by Jim Reilly
“Do I have to kick you in your big reverend butt to get you moving?”
“You scared the devil out of me, woman,” he said sarcastically as he finished up and decided he had better head off to church before she actually did kick him.
Pastor Charles walked out his doors and said, “Lock, and we are all out.”
The computer’s voice acknowledged, “Locked,” and the house went into unoccupied mode. The car opened the doors as soon as the car recognized the family members’ approach.
Once the whole family was in, the doors shut, and a voice prompted, “Destination, please?”
His wife cut off Pastor Charles before he was able to speak. “It’s Sunday, you dumb old car. Take us to the First Congregation Church.”
It replied, “Destination the First Congregation Church; estimated time to destination fourteen minutes.” Then without Pastor Charles’ even touching any instrument in the car, it pulled out from his driveway and drove to the church.
As the vehicle made its way, Pastor Charles looked at the car and thought that if the Ancient Visitors had given them advanced technology like what was powering this car, it would have been just fine. He appreciated the fact that now all the automobiles on the planet ran on power engineered from the Ancient Visitors’ ships and that this had done wonders for the environment. Not only cars, but also homes and factories had been environmentally transformed to help make the air people breathed much more pleasing to all life on the planet. The fact that they had come to Earth and perhaps influenced human development, however, had made people rethink their belief in God. It had made people doubt, and Pastor Charles, like many in religious communities, was not prepared to answer their questions adequately.
As he was pulling into the parking lot, Pastor Charles remembered the first time he had come to the First Congregation Church. He was from Tampa, Florida, and had not been up to Charlotte before. He was so happy the church’s elders picked him out of the many who applied to be the assistant pastor. When he pulled up to the church he had to wait in line and was barely able to get a parking spot, but what really surprised him was that he was very early. When he got out of his car he could hear the choir warming up and could see some of the ladies setting up the table outside for a pie sale. He remembered smelling the many pies as he walked by. That Sunday, like every Sunday back then, everyone was in their best Sunday outfits, and mothers were yelling at their kids playing on the grass not to stain their clothes.
When someone noticed he was the new assistant pastor, he was rushed by the crowd and given the warmest welcome he had ever received. When the esteemed Reverend Duford opened the large, brightly stained doors of the finely manicured building and grounds, a sea of people poured into the tall white church.
When he went inside next to Reverend Duford, he heard someone yell out, “Halleluiah,” when the Reverend said, “Let’s begin.” It was a celebration like he’d never seen, and what amazed him was that this was not a special day; it was just an ordinary Sunday. This was long before evidence of the Alien Visitors and what they might have done.
Now, he arrived a few minutes before the service to see that the parking lot was as empty as it had been for a while. He had his choice of spots in the lot that now featured many potholes. The grounds got mowed every few weeks when Pastor Charles had the time to get up there, but he hadn’t made it up in a while. The bushes around the building were overgrown, and some were dying or had long died off. The church was still somewhat white, except for some black mold along the top. The Sunday school out back had cracks in some of the windows and a lock and metal chain on the doors. When he climbed the three steps to the large, dull doors, he did not have to push through a big crowd to get to the pulpit. There were only about the same ten people he had seen for months now, and three of them were his family members. This morning was a little different, as Mrs. Barnwell had brought along her granddaughter.
The little girl said, “Good morning, Reverend.”
He responded with his best face, “Good morning to you too, and what is your name?”
The girl answered, “My name is Sha’nay Barnwell, and Grandma said we came here to be with God our Father.”
He looked down at her and said, “Because you are here, I am sure He will be among us today.”
Inside, he walked over to the podium to see, not standing room only, but a few elderly people still holding on to their faith. There was no choir next to him to praise Halleluiah during his speeches. No, there was none of that. The fire had burned to embers and there was no brimstone to be seen. There was no need to turn on the microphone for this crowd of ten plus the young girl gathered near him. His sermon was low key, as it had been for the longest time now. Gone was his passion, and he knew it.
His wife knew it too, but she had hope that he would find his way again. She couldn’t bear to see the man who inspired her love because of his enthusiasm for God’s work just disappear into the abyss. She put on a strong face, but she was scared of what this was doing to him. Seeing him walk to the podium, she saw a man who was lost and broken. She remembered a man who had been good at helping other people who were lost to find their way.
When he was done with the service she told him, “Why don’t you go around back and sit on one of the benches so you can enjoy this beautiful Sunday? It’s sunny with not a cloud in the sky, so you go enjoy. Don’t you worry about a thing; the children and I will clean up here. You go relax.”
Off he went, moping like a child who had missed the ice cream truck.
