Maybe they’re right.
I can think of quite a few times over my fifteen years at Incarnation when I had remained silent when I should have spoken up. Partly this has to do with how I was mentored. I worked as a youth pastor for a few years before I took on my first senior pastorate. The pastor I worked under told me to choose my battles carefully and not to be too quick to jump in when there was a conflict in the church.
His sound wisdom played again in my ears. “Most of those little skirmishes will resolve themselves if you give them enough time. But once the senior pastor steps in, it instantly becomes a big deal.”
I liked his advice, particularly because it fit my personality perfectly. I’ve always had a condition I refer to as “confrontational brain freeze.” Whenever I need to get serious with someone about a problem or conflict, my mind locks up. I don’t know what to say or how to say it. It’s as though these things always catch me by surprise. Most of the time, I just stand around looking and feeling stupid. So, avoiding face-to-face confrontations comes naturally to me.
Ironically, my reluctance to confront others has helped me on a few occasions by keeping me from saying something I would later regret. But those times have been few and far between. Mostly it just means that I avoid dealing with minor problems until they have become major.
But no matter how I looked at it, the situation I faced with Clifton Stoner and some currently unnamed members of the church board was anything but a minor problem. Clifton and his cronies were on the move. I had to decide if I would be proactive, which would involve facing Clifton directly, or reactive, which meant waiting until he dropped whatever bomb was in the works.
I sat at my desk, holding my cell phone in my hand. I had Clifton’s number programmed into my speed dial. I knew I should just call him and get it over with. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.
With a sigh, I laid down the phone. I couldn’t do it.
My rationalization was that I was acting out of loyalty to Flora. If I called her husband, he would know she had been talking to me. I told myself that I couldn’t betray her confidence.
That was bogus, of course. The very reason she’d come to see me was so that I could try to head off, or at least be prepared for, whatever Clifton and the others were planning.
There was no reason to kid myself any longer. I just didn’t have the stomach for conflict. When I saw it coming, I ran the other way. Like a soldier going AWOL at the first signs of a battle, I didn’t wait for the first gunshot. I headed for the hills as soon as I heard the rumble of enemy tanks.
Face it—I’m a coward.
A light went on in my mind. Call it an epiphany; call it whatever you want. In that instant, I made a life-changing decision. And I knew exactly with whom I needed to talk.
“You’re doing what?” Philip Treadway set his coffee cup down and gave me an incredulous look.
“I’m resigning. I’ve had enough of pastoral ministry.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it. I’m done.”
He raised an eyebrow, looking at me as if I had lost my mind. “What brought this on?”
I shrugged. “A lot of things. Mostly, I just finally realized that I must not be suited for this job.”
“ ‘A lot of things’ doesn’t tell me anything. What? Did you just wake up today and decide you didn’t want to be a preacher anymore?”
I shifted uncomfortably on the stool. “Clifton.”
Now Philip’s expression changed from disbelief to disdain. “Really? You’re letting that guy scare you away from doing what you love? Come on, bro. I thought I knew you better than that.”
“It’s complicated. And it’s not just Clifton.”
“So what is it?”
My throat tightened. I had run these thoughts through my head but never voiced them. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my emotions under control. “I don’t have what it takes.”
Philip tilted his head a bit, almost as if he hadn’t heard me. But I knew he had. Then his expression changed again, this time from disdain to concern. “You’re serious.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
Philip studied his coffee cup for a long moment, and then he looked back up at me. “You know I’ve always been straight with you.”
I nodded. “That’s what I like most about you.”
“And you know I don’t have much use for God or church.”
I nodded again.
“So you understand that I don’t have an agenda when I tell you that I think you’re making a huge mistake.”
That statement caught me somewhat by surprise. I honestly hoped he would say something like, “It’s about time.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
Philip took the carafe off its warming plate and refilled our cups. “I’ve known a lot of preachers in my day, and I wouldn’t give two cents for the lot. But you’re the exception. I’ve known you for fifteen years, and I’ve watched you. You practice what you preach. For you to quit would be a great loss.”
The faint sound of a siren broke into our conversation. It was enough of an interruption to allow me to rein in my emotions. I cleared my throat and took a sip of coffee.
“Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.”
“I mean every word of it. You know I’m not someone who thinks all the evil in the world can be traced to religion. I have my own problems with God, but I don’t begrudge others the right to believe. Those people need good leaders. You’re one of the few good Christian leaders I’ve ever met.”
I smiled. “I appreciate that.”
“You don’t really plan to quit, do you?”
I took another swallow of coffee. “I can’t do it anymore. No matter what I try to do, I run into a brick wall.”
“So get another church.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Better yet, start your own church.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Would you come?”
A wry smile creased his face. “You wouldn’t want me in your church.”
The sound of the siren grew louder. We both looked toward the storefront just as an ambulance blew by on the interstate. I said a silent prayer for whatever the situation was then drained my coffee cup.
