Down from the Cross

by Joyce Livingston

  “We’re all disappointed, Ben,” one of the tenors volunteered, standing to his feet. “I’m sure we’ll all be holding Jim up in prayer.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement.

  “I’ll tell him. I know he’s counting on your prayers.” Ben swallowed hard and then continued. “I honestly thought this year would be our best year yet, with more souls saved than ever. Down from the Cross has such a message to it. Like all of you, I’m… I’m sorry and disappointed, but without Jim, we have no alternative. Believe me, Jim is more disappointed than any of us. He’d really looked forward to this year’s Easter pageant.”

  Josh Steward rose slowly. “I really praise the Lord for Jim. Some of you who have been here as long as I have will remember the first time we talked about doing an Easter pageant here at Randlewood Community Church. A number of us—including me—were very much opposed to even having an Easter pageant, especially with an earthly man playing and singing the part of Jesus. Somehow it seemed irreverent. A group of us on the church board attended the pageant another church was performing, just to get a firsthand look at the performance and the audience reaction. I sure wasn’t prepared for what we saw that night, and I don’t think most of the other board members were either.”

  J.T. Fortner rose, nodding. “I went that night, and like Josh, I was one of those who did not want our church to do an Easter pageant. Although I knew the man hanging on the cross was only another man, a sinner just like me, I can’t tell you the emotions that rushed through me as I sat in that audience. I’d never attended anything like it, and for the first time—seeing an actual scene of what it must have been like for my Jesus to suffer and bleed…” He paused, covering his face with his hands. “I–I think that’s when, for the first time, I really came to grips with what He has done for me. I remember turning to the chairman of our board and telling him I’d changed my mind. I wanted our church to do an Easter pageant.”

  Wiping his eyes with his handkerchief, Elmer Bones stood, too. “That night will be embedded in my memory forever. Oh, I know some folks think it’s wrong to portray Christ’s life and death in a dramatic way, with mere mortals acting out the scenes, but since our church started having annual Easter and Christmas pageants, I dare say we’ve seen hundreds of lost souls flock to the front when our pastor gave an altar call. My… my…” He stopped, weeping openly, and gestured toward a lovely white-haired lady in the alto section. “My… my dear wife was one of them, praise God.” He sniffled and rubbed a tear from his cheek with his thumb before going on.

  “I have to wonder how many of those people would have accepted Christ as their Savior if they hadn’t been in that audience that particular night. I, for one, am glad our church board had the foresight to vote unanimously to do these pageants. I have seen God’s hand at work not only on those who attend the pageants, but in the lives of us choir members. I say—if there is any way possible—we keep doing them.”

  A rousing “Amen” sounded from all persons sitting in the choir loft.

  “Isn’t there someone else who could sing Jim’s part?” one of the sopranos asked, blotting her eyes with her hanky.

  “The board thought of that, but we only have about eight weeks left before Easter. For someone to step in at this late date, even if we could find a suitable substitute, would be nearly impossible. They’d not only have to learn the singing part but the stage part, too, with all its movements and locations. No, with the little amount of time we have left, that would never work, and we cannot risk doing a shoddy performance. Not for our Lord. He deserves only our best.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry I mentioned it.” The soprano lowered her head and sat down.

  Ben brightened and smiled. “We still have this Sunday’s specials to practice.” He turned to the group of six sitting on a long pew in front of the choir. “On your feet, gang.” The six immediately moved into position, picking up their guitars and strapping them on while the pianist took her place.

  Karen leaned toward Jane and whispered, “How could God allow something like this to happen?”

