Just Shy of Harmony

by Philip Gulley

  Wayne stood and opened the door. The bell overhead tinkled. He walked out. The door swung closed behind him.

  Deena stood at the sink, watching the coffee swirl down the drain, listening to the bell jingle fade away.

  It’s all gone. No more Wayne, no more kids, no more Sunday mornings at church, no more picnics. No more wing buds.

  What surprised her most was the hurt. The aching hurt of failed love whimpering to a sad and lonely end.

  Thirteen

  A Sweet Liberation

  It took Sam until October to work up the courage to tell the elders of his struggle to believe.

  He had been primed to tell them at the September elders meeting. But when Miriam Hodge asked if there was any new business to discuss, they’d talked for three hours about whether they should get a building permit for the church’s new gymnasium.

  The elders were sharply divided. There was the “Let Every Person Be Subject to the Governing Authorities” faction, who believed that the Apostle Paul’s injunction to the Christians in Rome supported the use of building permits. This group was led by Miriam Hodge. Then there was the “We Must Obey God Rather Than Man” faction, who believed that the Apostle Peter’s defense before the high priests was an argument against building permits. They were headed up by Dale Hinshaw.

  The elders argued for three hours before Miriam announced, “It’s getting late and we’re tired. We’ll talk about this again next month. Is there any other new business?”

  Sam didn’t think it was the best time to tell them he didn’t believe in God, so he kept quiet.

  Now it was the third Thursday of October. Sam arrived at the meetinghouse early and sat on the steps waiting for Miriam to arrive. She pulled up to the curb in her truck.

  “Hi, Miriam. How are you?” he asked, as she walked up the steps.

  “Weary,” she said, sitting beside him. “I’m not sure I’m up to another building-permit discussion.”

  “Maybe we can give them something else to talk about. I’ve got something to tell the elders, and I’d prefer to do it right up front.”

  Miriam looked at him. “Sam, is everything all right? You’re not leaving us, are you? I know you’ve been pretty frustrated.”

  “No, I’m not leaving. At least not right now. I just need to talk with the elders.”

  The elders began pulling up to the meetinghouse in their cars. They tromped downstairs to the basement and sat at the folding table next to the noodle freezer. Miriam opened with a prayer, then said, “Before we begin our meeting, Sam has something he would like to say.”

  “Uh, thank you, Miriam. Well, I just thought you ought to know that I’m not sure I believe in God anymore.”

  When he said it out loud, it sounded more blunt than he’d intended. So he added, “It’s not that I don’t want to believe. I’ve been praying for God to be real to me. It’s just that nothing’s happened, and I’ve grown discouraged. I’ve got these doubts. And I just thought you should know…and that maybe you could help me.”

  Everyone stared at Sam.

  Dale Hinshaw was the first to speak. “What do you mean you don’t believe in God? You have to believe in God. It says so in the rules.” He reached in his briefcase, pulled out a copy of Quaker Faith and Practice, and thumbed to the first page. “It says right here that we believe in one holy, almighty, all-wise, and everlasting God. I told you when you went away to that fancy seminary this would happen. Don’t you remember? If you’d have just listened to me, it wouldn’t have come to this.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Fern Hampton wailed. “We have a minister who doesn’t believe in God. No wonder this church is in such sorry shape.”

  Harvey Muldock said, “You know, Sam, when I’m going through a hard time, I buy something. Why don’t you stop past the dealership tomorrow and we’ll see if we can’t work you a deal on a new car. That ought to boost your spirits.”

  “Thanks, Harvey, but I don’t think a new car will help.”

  “I think we should be tape-recording this meeting,” Dale said. “Just in case we end up firing Sam. That way we’ll be protected if there’s a lawsuit.”

  “Oh, for goodness sakes. We’re not going to fire Sam,” Miriam scolded. “Get that idea out of your head.”

  “We can’t let this get out,” Fern wailed. “What will people think? They’ll think we’re all atheists, that’s what they’ll think. There go our chicken noodle sales. Did you think about that, Sam? Did you think how this might affect our noodle sales? Of course you didn’t. You were too busy thinking about yourself. It used to be if people didn’t believe in God they had the Christian decency to keep it to themselves.”

