And the Shofar Blew

by Francine Rivers

  “He is your friend.” She looked down, toying nervously with the tissue she held. “There’s someone else you should see. Someone you hurt deeply. I don’t think he’s over it yet.”

  Paul knew who she meant. “Stephen Decker.”

  Eunice lifted her head only a little, but enough that he saw a faint flush in her cheeks. “Stephen could have done us both great harm, Paul. But he didn’t. Even when the opportunity was presented, he let it go.”

  Paul’s heart sank. He didn’t want to ask what opportunity she meant. He had a feeling he knew already.

  Stephen was rolling up a blueprint when he saw Paul’s Mercedes pull up in front. What did Hudson want? Shoving the blueprint into its cubby, Stephen leaned back on his stool and watched Pastor Paul get out of his car, look up at the building, and come around to the sidewalk.

  Hudson came to the door and walked in. One of the drawbacks to living in your place of business was having to leave the front door unlocked.

  “May I talk to you, Stephen?”

  “I gave at the office.” Hudson had better not be coming to him about some problem with the building. Stephen had used the best men and materials. Anything that was wrong now was someone else’s fault and Hudson’s responsibility. Stephen was out of it and glad.

  “You tried to warn me I was getting off track,” Paul said. “You said once I wasn’t building a church, I was building a monument for myself. You were right.”

  What ploy was this? “What are you after, Hudson?”

  “Forgiveness.”

  Stephen gave a cynical laugh. “Well, you know where to go for that.”

  “I’ve taken my sins to Jesus, but I want to try and make amends with the people I’ve hurt.”

  “Eunice should be your first stop.”

  “We flew back from Pennsylvania together.”

  Stephen raised his brows. He hadn’t heard Eunice was out of town, let alone across the country. Samuel had probably kept that news to himself—if he had known. “You should talk to Samuel.”

  “I visited him yesterday. He forgave me. I’m here to ask if you’ll do the same.”

  “A lot of rough water has gone under the bridge since you and I went our separate ways, Hudson.” Paul had been the one to wash their friendship right out to the open sea.

  “I’d like to make it up to you.”

  Stephen gave a derisive laugh. “How? You got another building project in mind?”

  “No. An invitation to church on Sunday.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “No. I’m not. I know my apology isn’t worth much, Stephen. I set out to ruin you.”

  He spread his hands. “As you can see, you didn’t succeed.”

  “I spoke against you. A friend who tried to warn me.”

  The guy was dogged. He was determined to confess whether Stephen wanted to listen or not. Angry, Stephen had no choice but to stand there. Oh, Lord, I know what You want from me, but I haven’t got Samuel’s strength.

  Paul kept on with his confession. Finally, he stopped, let out his breath slowly, and said, “I’ve tendered my resignation.”

  Walking away from VNLC? Giving up his empire? Stephen was stunned.

  “I’m giving my confession on Sunday. I thought you might want to be there to hear it.”

  Stephen saw no bid for pity, but he was suddenly filled with compassion for Paul Hudson. He wasn’t sure he could trust him, but he wasn’t going to beat a man when he was down. Stephen remembered when he’d called Paul his closest friend and a brother in Christ. Paul had been the one to extend his hand during the hard, tough early days of recovery, and it had been Paul who’d encouraged his faith.

  Now, Stephen was facing some of the same temptations Paul had, and running away because he wasn’t sure he could handle them. He would have to keep his focus so that he didn’t give in to the temptations leadership brought. He’d learned by watching Paul’s mistakes to have a good mentor. Every pastor needed a Samuel in his life. A couple would be even better.

  Stephen had seen in the last few weeks how leadership brought power with it. It was heady having people look at you as though you had all the answers and the personal ear of God besides. Heady, and terrifying. He didn’t want to lead people down the wrong path.

  “Come on upstairs, Paul. I’ll fix us some coffee.”

  Stephen set up the coffeemaker.

  Hands in his pockets, Paul looked around. “You’ve always been a craftsman.” He spotted some of Brittany’s things. “Are you married?” He sounded relieved.