  Though she had not voiced it, Jane wondered the same thing. The news about Jim’s illness hit her hard. For the fourth year in a row, she had been asked to sing the part of Mary. Though she had nearly turned Ben down the first year he asked her, the other members of the choir had encouraged her to do it, many saying her lovely alto voice would be perfect for the part. Even now, she could remember how terrified she had been at the idea of singing the solos before the many thousands of people who came to hear their Easter cantata each year. Nearly every one of the tickets for the eight performances were given out weeks ahead of Easter. Their church never charged those who attended, but you had to have an advance ticket to get in. Many nights, people were waiting in line as early as six o’clock, hoping folks wouldn’t show up and they’d be given their seats at the last minute.

  There had been talk of moving the performance to another place, like the city’s convention center, but the board had always voted it down. They feared moving it to a location outside the church would make the cantata lose some of its warmth and atmosphere. Besides, over the years, the behind-the-scenes production committee had learned to handle things quite well in their familiar surroundings.

  As their practice ended, Ben clapped his hands loudly. “Attention, everyone. Since we won’t be needing the music for Down from the Cross any longer, leave your books on your chair, and I’ll gather them up and take them to my office later.” He offered a sympathetic smile. “Maybe next year Jim will be back, and we’ll be able to sing it.”

  Jane rose slowly, giving the precious book one last look. Though she had bought her own personal copy so she could practice at home, she never brought it with her for fear she would leave it at the church. She had also bought the accompaniment tape. She allowed her fingers to trail lovingly across its cover of deep royal blue. Below the title was an empty wooden cross with a long diagonal blast of sunlight reflecting from behind it, shedding light on the otherwise dark cover. The symbolism touched her heart deeply. Christ came to a dark world to take on my sin and die a tragic death for me! But His life didn’t end there. He arose. Praise You, Father.

  “I’m just sick about this.” Karen Doyle placed her book on the seat with a shake of her head.

  “So am I, Karen, but God is sovereign and promises to work all things for good to those who are called according to His purpose.” Jane carefully placed her book on the seat, slung her purse strap over her shoulder, and moved toward the aisle.

  Karen followed. “A lot of people are going to be disappointed. I’ve really been talking it up at the office where I work. I’d planned to get at least twenty tickets to pass out to my coworkers, and I think most of them would’ve come. I’ve been trying to tell them about their need of God in their lives, but it’s so hard. I’d so hoped Down from the Cross would touch their hearts and make them want to accept God.”

  Jane allowed a sigh to escape as she trudged toward the door, her heart heavy with disappointment. “I was hoping my boss would come, too.”

  Karen’s face brightened. “You really think he would have?”

  Pausing, Jane turned to her friend. “Maybe. I haven’t asked him yet, but I’d planned to.”

  Karen harrumphed. “You needn’t worry about that now.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  The two friends hugged and went their separate ways, promising to have lunch together soon.

  “What’s wrong, Jane? You have been quiet all morning. Aren’t you feeling well?”

  Jane had not been able to get the church’s Easter pageant off her mind since choir practice the night before. She almost hated to tell Keene about it, sure he would gloat and remind her that God wasn’t real, that if He had been real, He never would have let their main soloist become ill.

  “Jane? I asked if you weren’t feeling well. Did you hear me?”

  She looked up at him, blinking back tears. She hated getting emotional on him,
but that’s the way she was, and she couldn’t do anything about it. This had really upset her. Jim Carter was a Christian brother and she felt for him and his family in this time of crisis. She felt bad for all the choir members who had worked so hard learning Down from the Cross, and all those who were helping with costumes, makeup, scenery, tickets, and the hundreds of other things that supported a production of this size and magnitude.

  Keene circled his arm about her shoulders and looked down into her face. “What is it? You can tell me, you know that, don’t you?”

  “It… it’s nothing you’d be interested in.”

  Using his free hand, he pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket and blotted her tears. “I’ve never seen you so upset.” A tiny smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “Except when I crashed my BMW into your little car.”

  “I’m just disappointed, that’s all.”

  He frowned, and in his eyes she could see a genuine concern. “Oh? At someone or something?”

