"Really?" Jack asked, sounding dubious.
"Really." Karl said, "Besides, revivals are overrated. I've seen my share of them and, often as not, they're all powder and no lead, a lot of emotion bandied around, under the big top. A night or two of that and then everyone goes back to the same old, same old."
"So what do we do?"
"Well, again," Karl said, "if God wantsa revival in Long Beach, we're going to do as we're told. However, until he makes that clear, I think that personal relationship is the key. One heart at a time, saved, fed, discipled, and then turned loose. That one heart goes out and reproduces itself, and so on, and there's your real revival!"
"And we don't even have to rent a tent," Jack smirked.
"Exactly!" Karl said, laughing as he dug back into his breakfast.
*
That first month was a blur, meeting the elders and the congregation, answering the same questions over, and over. Some of the older members of the church had known Jack's parents, and insisted that he come over for dinner. He didn’t buy many groceries those first few weeks, spending most evenings seated around a table full of strangers, talking about Bible College, the war, the mission field, and what God wanted done in Long Beach.
It seemed to Jack that just about everyone in the church had a firm grasp on what God wanted done in Long Beach, and there were as many different destinies for the little town as there were dinner tables in the congregation. Jack learned to smile and nod, and then quickly reinforce the importance of prayer, and listening, and waiting on the Lord. Some of the families were happy with this answer, or if not happy, at least appeased; some were not.
Regardless of their response to his response, Jack felt sure that Pastor Ferguson got a full report from each.
He knew this, in fact, because many of the urgently phoned in reports became the highlight of Karl and Jack's morning doughnut break at the Coffee Clutch, the tiny coffee shop across the street from the church, or the Caboose, if the two were feeling peckish. Over tea and coffee, respectively, they would chuckle at Jack's observations of his hosts and theirs of him.
Mrs. Feldman, a matronly widow from the front pew, was horrified that Jack would eat Tom Pritchner's deviled eggs, everyone knowing that no TRUEChristian would touch deviled eggs, deviled ham, or devil's food cake, and that Tom Pritchner, if not actually in cahoots with Satan himself, was most assuredly well down the path to becoming so. The Mack family, retired missionaries in their seventies, thought that Jack was wonderful but were quite upset with the rumor that he was often seen in the church building wearing jeans. Mr. and Mrs. Peterson were concerned that their seventeen-year-old daughter, Aimee, had asked every night this week as to when the Assistant Pastor would be invited back. Jack, admittedly, found this last tidbit a little less humorous than did his Pastor.
Karl had laughed until tears rolled down his ruddy cheeks, his Santa-esque frame quaking with mirth as he told Jack the story over his apple fritter one morning in September.
Still, most of the sixty-one members of the church had found the young pastor to be, if not ideal, at least acceptable and soon Jack’s schedule began to settle down and he found himself cooking his own dinners once more.
One of the first lessons that he learned was how his new Pastor and mentor viewed the ministry. Besides the doe-eyed Aimee Peterson, there were almost a dozen youth in their mid to late teens who attended LBCC regularly.
Jack had gone to his boss, concerned that it was time to find a youth leader for a weekly Bible study with the teens. Pastor Ferguson had thought this was a wonderful idea, clapping a heavy hand warmly on Jack’s shoulder and asking him what night he would want to use the church for his new ministry. Jack had tried to backpedal, but it was too late.
Karl Ferguson was a firm believer that preachers preachedand Godraised up ministers, if ministries were required.
"I'll ask you what I've asked every ministry leader here since the day I signed on as Pastor." Karl laughed, "As it sounds like you have a heart for this ministry, when are you going to start it?"
The Long Beach Community Church youth group held its first study night on Wednesday, September 17th, Assistant Pastor Jack Leland presiding.