  “That’s my daughter’s stuff. She finally came home.” Had Paul even known she was missing? Had Paul cared about the months of agony he’d suffered, worrying about his runaway daughter? Probably not. If he even knew. Stephen let it go. “She lives here now. I’m living in the basement.”

  “Samuel said that’s where you hold services.”

  Stephen glanced at him. “I’m not holding services. Just teaching one class.”

  “And doing a good job from what Samuel says.”

  “Yeah, well, you know Samuel. He’s full of hope.”

  “From what he told me, I think you’re going to turn out to be a fine pastor.”

  Flattery? Stephen put two mugs on the table. He wanted to change the subject. Better to hear about Paul’s wakeup call. “What brought your change of heart?”

  “The look on Eunice’s face when she walked in on me with another woman. A long talk with my mother. And a close call on Highway 99.”

  “That’s all it took, huh?” Poor Eunice.

  “I made my peace with God, but it’s going to be a long time before I can make the amends I need to or repair the damage I’ve done. If I ever can.”

  “Did the board ask for your resignation?”

  “No. They want me to stay. But I don’t belong in a pulpit or in any leadership position until I’m back on track. Even if the Lord calls me back to ministry, I’m going to need men to hold me accountable.”

  Stephen raised his fist and grinned wolfishly. “I’d like to hold you accountable.” Odd, that all the sting was gone.

  Paul smiled. “You’d be the second one I’d count on. Samuel has the lead.”

  “You’ve really made a mess of things, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And hurt a lot of people along the way.”

  “I know.”

  He looked as though he did know. Stephen had never seen such a look of misery on Paul Hudson’s face. Who was he to throw stones? “I guess we do still have some things in common. We’re both major screw-ups. You know, we ought to start our own AA support group. Autocrats Anonymous. What do you think?”

  Paul laughed.

  Stephen was only half joking. “I’ve been faced with some of the same temptations you’ve dealt with over the years. It’s not easy making people understand that you’re just another human being like they are, struggling to live by faith.”

  “It’s when you stop struggling that you’re in trouble,” Paul said. “When you start thinking you know what you’re doing. I thought I had all the answers. I saw anyone who questioned my methods as a threat. My mother put it better. I’ve been a cattleman driving a herd instead of a shepherd leading a flock.”

  The coffee was finished. Stephen poured. “Who’s your replacement?”

  “I’ve recommended John Deerman.”

  “I don’t know him.”

  “He’s a solid man of faith. I’ve kept him busy in the background.”

  “Ah. Another man who questioned you.”

  “John has strong faith and a sound knowledge of the Bible to go with it. If the board gives him the pulpit, the congregation will be hearing the straight gospel from here on.”

  Stephen wondered if the membership of VNLC was ready to listen to the truth.

  You’ve performed miracles before, Lord. One’s sitting across the table. But it’s going to take a great big one to pull that church out of the fire.

  �
�Timothy enlisted in the Marines.”

  “Oh, man! I didn’t know he was old enough.”

  “He’s nineteen.”

  “How’d Eunice take the news?”

  “She’s crying.”

  Two heavy blows. Stephen hoped they hadn’t rocked her faith.

  “I drove by the church on the way here,” Paul said. “You really built something to last, Stephen. It’s a beautiful facility. I wish there were some way . . . ”

  Stephen recognized the temptation of hanging on to things. “See it for what it is, Paul. A building. A monument to one man’s endeavor. Let it go.” He lifted his mug in faint salute. “If I walked away from it, so can you.”

  They made small talk, then dug a little deeper. Paul asked about Kathryn. Stephen was surprised he remembered her name. Paul did remember Brittany. Stephen told him she was doing okay. She was getting her GED and hoping to go to junior college. When Paul asked for a tour, Stephen showed him the rest of the house.

  They talked cautiously, around the edges of past hurts and failures, feeling their way. Maybe they could be friends again, but it wouldn’t happen overnight. They’d have to pick their way through the debris. Forgiveness was a decision; trust took time.

