And the Shofar Blew

by Francine Rivers

The committee, meaning him. “I have to work for a living, Paul. VNLC isn’t paying the going rate for any general contractor, let alone what I normally make. I’m not even breaking even.”

  “We all know you’re doing it for the Lord, Stephen, and I know He’s going to bless you for it. We’re all grateful to have a man of your reputation heading up this project. But it will be quite a coup for you, too, won’t it? Your first work for the Lord. It made the cover of one of the most prestigious architectural magazines in the country. People are watching to see how you do on this project.”

  Did Paul think he was that naïve? He recognized manipulation when he faced it. “Gratitude and free publicity don’t pay the rent. I’ve had to make good on bills Marvin Lockford doesn’t pay on time.” He was relieved when Paul looked surprised. He didn’t want to think Paul was the one telling his treasurer to hold back the funds.

  “He’s not paying?”

  “Sixty to ninety days late these days.” Stephen leaned his forearms on the table. “My men have families, Paul. They can’t wait for their paychecks. I’ve paid the day laborers out of my own pocket, but I can’t keep that up.” He watched Paul’s expression change, but couldn’t decipher what he was thinking. It was like a veil coming down, and that bothered Stephen. He didn’t know Paul anymore. Worse, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know him. All he knew was he didn’t like feeling guilty when he asked for his pay. And he didn’t like feeling used.

  “I’m sorry.” Paul reached for his wallet. “I’ll talk to Marvin. What do you say I pay for lunch today?” He extracted a twenty.

  Stephen decided not to quibble about the check. Paul was certainly clearing more this month than he was.

  Eunice sat in the waiting room outside Paul’s office. She had hoped to speak with Paul on the telephone, but Reka informed her that Paul had given orders that he not be disturbed unless it was an emergency. He was counseling someone. Eunice knew he wouldn’t consider the situation earth-shattering enough to interrupt him. “We’ll come down and wait to see him.”

  Paul made it abundantly clear to her that she was never to start any speculation. He had said more than once, “Deal with it and fill me in later.” She supposed it was democratic to treat her and Tim like any other member of the church asking for help, but she resented it. How many times had the telephone rung during a family dinner and he would spend an hour or more talking with someone who was in crisis? How many times had he gotten up in the middle of the night to go to someone’s side? He always found time for others, but when it came to his own wife and son, he had no energy or time left. She tried to squelch the resentment as she sat beside Tim in the waiting room.

  Reka gave them a pained smile. “I slipped him a note. He knows you’re here. I’m sure he’ll be done soon.” She went back to her typing.

  Fifteen minutes passed. Timothy was beside her, grim and silent.

  Reka offered to make coffee. Eunice said it wasn’t necessary. Another fifteen minutes passed before the door opened and Rob Atherton came through it with Paul on his heels. He patted Rob on the back. “Thanks for coming in, Rob.” Rob looked worn down. He gave Eunice a nod. Was Paul trying to extract another donation from the man?

  “Eunice, you can go on into the office,” Paul said. “I’ll be with you and Tim in just a minute.” He walked out into the hallway with Rob.

  “I’m surprised he has the time,” Tim said as he got up.

  Eunice sat on the plush leather sofa. It was another ten minutes before Paul was back in the outer office. “It’s almost four, Reka. You can finish the church newsletter in the morning.” He strode into his office and closed the door behind him. His smile was gone. So, too, was the look of tender patience he so often wore when speaking with people like Marvin and LaVonne Lockford or Jessie Boham.

  “You both have trouble written all over your faces. Couldn’t you have kept whatever this is all about at home for us to talk about later instead of coming in here and sitting out there where anyone can see you?”

  Eunice felt her defenses going up. “You told me this morning you wouldn’t be coming home until late because you had another important meeting with the building committee. And I did call. Reka said you told her to hold all calls. And we couldn’t wait.” Some things couldn’t be put off and shoved aside. Not anymore. And she didn’t want Paul hearing the bad news from someone in the church. Jessie was sure to tell Gerald, and Gerald would tell Paul . . .