  She gave him a wistful look. “The man who always sings the part of Jesus in our Easter pageant has throat cancer, and his prognosis doesn’t look good. Without him, we’ve had to call it off, and I was so looking forward to singing the part of Mary. We’re all praying for him, but even if he has surgery, there’s no way he’ll be able to sing by Easter. Maybe never!”

  Keene pondered her comment for a moment then asked, “Isn’t there someone else who could sing his part?”

  Jane checked the coffeemaker and, finding Keene had already made their morning coffee, poured each of them a cup. “No, not the way he sings it. He has sung the lead part in our cantatas for as long as I can remember. Besides having a great voice, he really puts his heart into it.”

  “Thanks.” He took the cup from her hand and stared into the rich brown liquid. “Well, learning an entirely new score in such a short time would be quite difficult, but learning the stage moves and timing that quickly, too, would be nearly impossible. It’d be difficult for me to do it, and I’m a pro.”

  “Enough of this kind of talk.” She picked up her own cup, forcing a smile. “I’ve got work that needs to be done today, and you’ve got practicing to do. See you at noon.”

  He gave her a mock salute with his free hand. “Yes, ma’am.”

  The phone was ringing when she entered the office. Another one of Keene’s many girlfriends, this one calling from London, wanting to know why he had not returned her calls.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve given him all your messages,” she explained to the impatient woman. “However, I can tell you he is in the midst of learning new music for his next season and is quite busy.” She took the woman’s name and number again. How many times has that woman called?

  At noon, she gave him the call slip, along with several others—most of them from women who had called before. “You’re a popular man,” she said, smiling at him over a carton of sweet and sour chicken. “It seems most of the calls I take for you are from women.”

  He grinned. “What can I say? I admit I enjoy the company of beautiful women.”

  She eyed him with a frown. “But you’ve never married?”

  “With my schedule and all my traveling?”

  It is none of my business, but I am going to ask you anyway. “Don’t you want a wife and children?”

  He stared off into space thoughtfully, and she knew he was weighing his answer before stating it. “Sure, I’d like to have a wife and family. However, with my lifestyle, it just would not work. Besides, there’s an even greater problem than my schedule and traveling that keeps me from getting married.”

  “Oh? Dare I ask what it is?” She looked at him cautiously, wishing she could retract her words. He may have a physical problem he would prefer not to discuss with her. She would never want to embarrass him—or herself! And what business was it of hers anyway?

  Quickly turning his attention toward her with a mischievous smile, he confessed, “I haven’t found the right woman.”

  Her mouth gaped. That was not the answer she had expected. “You’ve got to be kidding! With all the women who call you? Keene! Surely you’re not serious!”

  His expression sobered. “Oh, but I am serious. As much as I value the many female friendships I’ve made over the years, and the times I’ve enjoyed the pleasure of a beautiful woman’s company for an evening, I can honestly say I haven’t found a single one I’d want to marry and call my wife.” He dipped his head shyly. “That sounds a bit pompous, doesn’t it?”

  She considered his remark. “No, I don’t think it makes you sound pompous. If you haven’t found that one perfect love— the one God…” She stopped short and bit her lip.

  “The one God intended for me?” He gave her a playful wink.

  “Yes, that’s what I was going to say,” she answered demurely.

  He set his carton of lemon chicken on the table and reached across, cupping her hand in his. “Is that what you’re waiting for, Jane? A perfect man?”

  She felt her eyes widen. “I’m not looking for a perfect man. I’m looking for the man God has intended for me. No earthly man is perfect.” She took a deep breath. I have to say this right, so he’ll understand. “Keene, God has a plan for each of us. His perfect plan. If we love Him and want to serve Him, He’ll guide us to the one with whom He would have us spend our life.”

  He gave her hand a slight squeeze. “Does that mean—out there somewhere—the man of your dreams is looking for you?”

  She offered a nervous snicker. “I hope so, but only if God intends that I marry. Maybe, in His perfect plan, I’ll remain single all my life.”