  “I’d better get back.” When Paul extended his hand at the front door, Stephen hesitated.

  “Before we shake hands, there are a few things I need to confess, Paul.” Color ebbed from Paul’s cheeks even as Stephen felt the heat coming up into his own. “You’re already aware that I’ve harbored bitterness against you since I left Centerville, but beyond that . . . ” Get it said. Get it out in the open. “I’ve been in love with your wife for ten years. There have been a lot of times when I wished your marriage would fold so I could ride in like Prince Charming and sweep Eunice off her feet.”

  “Euny told me this afternoon that you could’ve done serious harm. I knew what she meant.”

  The attraction had been mutual. He hadn’t intended to mention that. “Nothing happened, Paul.”

  “Because you and Eunice were wise enough to make sure it didn’t.”

  It hadn’t been easy to show her the door the last time he saw her. Having his feelings out in the open would keep him accountable. “She’s something special.”

  “In the words of my son, how could anyone not love her?”

  It was good Paul understood what wasn’t being said. Sometimes Stephen wondered if he’d ever get over Eunice Hudson. There weren’t many women like her, and she should be treated like a treasure straight from heaven. But at least the Lord was building hedges. If Paul cherished Eunice the way he should, Stephen would never again have to face the temptation of finding her alone on his doorstep. Stephen had the feeling Paul would be more careful with the treasure God had given him. “Another thing. You didn’t give the name of the woman.”

  “No.”

  “It was Sheila Atherton, wasn’t it?”

  “It doesn’t matter who it was. It was wrong.”

  “It does matter because I knew her. She tried her games with me while I was building the house in Quail Hollow. I knew what she was up to the minute I saw her in your office. I kept quiet for all the wrong reasons. I was angry and nursing a grudge. I wanted you to fall off your high horse. Or get knocked off it. I should’ve warned you. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

  “At that point, I doubt I would’ve listened to you, but apology accepted.”

  “You weren’t the first, Paul. I doubt you’ll be the last.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better. Whatever Sheila is, I’m without excuse.” Paul extended his hand again. “But thanks for telling me. Especially about Eunice.” He smiled sadly. “I’ll be treating my wife a lot better in the future.”

  Stephen closed the door and asked God’s blessing on Eunice and Paul’s marriage and protection for it as well. Then he sat at his drawing board where he had been studying and preparing for the days ahead.

  Paul spent hours working on his confession, writing out what he needed to say, going over it to make certain he hadn’t left anything out. When Sunday morning rolled around, he was exhausted. He spent an hour on his knees praying before he took his shower. His hand shook when he shaved. He nicked himself. If he wasn’t careful, he’d slit his own throat. He washed his face, used a styptic pencil to stop the bleeding, and dressed carefully. His tie felt like a noose.

  The house was quiet when he came out of his office. The master-bed-room door was closed. So was the guest-room door. Timothy’s door was open, but he wasn’t there. Paul knew he had no right to expect his family to attend church with him, especially today of all days.

  He arrived an hour early and alone, his carefully organized notes in a folder on the front seat. He wanted to be prepared. He needed to get it right this time.

  The church was unlocked, the choir members practicing. They sounded great, but the words had nothing to do with the message Paul was going to give that morning, and nothing to do with the blood of Jesus Christ who’d saved them from eternal damnation.

  Paul went into his office. The last time he’d been in here was the morning Eunice walked in on him and Sheila Atherton. His face burned as he straightened the cushions on the couch, put the chair back where it be-longed, and sat at his desk. He removed Sheila’s number from the speed-dial. He took Eunice’s picture out of his desk drawer and looked at it. He set the picture on his desk. He thought about Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, sweating blood because of what He knew He had to do.

  He wept.

  Help me do what’s right, God. For once, let me get it right. Oh, Lord, You’ve seen my wandering. You watched me as I led these people astray. You were a witness to every sin I’ve committed. I’ve been so busy making my way in the world that I lost the way. Against You and You only have I sinned, and in doing so brought immeasurable harm to others.