Out in the back of the church, Pastor Charles sat on the only bench still intact. The other benches had been broken by neighborhood kids, who used them to do tricks with their electronic skateboards. The one he was sitting on was not much better, for it needed a good sanding to get rid of the splinters and a nice coat of paint to cover the graffiti all over it. While sitting there, he remembered how many of the women after the service used to sit here all dressed up while their children played on the green and lush lawn. They would speak about their work, their children, their men, what was going on in their neighborhood, or even what they wore to church that Sunday. The small children would be running around playing tag, or someone might have brought a ball to kick around. The older children would be in Sunday school, which was filled with teachers and children. The fathers would be on one of the softball fields getting their trousers dirty or hanging out underneath one of the trees talking about sports, politics, or their women. Church elders would be in the church hall talking budgets and church activities. After the school let out, many of the families would stay and have a picnic.
It was an all-day affair, and Pastor Charles thought, “We were a community.”
That was before the discovery ten years ago of visitors from another world, who came here and somehow influenced humanity’s ancestors. How much? Pastor Charles didn’t know, but he had been called on to answer a lot of questions. He was asked, “Did aliens make us? Was God the father an Ancient Visitor? Was the Christmas star a spaceship? Do we need a strong radio to speak to God in space? Was Jesus an illegal alien?”
These were questions he had never anticipated getting, questions he believed now he was poorly equipped to answer. It was bad enough that he had had to answer questions about evolution prior to the discovery or about how the stories in the Bible did not match up to scientific discoveries made about ancient man. He never imagined that he would need to explain how extraterrestrials would fit in the Bible.
Over time, the congregation shrank because many felt that their questions were not getting answered. Doubt crept into the community like a virus, and it slowly choked the atmosphere of trust this congregation had enjoyed for so long. Pastor Charles fought a losing battle because the flow of information from twenty-four-hour news, the Discovery Channel, the Internet, books, and online social networks was too much for him to combat.
One day there was a revelation regarding alien technology, and the next day James Connor’s new book e
xplained that the alien discovery was evidence that aliens were responsible for many events in the Bible. It was a tidal wave of information and misinformation that confused the masses and made them question and rethink many of their beliefs. Most people stopped going to church, and Pastor Charles saw his congregation slowly disappear.
When it was learned that the aliens had returned some of the people they had captured, the congregation almost vanished when it was learned that they were physically altered. People stayed home waiting to see if the Ancient Visitors were coming to take them, while others just simply lost their faith. Pastor Charles was not just sitting idly by during this time. He diligently went to church conferences, read all the recent Christian books and Christian articles for their take on the visitors. He also joined social networks on the Internet whose members were other Christian clergy of many denominations, and he even approached preachers of other religions to hear their views. What he realized the most was that he was not the only one confused and unprepared for these extraordinary times. The belief in God had almost become as extinct as the ancient species of man buried for so long.
One of the effects of the low turnout of worshippers was that many of the charities the church had supported over the years had suffered. No more were collection baskets passed among the crowds to be filled with money for the poor. Pastor Charles felt bad when he had to tell his charities that money would not be coming. He was upset because the charities did such good work helping the needy. It pained him to think that the children his charities had fed would now go hungry.
Now there were only small pockets of worshipers around the world. Word had it that they were trying to organize, but Pastor Charles had resisted joining them because many of them were what he called the fringe element of religion. Their call for drastic means to win back the worshipers was not his cup of tea. He knew their group’s name was the Followers of Divinity. Charles did not agree with the methods suggested and just avoided contact with them on the social blogs. He figured that this crazy group, like all crazy groups, would just fade away as people learned more about them.
Now he felt helpless sitting on this old bench looking out where there had been a community celebrating every Sunday. All he saw was empty benches and picnic tables, no one standing under the trees or playing on the ball fields. There were no groups of children getting their Sunday best dirty or anxious Sunday school children chomping at the bit to join the fun. Not now because the school and the church were empty, the grass that was still alive was a mess, and the area for the softball field had been sold off a few years back to help pay the bills.
Even more discouraged than before, Pastor Charles put his head down into his hands and prayed, “Lord, please help me. I don’t know what to do. I am sorry I have failed you and let my flock go away. Please show me the way out of this darkness. Can you please give me a sign, any sign?”
He then broke down, crying into his hands as he had every Sunday for the last few years now.
Moments later he felt a presence next to him on the bench. It was Sha’nay, Mrs. Barnwell’s granddaughter, and she asked in a concerned tone as he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his eyes, “Why are you upset, Reverend? It is such a beautiful day. You should be happy.”
He took a deep breath, and though reluctant, looked at her to say, “Well, Sha’nay, I’m sad that my church at one time was full of people praising the Lord, but today we only have a few. I feel like the shepherd who lost his sheep, and I don’t know how to get them back.” So he gave her a sad smile while asking her, “So, Sha’nay, what would you do if you were me?”
She thought for a few seconds with her eyes squinting and said, “Well, if I lost something, I would go out to look for it.” She thought some more and asked, “What would God do when He had nobody at His church? Whenever I have a question about what I should do and I ask Grandma, she always tells me to do what the Lord would do.”