  Sam hung his head. This is what I get for casting my cares on the body of believers, he thought.

  Asa Peacock cleared his throat. “I think we’re being too hard on Sam. He’s come to us with a problem, and I think we need to help him, just like he would help us if we were struggling. Sam, what can we do for you?” Asa reached across the table and laid his hand on Sam’s.

  Sam wanted to cry. He struggled to keep his voice even. “Thank you, Asa. I don’t know what you can do. I just don’t know. I’ve lost my faith. Lost my hope. I’m empty inside. Just plain empty. I’ve been praying, but nothing’s changed.”

  “Well, of course nothing’s changed,” Dale said. “God doesn’t answer the prayers of a man who doesn’t believe in Him.”

  “Does this mean you have to believe in God before asking God to help you believe in Him?” Miriam asked.

  “That’s what it means,” Dale said, a satisfied smile on his face. “That’s how it works.”

  “Well, I’ve never heard of such foolishness,” Asa said. “It seems to me God would welcome the prayers of a struggling man.”

  Dale started to say something, but Miriam saw where it was headed—before long they’d be embroiled in a three-hour theological debate on whether God listens to the prayers of a struggling man. She interrupted him. “Sam, I want to thank you for being honest about your doubts. I can’t help but think we’re partly to blame. I’m certain we’ve been a discouragement to you in many ways.” She paused, and her voice softened. “It has been my experience that doubts about God always begin with doubts about people. I know when you came here you had high hopes for our little church. I suspect we haven’t always been enthusiastic. We could, and should, have done more.”

  “Well, you can’t blame me,” Dale said. “I’ve done my part. The Scripture egg project this year. Last year, I brought in Billy Bundle to preach the revival. And don’t forget my signs.”

  “I’m sure we’ll never forget your signs,” Miriam assured him.

  Dale had put up Burma Shave–style signs in front of Harvey Muldock’s car dealership: Go to church, and learn to pray. Or when you die, there’s Hell to pay. On the west edge of town he’d erected signs reading, If you cheat, and drink and lie, turn to God, before you die.

  “It’s not like I’ve been slacking off, either,” Fern said. “Thanks to me, we have a new low-flow toilet in the women’s bathroom, plus an oak-grained vanity. I’ve not been shirking my Christian duty.”

  “I’m not suggesting we’ve been lazy,” Miriam said. “I just wonder if we’ve forgotten why we’re here.”

  “I know why I’m here,” Harvey Muldock said.

  “Why is that?” Miriam asked.

  “I’m here because my parents were members of this church and their parents before them. In fact, it was my great-great-great-grandfather, William Muldock, who helped start this church. That’s why I’m here.”

  “But why did he start this church?”

  “Well, near as I can tell, he got mad at the Quakers over at Sugar Grove and decided to start a new Quaker church here in town.”

  Miriam sighed. “Let me put it another way. What do you suppose God is calling us to do as His people?”

  There was silence.

  “Raise money for Brother Norman’s shoe ministry to the Choctaw Indians,” Fern v
entured.

  “I’m sure that’s part of it. Any other ideas about what God is calling us to do?”

  “Spread His Word through my Scripture egg project,” Dale said.

  “I’m certain God wants us to tell others about Him.” Though I doubt your Scripture eggs are what He had in mind, Miriam thought to herself.

  Sam was studying the plastic wood-grain swirl on the folding table. He raised his head. “I think God wants to love the world through Harmony Friends Meeting,” he said.

  “Bingo!” cried Miriam.

  “Bingo? Now why didn’t I think of that?” Fern said. “We could make a lot of money holding bingo games. The Catholics clean up. No reason we couldn’t.”

  “Not that kind of bingo,” Miriam said. “I was simply agreeing with Sam. He said he thought God wanted to love the world through Harmony Friends Meeting, and I was agreeing with him.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work. Wouldn’t it be easier to hold a bingo game on Saturday nights and give the money to Brother Norman?”

