Down from the Cross

by Joyce Livingston

  “I have to go now,” she said, backing away and pulling free of his grasp. “The UPS man is coming to pick up some packages, and I don’t have them ready.” She motioned toward his bed. “Why don’t you take a nap? It’ll be good for your throat. I’ll come back in an hour or so with another cup of lemon juice.”

  He gave her a shy grin. “You think your God needs the help of the lemon juice to heal me?”

  She wagged a finger at him as she backed through the door. “He did make the lemons, you know!”

  Keene watched her close the door then crawled into his bed and pulled the quilt up over him. His throat still hurt. He smiled, remembering her sweet prayer and the way she had knelt in front of him. Maybe this God thing would not be so bad after all.

  At three, and again at four thirty, Jane brought warm lemon juice in to Keene, standing beside him until he had gargled with each drop. He almost hated to admit it, but his throat actually seemed a bit better.

  She rapped on the door at five, saying she would see him at the church—if he felt like singing.

  “I’ll make it. I think the lemon juice is helping.”

  “The lemon juice or the prayer?”

  From his place beneath the quilt, he snickered. “Both!”

  At five thirty, he showered and dressed. Then he nibbled on the soft oatmeal bars and the fresh peach Jane had placed on a plate beside his bed after she reminded him he needed to get some food into his stomach.

  By six-thirty, he was seated on a stool in front of a makeup mirror while Shirley Gordon, one of the beauticians who had volunteered her services each night, applied bronzer to his face.

  “Shirley, you’re a Christian, right?”

  She stared at his image in the mirror and gave him a weird look. “Sure, why do you ask?”

  “You do know I’m not, don’t you? A Christian, that is?”

  “Yeah, I heard that you told the folks in the choir you weren’t.” She went back to applying the bronzer.

  “And you really believe Christ died for our sins?”

  “Sure.”

  “So you admitted you were a sinner?”

  She tilted his face toward her and appraised her work. “Had to. Everyone’s a sinner.”

  He frowned. “What could you have done that was so bad?”

  She screwed the lid on the makeup jar and stared at him. “Hey, it wasn’t any one thing that I did that made me a sinner. It was everything I did that separated me from God. The biggest sin of all was rejecting Him. I can’t believe I put off confessing my sins and accepting Christ as my personal Savior as long as I did.” She picked up a pencil and began darkening his already dark brows. “Close your eyes.”

  “So you’re telling me it made a real difference in your life?”

  “Difference? I cannot tell you what a difference. Not that everything has been rosy since then. It hasn’t. We live in a mixed-up world with all sorts of temptations. Accepting Christ does not make you perfect. Far from it. But it does make you a sinner saved by grace.”

  He swiveled his chair toward her and grabbed her wrist. “Then why, Shirley? Why would anyone want to be a Christian?”

  She paused thoughtfully, the pencil still in her hand. “Do you remember when you were a little boy and fell down and skinned your knee? Who did you run to?”

  “My mother, of course.”

  “How about when you needed something?”

  He thought about it before answering. “My mother.”

  “Who did you run to for comfort when the kids teased you or you felt bad?”

  “My mom.”

  “And what did she do?”

  He gave her a scowl. “She comforted me, of course, and told me everything was going to be okay.”

  Shirley leaned over him and dabbed her finger at his brow, removing a smudge. “Those are just a few of the things God does for us. He is always there waiting to kiss our boo-boos, supply our needs, and comfort us when we need comforting. My dad died when I was fifteen, and you know what? God promised to be a Father to the fatherless, and He was. Whenever I needed my dad’s advice, I would go to my heavenly Father in prayer, and He always came through for me. My mom, bless her heart, missed him, too. God also promised to be a husband to the widows. I’m not sure she would have made it without my dad if God hadn’t been there for her.”

  She pulled a tissue from the box on the counter and dabbed at her nose. “I’m a single mom, Keene, and I’ve had some rough times, believe me. There were many days when I was attending cosmetology school that I did not have the money for next month’s rent. But I turned to God and laid my needs at His feet, and somehow the money always came in just in time. He supplied my every need and still does. He tells us to cast all our cares on Him, and do I ever!”

  Keene gave her a warm smile, appreciative of her willingness to open up her heart to him. “I guess you’d highly recommend Him, right?”

  Her thumbs-up appeared in the mirror. “Oh, yes, I highly recommend Him.” With a wink, she pulled the plastic covering from his shoulders. “And if you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll accept Him, too.”

  He rose and leaned toward the mirror, turning his face first one way and then the other. “You do a good job.”

  “Thanks. Oh, by the way, someone told me some big wheel is in the audience tonight, all the way from New York City.”