Philip reached for the carafe. I waved him off. “That’s enough for me. Too much caffeine today.”
Philip repeated his question. “So what about starting a new church?”
I shook my head. “It wouldn’t do any good. It would just be the same problem with different people. I don’t have the stomach for all the politics and infighting.”
“But if you start your own church, you can…”
Before Philip could finish his sentence, two more sirens interrupted him. Seconds later a Georgia state trooper’s cruiser raced past the lumberyard, followed by another ambulance.
“Something’s up.” My body stiffened, and I focused more clearly on the street outside.
“Accident.” Philip shrugged. “Happens all too often. I don’t suppose a week goes by that I don’t see the police and EMTs flying by my front window.”
I was about to reply when I heard a fourth siren, and then a fifth. On the heels of those sounds, two more ambulances sped past the window.
“If it’s an accident,” I said, “it’s a big one.”
A look of sadness etched Philip’s face. “I hope nobody was killed.”
We moved closer forward and watched out the front window.
“Anyway,” Philip continued after a moment, “if you were to start your own church, you could establish the ground rules. I heard what you said at Otis’s funeral. What you said about incarnating Jesus is one of the most sensible things I’ve ever heard a preacher say. If you really believe that, you could start a church and make that your basic principle—incarnating Jesus to the world. People who weren’t interested could go somewhere else.”
&nbs
p; “It might start out that way, but sooner or later it would end up the same as any other church.”
“How do you know that?”
I grinned and shook my head. “You, a guy who has given up on God, are asking me why I believe another church is not the answer?”
“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands. “I just hate to see you like this. And I’m worried about you. If you quit being a pastor, what will you do?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
The wail of sirens filled the air. It seemed as though every emergency vehicle in Belvedere and the surrounding area was responding to something. Philip and I exchanged worried glances. A second later, my cell phone rang. Caller ID identified the caller as Jayne.
“Hi there. What’s up?” Immediately, I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Her sobs blasted into my ears and then jammed into my heart. She fought for control and after several seconds was able to share her news with me. I listened wordlessly, feeling as if my whole body had gone numb. My throat constricted, but somehow I managed to reply. “I’ll get over there right away. Can you take the truck and pick up Hannah?”
Philip watched me intently. When I hung up, I could feel tears brimming in my eyes.
“There’s been a shooting at the high school.”
Chapter 13
No, no, no, no, no!
The words clamored in my head like rocks banging inside a metal trash can as I blew through stop signs and traffic signals on my way to the school. Jayne gave me no details because she had none to give. A church member whose husband was a police officer called her and told her there had been a shooting. But that was all she knew.
As I rushed toward the school, I blinked tears away and tried to pray, but the best I could manage was a weak, “Please, God. No.” I couldn’t formulate the words or the thought because it was unthinkable. The unspoken prayer of my heart bounced in my brain, God, not Brandon. Please, not Brandon.
I knew that hundreds of other parents prayed the same prayer right now, but at the moment I didn’t care about them. My only thoughts were for my son.
As I drove, the arguments Brandon and I had exchanged flowed through my mind in an unbroken loop. I remembered every word he said, every word I had said. I hated the tension between us, and right now it didn’t matter who was right or wrong. Would it have been different if Brandon and I hadn’t been fighting over the last few days? I didn’t know, and at the moment, I didn’t care. I only wanted to be able to hug my boy and tell him I loved him.
My iPhone rang. The call was from Jenny Stewart, mother of Charlene, a teen girl in our church.
I picked up. “Hi, Jenny.”
At first, all I heard was sobbing on the line.
“Jenny?”
She managed to get out a question through her sobs. “Have you heard?”
“Yes, I’m on my way to the school now. Is Charlene okay?”
It took her a few seconds to gain her composure. “I don’t know yet. I’m outside the school, but they won’t let us get close. Kids are coming out of the building, but I can’t see her anywhere.” Her voice became shrill as panic set in. “What am I going to do?” More sobs.
“Take a deep breath and try to relax. Where are you?”
“On the southeast corner of Hickory Street and Avery Creek Way.”
“Okay, hang on. I’ll be there in just a few minutes.”
When I was five blocks away from the school, traffic snarled. Cars and trucks, many probably driven by worried parents and relatives, clogged the road and brought traffic to a standstill.
I swung into a shopping center parking lot, grabbed my keys, and started running. I wasn’t the only one on foot. People ditched their cars wherever they could find space—even in the driveways and yards of complete strangers. The closer I got to the school, the bigger the running throng became. Ahead of me, I saw a few people I recognized, but no one from my congregation. Incarnation didn’t have a lot of young people. Then I rounded the corner as the campus came into view.
It was like a scene from a disaster movie—only terribly real.
It looked as though every emergency vehicle within a two-hundred-mile radius had responded. A sea of police cruisers, SWAT vans, fire trucks, and ambulances—all with lights flashing—filled the streets surrounding the school. Law enforcement had already set up a perimeter. The Belvedere Police Department’s newly purchased mobile command center stood at the center of the activity, while patrol cars blocked the road and officers stood guard to prevent access to the school building.