  “I don’t think it would be right for the church to play bingo,” Asa said. “Bingo is gambling, pure and simple.”

  “Look at the pot calling the kettle black, Mr. Lottery Millionaire himself,” Fern huffed.

  “We’re not here to talk about bingo,” Miriam said. “Bingo is not on the agenda. We’re here to help Sam understand why he is discouraged. Though the longer we talk, the more it’s becoming clear how it might have happened.”

  Asa said, “Sam, I asked earlier what we could do to help you. Have you had any thoughts?”

  Sam hesitated before speaking. “There is one thing. Preaching hasn’t been easy. I can do everything else—visit the sick, fill out the paperwork, attend the meetings—but I feel like a hypocrite preaching. Standing up there telling you folks to believe something I don’t believe myself. I just can’t do it anymore.”

  “What would you propose we do?” asked Miriam.

  Sam thought for several moments, then said, “Well, you’re the elders of the meeting. Why don’t you do the preaching?”

  “We’ll have to cut your pay,” said Dale. “I’d like to recommend that we give Sam’s pay to my Scripture egg project.”

  “We’ll do no such thing,” Asa said. “We pay him peanuts as it is.”

  “Sam, I think your idea is splendid,” Miriam said. “We can do the preaching. We can take turns. Give you time to work through this. Do the rest of you approve?”

  “If we don’t want to preach, can we just find someone who can?” Harvey asked.

  “Certainly.” Then Miriam thought of Billy Bundle, the World’s Shortest Evangelist. “But I’d like to suggest that whoever preaches needs to first be okayed by the elders.”

  The elders rumbled their approval.

  Miriam said, “I can start. I’ll preach this Sunday, then Dale, then Harvey, then Asa, then Fern.”

  “Can I preach about my Scripture egg project?” Dale asked.

  “Dale, you preach on whatever the Lord lays on your heart. Now as the elders of this meeting, we’re going to pray for Sam. I want you to stand up and gather around him.”

  “Can’t we pray sitting down?” Fern asked.

  “No, we’re going to put our hands on Sam’s head and pray for him.”

  Asa walked around the table and stood behind Sam, laying his hand on Sam’s head. Then followed Dale and Harvey and Miriam, and finally Fern, with a heavy, inconvenienced sigh.

  “Lord,” Miriam prayed, “we pray for your servant Sam. We ask your forgiveness for failing you and failing Sam. We’ve not been the church you called us to be. We repent of our apathy and self-centeredness. Forgive us. Restore Sam. Strengthen his faith and deepen his love for you, Lord. Amen.”

  The elders stood around Sam, silent, their hands on his head.

  A tear slid down Sam’s cheek. “Lord, ignite my heart,” he prayed in a whisper.

  “And while you’re at it, Lord, bless my Scripture egg project,” Dale said.

  “Lord, tell us what to preach,” Asa prayed. “Help us help your church. Amen.”

  “Amen,” rumbled the elders.

  There was more silence. Fern raised her hand from Sam’s head, then Miriam and Harvey and Dale, and finally Asa.

  “We love you, Sam,” Miriam said. “Don’t you forget that. And even though you don’t believe in God just now, He believes in you. You’ll remember that, won’t you?”

  She hugged him to her.

  “I’ll remember.”

  Asa and Dale and Harvey shook his hand. Fern smiled at him, though not too big a smile.

  “I just hope this doesn’t affect our noodle sales,” she said.

  They turned off the lights in the basement and walked up the stairs out into the autumn evening. The elders climbed into their cars and drove away, while Sam walked the four blocks down Main Street to Washington Street to his home.

  He felt light. His step was buoyant. Honesty is a sweet liberation, he thought.

  He walked up the stairs, across the porch, and through the door. Barbara and the boys were in their beds. He kissed the boys good night, then brushed his teeth, and lay down beside his wife.

  He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her to him.