That first meeting took place in the basement of the church, Jack having spent the last week begging funds from the stewardship council for two dozen folding chairs and enough carpet scraps from the local hardware store to cover the cracked concrete floor. He was pleased with the turn out, eight young people, ranging from the thirteen year old Randy Brooks with his flaming red hair and braying, donkey laugh, to the ever-present Aimee Peterson who, at seventeen, was the oldest teen present. After an hour of teaching and discussion (Jack had chosen Paul's encouragements to Timothy as his subject for the evening), they had hiked the six blocks to the beach for a marshmallow roast that Bill and Kathy had set up.
The Beckmans, at Jack's request, made sure that they were seated to his left and right as they all sat around the fire telling corny jokes and singing camp songs. Jack, casting an occasional nervous eye towards young Miss Peterson, was relieved to have a buffer between him and his admirer. He was even more relieved when the Peterson's station wagon pulled up to the church an hour later to take Aimee home.
"Don't get me wrong," Jack had said, as he, Bill, and Kathy folded chairs and swept the new youth room. "She’s a nice kid, and I think she's fairly serious about her relationship with God, it's…it's just…"
"It's just," Bill smirked, dropping the last of the chairs on the pile, "that she's like one of those paintings where the eyes follow you wherever you go."
"That's it exactly!" Jack cried, pointing a finger at Bill.
"You two are terrible," Kathy admonished, shaking her head, “Aimee Peterson is a sweet, intelligent girl, who loves the Lord and just so happens, for reasons I can't imagine, to have a hopeless crush on her skinny new youth pastor!"
"Ouch," Jack laughed, clutching his chest as though shot. "I think I have offended!"
"Hey, better you than me," Bill quipped, and Jack thought he saw a look of irritation pass momentarily across Kathy Beckman's face, before she shook her head and started up the basement steps.
"You two goofs can finish cleaning up,” she called back, “I'm going to make sure all the lights are off."
Bill had been as good as his word; he and Kathy had attended every Sunday since August, though it was obvious from the first that Kathy was much more enthusiastic about their weekly fellowship than her husband was.
If Bill had sung aloud or raised his hands during prayer or worship, Jack had yet to see it. Still, he got up every week, put on his best jeans and shirt, and warmed the pew next to his wife without fail. If his devotion wasn't all it could be, Jack thought, at least he was being exposed to the right stuff; seeds were being planted, to put it in the Christian-ese.
Jack had mentioned to them, over a plate full of spaghetti in the Beckman dining room, how his conversation with Pastor Ferguson, regarding a youth group, had gone. He had left the conversation hanging and held his breath waiting for their response.
"Well," Kathy had said, sipping from her water glass, "Be sure to let Bill and I know if you need any help."
Jack had tried his best to adopt his Pastor's philosophy as it related to ministries. Still, the prospect of starting a youth group, along with his other duties as assistant pastor, were daunting to say the least, and Kathy's response was close enough to leave him guilt free.
"Great," he had replied quickly, setting down his fork, "since you mentioned it…"
Bill groaned, having heard the clang of the trap shutting even as his young wife had volunteered their services.
"Lord, Katie…" he said, "you didn't see that coming?"
"See what coming?" Kathy asked, her eyes narrowing as she glanced back and forth between Jack and her husband.
"Now hang on," Jack had stammered, casting a dirty look in Bill's direction. "I was just thinking that I could use some help setting up the activities, and i
t might be nice for the girls to have someone of their own gender to talk to, since I don't have a wife…"
"Well," Bill said with an evil chuckle, "I hear the Peterson girl would be more that happy--"
"--Hush!" Kathy launched a wooden salad spoon across the table, which Bill dodged.
"I think that's a smart idea," she told Jack, "I just hope I can answer their questions."
Since that night, Kathy and, more reluctantly, Bill, had helped him scout around for the chairs and carpeting, make space in the dusty church basement, and finally, set up the campfire on the beach.
Bill and his truck had been a Godsend in all of this, but Jack had grown increasingly concerned about his friend over last several weeks. As Kathy disappeared upstairs and Jack heard the door close behind her, he turned to Bill.
"What was that about?" he asked.
Bill glanced up sheepishly and then returned his gaze to the broom in his hands. "Aw, nothing," he muttered, "we had a little tiff earlier and I guess she still ain't happy with me."