  Cars were filling the parking lot. Ushers collected the bulletins in the outer office. He could hear them talking. He hadn’t even titled his sermon this time.

  It was quieter now. Everyone would be finding their seats. He could hear the music playing, the kind that made everyone comfortable. A medley of songs. Not a hymn among them. He cringed as he remembered telling Eunice she would no longer be a part of the music ministry because she had dared to sing a song about the cleansing blood of Jesus.

  He took a last look at his typed notes, tucked them into his Bible, and left his office. His heart pounded harder with each step. His stomach clenched. His palms were sweating. He entered the inner corridor to a small waiting area. Like a theater’s greenroom, he realized. The choir was singing.

  “There you are!” One of the associates approached with a nervous laugh. “I was beginning to wonder if I should run downstairs to my office and pull out one of my old sermons.”

  John Deerman met him at the side entrance to the stage and shook his hand. “I’ll be praying for you, brother.”

  Everything was ready for Paul Hudson. The audience had been primed. It was time for the headliner to come onstage and wow them.

  Everywhere he looked, Paul came face-to-face with what he had done over the last fourteen years. The congregation applauded as the choir members—dressed in red satin, white-trimmed robes—filed out in orderly fashion. “Glad to have you back, Pastor Paul,” several said as they passed.

  One leaned close. “Boy, did we miss you last Sunday. It’s just not the same when we have a guest speaker!”

  Paul crossed the stage and put his Bible on the podium. He opened it, took his notes out, and laid them out so he could glance down. It was the most important sermon of his life. He didn’t want to botch it.

  It was suddenly so quiet, he felt the hair raise on the back of his neck. He raised his head and saw the sea of faces.

  Eunice was sitting in the front row, head bowed. Timothy sat to her right, looking up at him the way he must have looked at his own father. His mother sat to Eunice’s left, her expression guarded. Was she preparing herself for another disappointm
ent?

  Row by row, he recognized the faces of people who had come to hear him talk over the years. Talk, not preach. Entertain, not enlighten.

  He was surprised to see Reka sitting in the eighth pew. She clasped her hands and pressed them to her heart. Forgiveness and fellowship offered. His throat closed.

  Two men stood in the open doorway of the sanctuary. Samuel Mason leaned heavily on his cane as he stepped into the last pew, moved down enough to make room for Stephen Decker, and sat.

  Paul heard the soft rumbling of the crowd. They were uncomfortable with his long silence. They were used to him striding out onto the stage and letting out a booming “Good morning!” People looked at one another and whispered. He saw a few who prayed.

  Was he going to speak to please the crowd? Or was he going to speak to the audience of One? Was he going to walk by fear or by faith? It all came down to that. Fear had made him focus on his problems. Fear had made him rebel and run the wide road his father had laid out for him, a road to prestige, popularity, prosperity—the road of pride and perdition.

  What was it going to be? Half-turns and half-truths? Or an about-face?

  Paul didn’t look at his notes. He didn’t need them. He needed Jesus. He prayed silently that the Lord would give him the words, and then he said, “I have given my resignation to the board, and I am removing myself from any leadership position in any church for the foreseeable future.” He saw their faces, heard the rush of whispers, and continued. “It is necessary that I do this because I have sinned grievously against the Lord.”

  Broken and contrite, Paul Hudson bared his soul before his congregation, and as he did, the fear left him. He spoke openly of his struggle with truth, his surrender to pride, his headlong fall into sin, and the devastating costs to those he loved the most: his wife, his son, his friends, his brothers and sisters in Christ. After all he had done, even now, they were faithful and praying for him.

  And then he talked about his Redeemer, Jesus Christ. He talked about the love of God, who gave His only begotten Son so that all who believed in Him would have eternal life. Even men like him who had failed on all fronts—as husband, father, friend, and pastor. As Jesus hung on the cross, dying, He said, “It is finished.” And so it was. Victory would not come through the efforts of men, but had already been achieved by Christ Jesus when He proved He had power over death, that only in Him would there be life.