  “Okay. Okay. Get to the point. What happened this time?”

  “Why don’t you ask me, Dad?” Face white, Tim glared at his father. “Why take it out on her?”

  “I’m not taking anything out on her, but maybe you ought to think about how your behavior affects others. Especially me. What you do affects my reputation.” He turned on her. “So are you going to tell me or not?”

  “If you’d give me a chance.”

  Tim lowered his head.

  Paul sat, looking exasperated. “Just spit it out.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to leave in forty-five minutes for an important meeting.”

  “Tim has been suspended from school.”

  “Great! Just what I need!” Paul stood and paced. Arms akimbo, he looked up as though searching through his counseling books for the one that would give him a quick, easy way out of this latest crisis. “What is it with you, Tim? Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my congregation?” He looked at their son as though he despised him. “Are you trying to make me a laughingstock to everyone in town?”

  “No.”

  “What about your mother? How do you think she feels when you pull some stunt that gets her called into the principal’s office? She can’t defend you for the rest of your life. When are you going to get out from behind her and grow up? Don’t you know everyone watches our family? We’re important to this community. People look up to us as examples. And what kind of example are you with your black eye and split lip? What are people going to say when they see you Sunday morning?”

  “I don’t care what they say.”

  “Because you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

  Eunice was afraid he was just getting warmed up. “Paul—”

  “When are you going to grow up?”

  Eunice tried to interrupt.

  “You stay out of this, Eunice. You’re always protecting him. You don’t seem to get the point. If people think I can’t manage my own son, they’re going to begin to wonder if I can manage my church.”

  Paul hadn’t even asked what had happened to bring about the suspension. Did everything have to come down to his church, his reputation? Since when was truth measured by what others might say? People invented gossip, and the wives of some of Paul’s elders were the worst offenders of all.

  “You’re not giving him a chance—”

  “He’s had chance after chance.”

  Paul seemed blind to the hurting boy who was becoming an angry young man. His attention was fixed on his pastorate, his ministry, his reputation.

  Eunice realized she was sick of a few things, too. Sick of Paul’s public graciousness and his private bullying.

  Tears welled in Tim’s eyes as he glared back at his father. “The only thing you care about is your church.”

  “I care about everyone in this church, including you.”

  “Not that I’ve ever noticed.”

  “Don’t you dare talk to me that way!”

  “Paul, hear him out!”

  He rounded on her. “If you weren’t always trying to fix things for him, he wouldn’t be in another mess.”

  She was just following his instructions, dealing with problems and trying to tell him later. Only he never listened!

  “Why are you always blaming Mom? Why don’t you try looking at your-self for a change? Mr. Picture-Perfect Pastor Paul.”

  “Do you think I don’t know what it’s like being a PK? I know it isn’t easy. But you don’t even try. I got top grades all the way through school! I lettered in track! I never miss
ed a youth group meeting! I went on mission trips! I attended conferences with my mother! I did everything I could to make my father’s life easier. And here you are.” He gave a dismissive wave. Planting his hands on his desk, he leaned toward Tim. “Every time you act up, you’re serving Satan. You’re opening the door of this church and inviting him in.”

  “That’s enough!” Eunice stood, cheeks on fire, gripped with wrath. Paul and Tim both stared at her, and no wonder. She had never shouted at anyone in her entire life. She was shaking with anger. “Tim, you go home.” Her heart ached at the look on his face. She put her hand on his shoulder. “I need to talk with your father alone.”

  Tim stood, his eyes awash with tears. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  “So am I.”

  Paul glared at her. “You’re the biggest part of his problem, you know that? He doesn’t even listen to me.”

  “Why should he listen to you? You didn’t even allow him the opportunity to tell you what happened.”

  “I didn’t have to ask. He’s got a black eye and a split lip. He was in another fight.”