"Anything that's any of my business?" Jack asked.
"Nope," Bill replied, looking up and grinning, "but I'll tell you anyway."
Jack pulled two folding chairs back off the stack, handing one to Bill, as his friend went on. "First of all," he said, "it's all your fault, and I hope you feel bad!"
Jack laughed, settling himself into his own chair, "Go ahead man, don't hold back."
"Hang on a second," Bill raised his hands defensively, "this isn't a counseling session is it?"
"Nope." Jack said, "Counseling sessions are done in the office only, specifically, in Pastor Ferguson's office only. I'm just the Assistant Pastor. Down here, with me, it's just yakking."
"Good," Bill replied, a little sourly, "though Katie would be just as happy as a clam if she thought I was getting counseling, the way she keeps jawing about it!"
Jack stayed silent, nodding for Bill to go on.
"Well, like I said," he sighed heavily, "it's your fault. Back when we were just going to church every Sunday, she seemed happy enough that I was there with her, and let it go at that."
"Now though," he muttered, "we're in ministry, and everything's different!" Bill was clenching and unclenching his fists, as his face began to flush.
Jack could see the man was working himself up, and allowed a momentary pause before probing.
"What’s everything?"
"Me!" Bill growled, "I'm everything! No drinking, no cigars, no cussing, I'm a whole net full of bad influences on the poor innocent little church kids!"
This time the pause stretched to an uncomfortable length as Jack struggled with an answer. In his heart, he knew that he agreed with Kathy; if Bill was going to be involved in ministry, he needed to live a lifestyle that was a good witness to the teens. His witness had to be real, born out of the overflow of Christ's love in him.
At the same time, Jack knew Bill, and if there was one thing that would turn the man to stone, impenetrable and unmovable, it was a sense that he was being ganged up on.
Jack remembered Bill's own mother used to say that if you paint a Beckman into a corner, he's likely to go through the roof. This was a fact for Jonathan Beckman and it was just as much a fact for his son. Jack knew he had to step carefully if he wanted to make Bill hear the truth.
The decision between ministering Christ to the youth of Long Beach, and protecting the feelings of his oldest friends, was a brutally short battle. The fact was, Bill wasn't going to like the truth no matter how Jack coated it and, in the end, the kids had to come first.
"Look Billy--" Jack started, pausing as Bill muttered a curse. "What was that for?"
"The only time you call me Billy is when you know you're about to make me mad…" Bill replied, crossing his arms.
"Fine, Bill," Jack continued, trying to keep his cool, "no one expects you to be perfect, certainly not me. I'm a long way from perfect and you and I both know it."
"But?"
"But," Jack took another deep breath, "there are some things you need to work on, just like all of us, and the Bible is clear on how a leader is supposed to act."
"The Bible…" Bill snorted again, rolling his eyes.
"Yes!" Jack snapped, his own voice starting to rise, "The Bible! What do you think we're doing here, Bill? This isn't a game; we're trying to make a difference for these kids; we're trying to help them form a relationship with Christ!"
Jack was speaking through clenched teeth now.
"This isn't some glee club," Jack said, jabbing a finger in Bill's direction, "this is serious. These kids need role models, and I'd prefer that their role models not show up smelling like Kentucky bourbon!"
Jack stopped, as angry with himself for losing his temper, as he was with Bill's attitude. Locking eyes with his old friend, he could see the vein beneath Bill's left eye pulsing as his face reddened with anger. Bill stood slowly to his feet, and Jack did the same.
"Okay," Bill replied softly, his jaw clenched, "I won't show up again, problem solved."
With that, William Beckman walked across the room, up the stairs and out of the church. A moment later Jack heard his friend's truck roar to life and peel away in a clattering rain of gravel. Jack sighed, folding the two chairs back up and tossing them on the pile.
Boy did I blow that one!
Whatever Bill had needed to hear from him, he was pretty sure that wasn't it. Jack climbed the stairs, one heavy foot at a time, and switched off the basement light. Kathy was waiting in the hallway as he closed the door behind him.