Hundreds of people crowded around the perimeter set up by the police. Some were yelling, others crying. From a distance, the mass of people looked like fans trying to get into a rock concert or into shops on Black Friday. The crowd pressed the limits, and as I got closer, the sound of weeping grew louder.
I glanced beyond the crowd to the school building and saw several large groups of students run out the front doors and toward the waiting crowd. Some got to the far side of the crime scene tape and collapsed as they sobbed. Others walked arm in arm as they clutched each other for support. Parents and students scanned each other, looking for familiar faces. Sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, siblings. When a connection was made, a face recognized, tearful reunions followed. Teenagers who a few hours earlier would have been embarrassed to be seen hugging their parents, now eagerly embraced them and poured out their grief and shock as if they were small children.
As heartbreaking as the scene of the family reunions was, there was a worse scene there. As students and teachers continued to flood out of the building, some of the parents anxiously searched for their children in the throng. They shouted out their names in hope that somewhere in the mass of people, their son or daughter would be safe and sound. As time passed and they didn’t find their loved ones, the pitch and intensity of their screams intensified.
EMTs burst out of one side door, wheeling a gurney with a boy on it. A ventilation bag covered his mouth and a young woman squeezed the bag as they rushed toward one of the waiting ambulances. They moved too fast for me to get a look at the boy’s face.
I made my way to the corner of Hickory and Avery Creek, looking for Jenny Stewart.
As I came upon the crowd, I, too, began to call out the name of my child. “Brandon!”
Students still streamed out of the school. I looked at every one of them, hoping to see my son. From this distance it was difficult to make out faces, so I judged by hair color and body type. Brandon had blond hair and a slight build. That was part of the problem. He didn’t stand out in a crowd.
I pressed into the mass of people as I scanned for heads and faces. I couldn’t see Brandon anywhere. Every time a new cluster of teenagers fled the building, I looked for him. All I saw were teenagers with terrified expressions of horror and grief.
As each group of students cleared the building and made their way toward the waiting crowd, spontaneous reunions broke out. Parents who found their children embraced. Kids who had been holding their emotions inside collapsed into waiting arms. Teens who hadn’t yet found family members gathered and hugged, sobbing.
That was when I finally saw Jenny Stewart. She’d worked her way to the front of the crowd so she could get a better view. Charlene had just come from the school building, and they were tearfully embracing.
I felt my phone vibrate. Jayne.
I could barely hear her voice above the din, but even so I noticed the tension, the fear in her tone. She had a question but was almost afraid to ask it.
“Is Brandon all right?”
My throat felt thick. I couldn’t get the words out.
Jayne misread my pause. “Oh no! Please, God, no!”
“It’s not that,” I said quickly. “I just haven’t been able to find him yet.”
It was a comfort but only a small one. For all we knew right then, Brandon might well be lying dead in the school.
Determination replaced fear in her voice. “
I’m coming over there.”
Considering the situation, I needed to be firm. “No. Hannah doesn’t need to see this.”
As the minutes passed, fewer and fewer students came out of the school. What was at first a rush now slowed to a trickle. Reunions were fewer, and the sounds coming from the crowd subsided. Parents and teens who had found each other began to drift away from the school. A dread hush fell on those of us who had not yet found our children.
Jenny and Charlene stood about a hundred feet away. I walked toward them, hoping to ask Charlene what had happened. Had she seen Brandon? But before I could get over there, a police officer whisked them away.
That was when I saw Clifton Stoner.
He stood by himself near an ambulance. He looked lost and bewildered.
Flora!
In my concern over Brandon, I hadn’t thought about Flora Stoner’s volunteer work for the school. I pushed through the milling crowd and made my way over to Clifton.
He saw me coming, but it was as if he didn’t recognize me. His gaze looked blank, empty.
“Clifton,” I called as I drew near.
He looked at me with red-rimmed eyes, still appearing as though he were trying to process the scene before him.
I called his name a second time.
He started, as if pulled from a trance. His eyes filled with tears, but he blinked them back.
“Is Flora all right?”
Clifton’s chin quivered, and he looked down. An almost imperceptible shake of his head told me all I needed to know.
He spoke softly. “She’s still in there.”
“What happened?”
He pulled a linen handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped his eyes. “They haven’t told me anything.”
“How do you know she’s still in there, then?”
“One of the teachers told me.”
When Clifton looked at me again, his face was etched with pain. “What am I going to do without her, Steve?”
I looked into his anguished eyes and wanted to offer some comfort for him, but I was tongue-tied. In this moment, the standard answers felt like empty platitudes. I wasn’t about to quote the old standby from Romans 8:28, “All things work together for good to those who love God.” That never fits a situation like this one.
In His Place: A Modern-Day Challenge for Readers of In His Steps Page 6