  “Shirl Wenke called me last week.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “She was full of praise about how patient and understanding you were with her son, Bobby, when he was caught writing graffiti with a permanent marker in the church bathroom.”

  Paul’s eyes hardened. “He repainted the wall.”

  “And Shirl said you took him out for a hamburger and talked with him for more than an hour.” She picked up her purse. “Yes, Paul, Tim was in a fight. One of the boys from our youth group was being beaten up in the locker room by some of the football players. Tim interceded. It was four to one. Tim could’ve ended up in the hospital.”

  His eyes flickered. “Then why was he the only one suspended?”

  “He wasn’t. They all were. Even Frank Heber, who took the most damage.”

  Paul sank into his chair. “Fighting isn’t the answer.”

  “Maybe not, but sometimes you can’t stand by. And I doubt Tim did as much damage with his fists as you just did with your tongue.”

  His head came up, eyes darkening again. “Where do you get off accusing me after shouting at me in front of our son?”

  “You didn’t wait thirty seconds before you condemned and passed judgment on him!”

  “You’re not being fair! Why don’t you stop and consider the position he’s put me in?”

  “Don’t talk of fairness, Paul. I watch you coddle members of your congregation, even those who are blatantly sinning. Men and women living with one another, deaconesses gossiping, elders who withhold money from workers.”

  “What do you know about that?” His eyes narrowed. “Have you been talking to Stephen Decker?”

  “No. I overheard one of the day laborers in the bank the other day.” She swallowed the hurt. “I cling to hope that everything will be all right, but sometimes I wonder, Paul.” She searched his eyes. “You’ve changed.”

  “So have you, Eunice. You’re far from the submissive girl I married. You buck me every chance you get.”

  What was he talking about? “You’re not even listening to me, are you? You’re so caught up in building this church that you haven’t time left for us.”

  Paul let out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m tired. Maybe I overreacted. But what do you expect when you hit me at the end of the day with something like this?”

  “I suppose it would have been better if Tim had gotten himself suspended earlier in the day.” She put her hand on the doorknob. “You know, Paul, I can’t remember the last time you extended grace to me or Tim.”

  “He doesn’t need grace. He needs discipline.”

  Was there any use in talking to him? Did he have eyes to see or ears to hear? She couldn’t keep walking around the issue. “You’re treating Tim the same way your father treated you.”

  His face reddened. “Don’t you talk about my father. What do you know about the pressures of building a church? I’m a better pastor because my father pushed me. Now that I’m standing in his shoes, I can look back and understand the stress Dad was under, the constant battle going on to build something for God. I’m not a little boy anymore, running to my mother every time my feelings are hurt.”

  Every word pierced and wounded.

  “There’s no excuse for cruelty, Paul.” She searched his face, wondering what had happened to the young man she had loved so much. She had watched Paul become harder and more obstinate. Sometimes she wondered if the only reason he attended school functions at all was to be seen by the other VNLC parents. He spent most of the time talking with the other parents, other people’s sons and daughters.

  Tim saw. Tim knew. Tim took it into his heart. She could almost hear her son asking himself if he even counted in the scheme of things—other than as a poster child for Paul Hudson, pastor of the fastest growing church in the Central Valley.

  Sometimes she wondered the same thing about her own role. She could sing. She could play the piano. Take that away and who was she? Just little Eunice McClintock, girl from the hills of Pennsylvania who gave her life to Christ before she was nine years old. She was no one special. She’d always wondered what Paul saw in her.

  Maybe he was wondering the same thing.

  “Neither one of you seems to care about the trouble this situation can cause me.” Paul waved his hand over his desk. “As if I don’t have enough to deal with already.”

  That was always his excuse.

  She knew their marriage was floundering, but where did a pastor’s wife go for counseling? “Why don’t you just tell everyone your son almost became a Christian martyr?”

  Paul looked as though he might consider the idea.