Speaking to her brought out a little happiness to counteract his mood.
She continued, “Grandma said that you’re not a fisherman if you don’t put your line in the water.”
He thought about how Jesus started his ministry by going out to the people and said to Sha’nay, “You are a wise little child. How old are you, young lady?
She was quick to reply, “I am eight years old, and I am in third grade.”
As he heard her name being called, he said, “I am glad we spoke, and I thank you for your advice. I think your Grandmother is calling you, so you better get along now. I will be all right.” Then off she went, but before she was too far away he yelled to her, “Thank you, Sha’nay.”
She turned to smile at him and yelled, “You should trust God. Good-bye, Reverend,” and then continued to run to her grandmother.
Pastor Charles helped his wife finish shutting down the building, and they left for home. All the way home and through dinner that night he could not get his conversation with that little girl out of his mind. It made him consider that when he got to his church he already had a big congregation, and when membership started to decrease he acted in a defensive mode to keep his flock intact. He had thought about what he was losing and not what he could gain. Could taking his message out to the local people like Jesus did be the way for him to spread the good word? He realized he had gotten lazy just preaching on the church grounds and waiting for people to walk into the church doors. Maybe looking at how the Lord’s ministry got started in the first place would help him rebuild the one he was losing.
When he finished his dinner, he muttered under his breath, “Out of the mouths of babes.”
His wife asked, “What was that, dear?”
He answered her, “No wonder the Lord said, ‘The kingdom of God is for these’ when he spoke to his Apostles about the young. They are the innocents.”
His confused wife said, “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
He got up from the table to help clean up and told her, “I am going to take some good advice, and I’m going to be a better shepherd and trust God’s plan.”
The next day after work at the print shop, he walked the streets of his community speaking to anyone who would listen to him. He hung out at the barbershops, the tattoo parlors, the coffee houses, the Internet cafés, and any other place he saw people congregating. He did not bring any books or pamphlets or sermons on memory chips, or 3D videos of his sermons on his PDA; he just brought the words from his heart and the clothes on his back. When he met people, he didn’t bring his fire and brimstone. He came down from his high horse. He walked with the common people and spoke to them as one of them.
What he most wanted to improve about himself was his ability to really listen. So he let the people he met do all the talking. He heard their concerns, heartaches, pains, and hopes for the future. He was not going to be like the salesman who did all the talking without taking the time to hear his customer’s thoughts then wonder why he did not get the sale. He was going to be more like the bartender who quietly listened to the people sitting in front of her. Even though the bartender might not have answers to give, she knew a person’s opening up to her sometimes made all the difference. Instead of pushing his values onto the people around him, he started to learn their values and the things that were important to them. He then used that as a foundation upon which to rebuild his church.
He realized that it did not matter that bones of ancient man were uncovered to cast doubts on creation, or that there might be alien intervention in mankind’s history, or anything else that could trouble a person’s beliefs. Religion was not about that. It was about faith, and faith was not about science. It was about what people believed in their hearts. The girl he met at his church showed him that he was too worried about the faith of his flock when he should have worried about his own and the kind of shepherd he should be. So he continued every night that week talking to as many people as he could talk to, and he listened to them. Each night he walked among the people learning to become a better shephe
rd for his flock.
The next Sunday, his wife saw a difference in him. He got up early that morning without her urging. He got dressed quickly in his best Sunday service attire. He ate a hearty breakfast and went back for seconds, and got his family up to the church early so he could finish the final preparations for the service. He greeted everyone who walked in the door of the church as if they were a long-lost favorite relative or friend. When he got up to the pulpit he looked down and saw three new faces to the Sunday service. On this Sunday he had a little more fire to his fire and a little more brimstone to his brimstone than he had in a long time, but most of all he had a little more compassion and appreciation for the people who came to hear him preach. When he looked out at the flock he saw a child with an innocent face who taught him that problems don’t always need complicated remedies, and sometimes it was the simple remedy that cured the problem.
When the service was over, his wife saw new life in her pastor husband and said to him proudly, “That was an excellent sermon, Pastor Charles. Now, why don’t you go sit on your bench, and we will clean up? Go now.”
Off he went to the bench he sat on every Sunday, except this Sunday was a little different. The grounds of the church were trimmed a little better than usual because Charles had made an effort to come up the day before to do a little work around the church. He fixed some of those windowpanes that had been broken for so long, and for the next week he purchased some lumber to fix the other two benches along with some paint and stain to make the somewhat white church a little whiter and the front door as nice as it had been in the past. The biggest change there was not the cut grass or the trimmed bushes or the plans to put a little love into the church; it was in Pastor Charles, and he could feel the change. So this morning, instead of putting his face into his hands and crying, he put his face in his hands to give thanks.