  “Big wheel?”

  “Yeah. I think he said he was an editor from the New York Times. Probably came all this way to hear you.” Trying to appear nonchalant, Keene shrugged. “Could be.”

  Jane elbowed her way through the many people backstage and headed for Keene’s dressing room, a classroom that had been assigned to him, anxious to check on his throat.

  “Jane!” The voice came from somewhere in the throng of people near the wardrobe racks.

  “Oh, hi, Pastor,” she said, turning with a smile. “Can you believe the crowds that’ve been coming every night?”

  “Amazing, isn’t it? Sure glad the board voted to add those big screens. We never would never have made it without them, and the free-will offerings every night have been amazing. Even with the additional expense we’ve acquired, we’ll more than adequately meet our budget, even after we pay Mr. Moray the full amount.”

  “Have you seen Keene?” she asked, scanning the wardrobe racks.

  “No, but have you heard the managing editor of the New York Times is in the audience tonight? He called me when he arrived in town, asking for a ticket.”

  “No, I hadn’t heard. I wonder if Keene knows he’s here.” She moved on past him, motioning in the direction of the classroom where she hoped to find her boss. “I’ll be sure and tell him.”

  “There you are!”

  Jane smiled warmly when Keene approached her. “How’s the sore throat?”

  He tugged her away from the hubbub of the busy wardrobe area toward the hall. “Better! Not gone. But better. I think the lemon juice gargle did it.”

  She lifted a questioning brow, a smile playing at her lips.

  “Maybe the prayer,” he conceded. “Guess we’ll never know which.”

  “You’d better make sure to use that lemon juice gargle again tonight before you go to bed, and it wouldn’t hurt to use it several times tomorrow. Maybe you had better hold your singing back a bit tonight. We don’t want you to strain your voice and not be able to sing for tomorrow night’s final performance.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, that reminds me. Did you know some editor—”

  “Is going to be in the audience tonight? Yes, I heard about it when I was in makeup. If it’s the guy I think it is, he’s a pretty tough critic. I had better pull out all the stops tonight. I sure want a good review.”

  “But your throat!”

  “I’ll be careful, Mommy. I promise.”

  “I’ll be praying for you,” she hollered after him, watching him disappear into the crowd. She glanced at her watch then checked her makeup and garment in the full-length mirror mounted on the wall
near one of the long wardrobe racks. It’s time to get onstage. The performance will begin in five minutes.

  Jane took her place after breathing a quick prayer for Keene, asking God to continue to place His healing hand on Keene’s throat. She also prayed for the audience members, that God would open their hearts and minds while they listened to the gospel set to music.

  Later in the performance, when it came time for the ascension scene, Jane hurriedly found a place in the wings where she had a full view of the stage. On each of the other six nights, she had been so busy helping everyone remove their costumes and hang them on hangers after her last time onstage, she’d missed it. The big platform was still clothed in darkness.

  Suddenly a blinding light flashed, and in the center of the stage, Jesus appeared on a mountaintop, adorned in a pristine white robe, His arms stretched out wide, His countenance radiant. As He stood there, His face lifted toward heaven, the narrator’s voice recited John 5:24. “Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that heareth my Word, and believeth on Him that sent me, hath everlasting life, and shall not come into judgment; but is passed from death unto life.” When he finished, Christ ascended up into heaven.

  On a small platform suspended up near the high ceiling, a spotlight trained on three trumpeters who heralded Jesus’ entrance into heaven. Then a deep male voice boomed out dramatically over the speakers, “This… is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.”

  On each of the previous six nights, she had thought Keene’s performance could not have been improved. But tonight, even with his sore throat, he had outdone himself. Surely, it was because God, the Great Physician, had answered prayer and touched him. Then she remembered the New York editor. Could Keene have done his best for that man? And not for God?

  She changed out of her costume and hurried to the gymnasium to help the other counselors, trying to put her crazy suspicions out of her mind. But when she pushed her way through the huge foyer, there was Keene, all smiles, standing with the man in avid conversation, nearly ignoring the many thronged around him seeking his autograph. She wanted to run off to some private place and cry. One more night. Just one more night. God! Please!

  By the time the last person had left the gymnasium and Jane and some of the other women had helped the men straighten the chairs for the Sunday evening performance, the sanctuary was deserted. She cut through the semidarkened auditorium on her way toward the side door, but when she passed by the altar, she felt led to fall to her knees and pray for Keene.