  Keene reared his head back with a hearty laugh. “No way! You are beautiful, intelligent, and one of the most caring, considerate women I have ever met. Some man is going to come along and snatch you up. Take my word for it.”

  His complimentary words caught her off guard, and she found herself speechless.

  “Actually,” he said slowly, sizing her up, “those qualities are exactly what I’d like to have in a wife.”

  Although she couldn’t see her own face, she knew it must be as red as a radish.

  “Tell me, Jane. What qualities would you like your husband to have?”

  As his thumb stroked her hand, she actually felt goose bumps rise on her arms. She hoped that he wouldn’t notice.

  “Ah… I…”

  “Surely, you’ve thought about that. Don’t be shy. Tell me.”

  Oh, Lord—give me the words. “First and foremost, he’d have to love God as much as I do.”

  Keene leaned toward her with a tender smile. “Knowing you, I expected that to be your first priority.”

  Thank You, God. “Well… he’d have to be kind, caring, and considerate.”

  “You haven’t said handsome or rich,” he prodded with a teasing smile.

  “Neither of those things is important to me,” she confessed honestly. “I want him to be beautiful on the inside, of course. I don’t care about handsome. Nor do I care about rich. I know the man God would have me marry would want to provide adequately for his family. We’d be a team.”

  “What about children?”

  That subject always made her smile. She longed to be a mother someday. “Oh, yes. He’d want children. I cannot imagine God ever pairing me with a man who didn’t. Not with the love for children He’s placed in my heart. I’d like to have at least four or five.”

  Keene blinked hard then stared at her. “Four or five children? Really?”

  She nodded. “At least. Don’t you want children?”

  He released her hand and leaned back in the chair, locking his fingers over his chest. “If I didn’t have to travel. I could not bear the idea of going off and leaving a family behind. Kids need their dad around.”

  “It would be difficult. I know I couldn’t do it.”

  He rose quickly. “I’ve got an appointment in half an hour. I’d better be heading out.” He reached for his empty cartons, but she got to them first.
r />   “You go on. I’ll take care of this.”

  He wadded up his paper napkin and stuffed it into one of the empty cartons before making sure his wallet was in his back pocket and heading toward the door. “Been good visiting with you. I enjoy our little talks.”

  She gave him a sheepish smile. He’d never know how much she enjoyed them. “Me, too.”

  Jane worked at the desk, taking care of routine things like making out checks for Keene’s bills, answering the many phone calls that came in from all over the world, getting out the mailings he’d prepared for those on his select fan list, and dozens of other chores. But something niggled at her mind all afternoon.

  At four o’clock, she called her pastor.

  Jane glanced nervously at the clock on the wall in Pastor Congdon’s office. Nearly eight o’clock. Without warning, a side door opened and Kevin Blair, a longtime member of Randlewood Community Church, crooked his finger at her. “You can come in, Jane. We’re ready for you now.”

  As Jane followed Kevin into the large room adjoining the pastor’s office, she glanced around the big table at the many familiar faces of those who served on the church board.

  “Gentlemen, I received an interesting phone call from Jane this afternoon. I have invited her here this evening to tell you, in person, what she told me. I think you’ll be interested.”

  Jane’s heart sank into her shoes. She rarely spoke to a group, other than to the women of her Bible study, and even then she shook while she talked. She waited until Pastor Congdon had seated himself before drawing a deep breath and asking the Lord to help her state her purpose clearly and concisely.

  “I–I…” Please, God. Calm me down. “I’m as upset as anyone about our Easter pageant being canceled. Those of us who sing in the choir and have had the opportunity to practice Down from the Cross were excited about its message and how both the words and music could touch hearts. It’s… it’s the most powerful testimony to God’s mercy and grace that we’ve ever heard.”

  She paused, glancing around the table at each person. God, give them open minds, please. “I have an idea—a way that will allow us to go ahead with our plans to present the Easter program.”