  A sweet liberation, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

  Fourteen

  On the Night of Love Reborn

  Sally Fleming had been at the trailer going on five weeks. She came into town with all her clothes the Saturday afternoon of the Corn and Sausage Days parade, and she hadn’t left. Wayne thought Sally had come only for the weekend, but on Monday morning she didn’t leave and she’s been there ever since. He’s not sure how it happened, but Sally ended up with the bed and he’s been sleeping on the pull-out sofa with a bar in his back.

  Wayne wanted to ask his wife where she’d been for the past year, but he hates conflict. He’s been hoping Sally will volunteer the information, but so far she’s kept quiet.

  Wayne talked with Kyle Weathers about it during a haircut.

  “Do you suppose I oughta ask her where she’s been?” he asked.

  Kyle spun the barber’s chair around, stared at Wayne, then tapped Wayne’s head with his knuckles. “Hello in there. Is anyone home? Your wife was gone for more than a year, she’s been home for five weeks, and you still haven’t talked about it?! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Yeah, well, I guess I didn’t want to upset her.”

  Kyle shook his head. “Wayne Fleming, you are a doormat.”

  It doesn’t look like Sally Fleming will be leaving anytime soon. She read in the Herald classifieds of a job opening for a receptionist at the mental-health center. She drove into town to apply and was hired, which upset certain people to no end. It was a good job and paid well, contradicting everything certain people had been taught about God’s sure justice.

  “I guess the wages of sin aren’t death after all,” Bea Majors said to Fern Hampton.

  “What is this world coming to when someone will hire a known adulteress?” Fern harrumphed.

  “I’ve said all along that this mental-health stuff was invented so the liberals could feel good about their sin,” Dale Hinshaw said.

  But what really got certain people stirred up was when Sally came to church with Wayne and their kids and sat in the Wilbur Matthews pew.

  “Did you see that little chippy just march into the church like she owned the place?” Fern said to Bea afterward. “I’m glad my mother’s not alive to see this desecration. And did you see Sam? He shook her hand and invited her back! Used to be ministers of the gospel knew how to deal with sinners—and it wasn’t with a handshake, let me tell you. It was with a Bible upside the head!”

  Fern’s term as an elder expires in December, but she’s thinking of nominating herself for another three years and becoming head elder so she can muscle things through. She wants to see the new gymnasium built, with her mother’s name on a plaque above the door. But before she does that, she wants to put Sally
Fleming in her right and proper place, which is down the road at the Harmony Worship Center, where they wink at sin, so long as you tithe.

  Wayne isn’t sure what to think of Sally being home. He’s glad for his children, but he’s confused. It’s one thing to be a forgiving Christian and remember sin no more, but some things are easier said than done.

  Then Sally asked Wayne to come back to their bed, but so far he’s kept to the couch. It’s his line in the sand. “Not until we’ve talked to Sam and gotten counseling,” he told her.

  “Isn’t it enough that I’m sorry?”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  On Sally’s first Sunday at church, Dale Hinshaw preached on the seventh commandment: “Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery.” Fern Hampton turned and glared at Sally as Dale preached. Sally lowered her head and watched her knees the entire sermon. Wayne wishes someone would preach a sermon about self-righteousness so he could glare at Fern.

  He sits in church on Sunday mornings with Sally and the kids, but he thinks of Deena and what might have been.

  Deena has moved up to the fourth row, to the Hodge pew, next to Amanda Hodge. Wayne watches her from three rows back. Sometimes she turns her head and he can see her face, and the pain of his loss is scarcely bearable.

  He hasn’t talked with Deena since Sally came home. He stopped by the Legal Grounds one Saturday morning in early November, but Deena had stepped out to go to the bank. Mabel waited on Wayne.

  “How’s Deena doing?” he asked her.

  “Her heart’s broke, but other than that, she’s fine.”

  “I guess that’s my fault.”

  “It’s no one’s fault. It’s just life. It’s the risk of caring for someone.” Mabel sat down next to him. “How are you, Wayne? You don’t look well.”

  “I don’t feel well. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Lot of that going around. How are things going with you and Sally?”

  “Who knows? She won’t talk about it. She won’t get counseling. She seems to think everything can be the way it was before she left.”