"Where's Bill?" she asked, slinging her purse over her shoulder.
"My guess would be about halfway home by now," Jack said.
"What?"
"It looks like whatever disagreement you two had earlier, he and I just finished, sorry." Jack leaned against the whitewashed wall, closing his eyes.
"That doesn't sound good."
"It wasn't," he sighed, "Kathy, I feel like I'm betraying my best friend here, but keeping his secret isn't going to do him any favors. You know that he's been drinking?"
"Yes," Kathy replied, her shoulders slumping.
"A lot?"
"Yes, at least, I suspected."
"…and you understand," Jack went on, "why I can't have that in the youth group, around the kids?"
"Of course," she replied, her voice quavering. "That's what we were arguing about earlier. I think he used to be more careful about when and where he was drinking, and I believed him when he said he had quit. Now he comes staggering home and I can smell it on him before he's through the door."
Kathy paused, as tears started down her cheeks, and Jack struggled to think of what to say, what to do for his friend.
Suddenly, Kathy was in his arms, weeping into his shoulder.
"Jack," she cried, "I love him so much and I don't know what to do. Everything I say is wrong, I try to encourage him and end up making him more defensive!"
Jack patted her shoulder awkwardly, trying to think how to free himself from her embrace without hurting her worse.
"It's going to be okay," he murmured, "he'll cool off, let's go find him and--"
Neither of them had heard the truck pull up. As the front door swung open, bathing the half lit hallway in the amber light of the street lamp, Jack looked up to see Bill frozen in the doorway, his hand still clutching the latch.
Jack felt Kathy's body stiffen against his, just before she stepped away.
Bill's voice was low and rough, "I came back to get my wife..."
"We were just getting the place closed up..." Kathy stammered quickly, taking another step away from Jack, who closed his eyes in horror at how guilty her words sounded.
"All done here," Jack said, "look, maybe I'll walk back, I should finish a few things in the office before I go."
"Yeah," Bill murmured, taking Kathy's arm as she met him at the door, "why don't you do that."
Bill's face was still hidden in shadows but Jack winced at the chill in his voice. Anger was the
re, certainly, more anger than Jack had ever heard from his oldest friend, but worse than that was the note of suspicion, of betrayal.
As the door closed behind them, Jack slid down the wall until he was seated on the worn wood floor.
The emotional roller coaster of the day finally came to a crashing halt and left his head spinning. Jack struggled to decide which was worse, the accusation in Bill's voice, or the fact that he could still feel Kathy Beckman in his arms.
Chapter Fifteen
Jack hefted the last box of books into the back of Martin Peterson's old station wagon and swung the heavy door shut. He was amazed at how many belongings he had collected in just the two months he'd been home. Still, he could pack everything he owned in the back of a Ford Country Squire, with some room to spare. Karl had warned him to hold off before he spent any money on his new place, as the Ladies Ministry, headed by Martin's wife Bobbie, was collecting goods to help their impoverished, bachelor youth pastor furnish his new home.
"Look, man," Bill said, coming up behind Jack as the wagons door slammed shut, "I said I was sorry, you said you were sorry, why can't we just leave it at that? I hate seeing ya go like this."
Jack turned, smiling to his friend.
"Billy," he said, "I appreciate your forgiveness, more than I can say, and I appreciate you accepting my apology, too, but I can't live here forever. This is your place; you and Kathy need your privacy, and I'm always going to feel like a third wheel."
"You’re not--" Bill began
"Yes I am," Jack said, interrupting him, "or I will be eventually and I don't want that to happen. If you want me over, invite me over. I'm not going to turn down a home-cooked meal. But it’s time I got my own place." He slugged Bill's arm playfully. "You should come over and see it; it’s great, right on the bay!"
"I'd like to," Bill said, "but I got a meeting with the bank. They're squeezing me on the loan and you know what the harvest has been like this year."
Jack nodded in sympathy.
Just Past Oysterville: Shoalwater Book One Page 16
