle. You don’t have to give us your name or your number or your address. You don’t even have to raise your hand. Right where you are, if you feel Christ knocking at the door of your heart, just open it. If you’ve already accepted Christ but you’ve been wrestling with sin, just surrender to Christ. Believe on what He has done and give it all to Him. Sin is broken. The same rest you will have in heaven can start now because He’s the same God there as He is here. Right there, where you’re sitting, open your mouth and let Him know that you receive Him.”
The revelation flowing from Mark’s mouth stunned him. He hadn’t planned it, had never even considered the idea that believers didn’t have to wait until eternity to experience an inexplicable rest in Christ today.
The words were not his own, and he could not have been more humbled by the fact that God had used his lips to speak them.
Soft music began playing as Mark held the microphone to his chest, rocking from side to side in the manifest presence of God. He could hear people whispering soft prayers. Someone in the balcony began sobbing from the pit of her soul.
Mother Herndon started singing, “Oh, it is Jesus.” Robert picked her up on the organ as her sweet voice caroled, “For I have touched the hem of his garment...”
A wave of worship flowed through the congregation as they all joined in the simple, powerful tune. Valeria took the microphone again in the choir stand and sang the verse. “I tried all that I could…”
Without prompting, people began to come forward and gather at the altar. Shoulders heaving as they cried, hands lifted in total surrender.
“Prayer team, we need you,” Mark beckoned the warriors to pray with those who were following an unction to meet Christ at the foot of the pulpit. Within minutes, the altar area was filled with people praying for one another.
“Right where you are,” Mark moved with the Spirit, “if you need to pray with somebody, just ask your neighbor. Ask them to pray with you, ask them if you can pray for them. Saints of God, let’s edify one another in Him right now.”
He lost track of time in the Spirit and thoroughly enjoyed every second—or minute?—of it. However long it was, it hadn’t been long enough before Rev. Kit took the podium and brought the impromptu worship service to a close. “Amen, amen. You all can go back to your seats now in Jesus’ name. Amen, amen. Let’s continue on with the message. Amen, and amen.”
Jonathan appeared at Mark’s side, holding out his arm, directing Mark back to the pulpit. The sudden, unwelcomed jolt back to the program left Mark feeling confused. Actually, drunk was probably a better word. He wondered why on earth Rev. Kit had quenched the move of God in the building.
Lord, show me what to say next.
And, almost audibly, he heard the reply in his Spirit: Nothing.
Mark whispered to Jonathan, “I’m finished preaching.” He turned toward the side exit doors.
Jonathan rushed to his side so that their conversation couldn’t be heard by the congregation, which was settling back into their seats. “But, sir, there’s twenty minutes left in the service.”
A righteous anger rose up in Mark. “Tell Kit he can take it from here.”
Chapter 11
Mark gave a short reply to the texts from Marshall and Kit requesting a meeting Sunday evening. In all caps, he typed: BUSY WITH FAMILY. Mark refused to answer a call from Rev. Jackson, who never texted. Jackson would probably leave a long, drawn out message so lengthy the system would cut it off before he was finished.
But, really, Mark didn’t care. They all needed to feel what it was like to get cut off—like they’d done the Holy Spirit in service.
Who’s the pastor, anyway?
But before getting carried away with the whole situation, he thanked God for showing Himself strong in church that morning. There would probably be no official count of how many people gave their lives to Christ, but he knew there were many more converts than on an average Sunday. And wasn’t that what mattered most?
He propped his bare feet up on the ottoman and made another note on his iPad: record the number of people who come to Christ, not just the number of people who join the church.
Somewhere in these past two weeks, God had begun girding Mark up for something. More members? A television show? A new building? A book deal? Whatever it was, Mark knew it was big. He wanted to be ready for it.
He slipped into His study for another moment alone with God before Sharla and Amani came home from church. Half an hour later, he heard the garage door lifting. Amani bounded up the staircase, breezing past Mark’s office without a word.
“Hey,” Mark stopped him.
Amani froze, then turned to face his father.
“Did you enjoy yourself at church today?”
“It was weird,” Amani remarked, but nodded, “in a good way. Your sermon was nice and short. I liked that part. But then Rev. Kit talked for a long time afterward. Where’d you go?”
“Here.”
“You came home?” Amani seemed surprised.
“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”
Amani bunched his lips to the side as though it took every ounce of home-training in him to refrain from saying something smart.
Mark rescued him. “I know it doesn’t seem like it sometimes, but I do live here.”
Amani put a hand on his father’s shoulder. “They say admitting it is the first step, Dad.”
That boy still managed to sneak one in. Mark could only laugh at his son’s snide comment. “Yeah, yeah. Did you and your momma get something to eat?”
“Yeah. Barbeque from Pappas. She got you a plate.”
Mark made a bee-line to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and beheld the sack bearing the restaurant’s emblem.
He felt a sharp poke in his side. “You’re welcome,” Sharla purred.
Thank You God, she’s coming back to normal. “Ouch,” he played along.
“You deserve more than that,” she flirted.
“For what?”
“Why’d you sit up there and make Rev. Kit look like a fool in front of everybody?”
Mark ran a finger across his sauce-soaked chicken. “Baby, that man brought it on himself.”
“Well, it wasn’t pretty,” she said. “He brought the whole service down.”
“Not my fault.” Mark placed the container in the microwave and set the timer for forty-five seconds.
She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. “I suppose you have a meeting with the advisory board tonight.”
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