  “I’m going home, Paul. Is there anything you want me to tell Tim?”

  “He’s grounded.”

  The future stretched out ahead of her, bleak, lonely. Help me, God. “If you keep on as you are, Paul, you’re going to drive Tim out of the church.”

  He might even drive their son away from God.

  When Samuel heard the doorbell ring, he thought maybe it was one of the Mormon boys in their crisp white shirts and black trousers. Last time, they accepted his invitation to milk and cookies and left their bicycles locked by his front gate. After half an hour, one of the young men had been eager to leave, but the other couldn’t be pried from his chair. Samuel invited them both to Wednesday evening Bible study.

  “Tim! It’s been a while.” He opened the door wide. “Come on in.”

  “Thanks.”

  Samuel grimaced. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And the other guy?”

  “Guys.” Tim stepped through the front door and stood in the living room. Samuel wondered if the boy was remembering how Abby used to ask him if he wanted some cookies as he came through the door. Tim’s shoulders shook and a sound came out of him like a wounded animal. Sinking onto the old sofa, he held his head and started to sob.

  Samuel put his hand on Tim’s shoulder and sat beside him.

  Tim rubbed his face on his sleeve and sat hunched over, forearms resting on his knees. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to come over here and blubber like a baby.”

  “I’ve had my moments, Tim. If we didn’t, we’d bust wide open.”

  Tim gave a bleak laugh. “Or bust someone else wide open.” He released a long breath through pursed lips. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

  “Nothing that can’t wait.” Samuel patted Tim’s shoulder, put his hands on his knees, and straightened. “Why don’t you come on in the kitchen and help me figure out what to rustle up for grub?” Tim followed and stood at the back door, looking out. Samuel peered into the freezer. “I’ve got TV dinners. Swiss steak, meat loaf, lasagna. Or we can throw one of these pizzas in the oven.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  Samuel knew Tim liked pizza. He turned on the oven, opened the pizza box, removed the cellophane wrapping, an
d slid the pizza onto a cookie sheet. “Should be ready in half an hour.” He took two sodas from the refrigerator. “Or when the smoke alarm goes off.” He popped the top of one soda and slid it across the table.

  Tim took a long swig of soda, set the can down, and rested his arms on the table. “Did you get along with your dad, Samuel?”

  Samuel smiled. “We butted heads on occasion.”

  “I got suspended. Got hauled into the principal’s office again.” He stared at the can. “I’m sick of all of ’ em, Samuel. They’re all a bunch of stinking hypocrites. I’m sick of the principal bending over backwards to excuse the jocks. I’m sick of my teachers telling me I’m wasting my natural talent. As if they really give a rip. I’m sick of Dad blaming Mom every time something happens. Most of all, I’m sick of him.” He took another swig of soda. “I don’t care what any of them think of me.”

  Samuel could see how much he didn’t care. He thought of a dozen platitudes. It’s not easy growing up. You’ll get through this. Your dad loves you. It’s not easy being a parent these days. Life is tough. All true. But Tim was the one who needed to talk. Not him.

  So Samuel let him. He already knew most of it. He’d been involved in Timothy Hudson’s life since the boy was being pushed around in a stroller. It had only been the last couple of years, when Tim’s visits had dwindled to once every month or so and lasted fewer than thirty minutes, that he’d had to rely on Eunice. She still took long walks and stopped by for tea. She filled him in about Tim. A toad set free in Sunday school, difficulty with home-work, soccer meets interfering with youth group, church-camp escapades. Tim had written a skit, a full-fledged satire about the church, that hit a little too close to home for comfort. Jessie Boham thought she saw him smoking pot behind the bowling alley. It turned out to be someone else, but people tended to believe gossip.

  Tim stood and walked around the table, opening the cabinet door under the sink and putting his can into the recycling bag. “I’m not going to church anymore.”

  Samuel had no doubt where that speech was aimed. “Mind telling me why?”