  Assuming she was alone, she folded her hands and lifted her eyes to the beautiful stained-glass window that graced the front of the church. She stared at the image of Christ knocking at the door, her heart clenching within her, and she began to pray aloud. She thanked God for bringing them through the past seven performances, for all those who had come forward to accept Him, and for touching Keene’s throat. She thanked Him that her mother had felt well enough to stay alone in the apartment each evening. She praised Him for the way He led the church board into asking Keene to sing in Jim’s place.

  “Keene.” Just saying his name sent a tingling flood of emotions wafting through her. “Lord, I’m so in love with this man it hurts, and I’m confused,” she added. “At first, I thought I was in awe of him and his beautiful voice, but now I know that’s not the reason. While I love his voice, it’s not what drew me to him. It’s the man, Father. Keene himself. Why did You let him come into my life? Didn’t You know I’d fall in love with him?”

  She pulled a tissue from her purse and blotted her eyes. “I don’t care that he’s famous. I don’t care that he has fashionable apartments in both New York and London or a fancy car. I–I just wish he could love me the way I love him. But, Father, the thing I long for most is that he would yield himself to You. God, I only want what’s best for Keene.”

  Hearing a voice, Keene held his breath when he returned to the church to retrieve the briefcase he had forgotten. Someone was kneeling at the altar! He pressed himself into the shadows of the dimly lit sanctuary, remaining motionless, not wanting to interrupt. Not even intending to listen until he heard his name mentioned by the person who was kneeling in prayer just yards from where he stood. It was Jane!

  What? What did she say? She loves me? He took a cautious step forward, cradling his hand to his ear. And she wants only the best for me?

  He continued to listen, barely moving a muscle, until she finally rose and moved slowly across the floor’s carpeted surface toward the side door, dabbing a tissue at her eyes. Thankfully, she hadn’t seen him. He lingered a few more minutes, his gaze locking on the stained-glass window of Christ standing at the door knocking. She had explained its meaning to him that first Sunday he attended the morning service and how it symbolized Christ standing at the door of our hearts. She told him how we have to open that door ourselves, from the inside, since there is no handle or knob on the outside. Sometimes, since he had been singing the part of Jesus, he had even felt that knock on his heart’s door. But how? How could that be? He didn’t believe in Jesus!

  Sleep eluded him that night, no matter how many sheep he counted. The words of Down from the Cross filtered through his mind, mingled with the conversation he’d had with the New York editor, Jane’s lovely face, and the scripture verses he’d read in the Bible she placed on his nightstand the first week she came to work for him. Before he came to Providence, he’d never thought of himself as a sinner, much less felt the need to confess those sins to God. A God he did not believe in. But being around Jane and the people of Randlewood Community Church made him wonder. What if they are right? What if there really is a God, and I am turning my back on Him? Maybe I should consider this confession thing. I might even talk to Pastor Congdon about it sometime.

  But why? His time in Providence was about to come to an end. In a few weeks, he would be going back to New York City. Back to his old life of exciting performances, extravagant parties, lavish social events, and… and… boredom. If he were honest with himself, he would have to admit he’d had more fun working with Jane, listening to her tinkling laughter and sharing deli sandwiches and pizza for lunch, than he ever had at one of those stuffy parties. It did not make sense! Jane had so little to offer compared to the wealthy, high-society women who frequented those parties. Why, when he was with her, did he feel like a teenager on his first date?

  Maybe once this pageant is over, Jane and I can get better acquainted. So far, we have been on her turf. Maybe that is the reason I find her so alluring. Flipping onto his side, he pulled the covers about his neck with a smile of satisfaction. If she were on my turf, perhaps I would not find her quite so attractive.

  Then he remembered something Jane had said. “I could never have a permanent relationship with a man who doesn’t share my faith.”

  nine

  At seven the next morning, Jane phoned Keene’s apartment to check on his throat. When he answered on the fourth ring with a sleepy “Hello,” she thought about hanging up.

  “I’m concerned about you. How’s the throat?” She could almost see him running his fingers through his hair, squinting at the clock to check the time.

  “Still sore, but improved slightly.”

  “I… I take it you’re not going to church this morning?”

  A big yawn sounded on the other end of the line. “Naw, I thought I’d sleep in. It’s been a pretty grueling week, and I had a hard time getting to sleep last night.”

  “I’ll see you tonight then.”

  Another exaggerated yawn. “Why don’t I pick you up? It’s right on my way.”

  “I hate to impose.”

  “No imposition. You know better than that. I’ll pick you up at six. Okay?”

  “Sure. I’ll see you at six. And, Keene…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Nothing.”

  She was already waiting by the curb when he arrived a few minutes before six. He gave her a pleasant smile as he leaned across the seat and pushed her door open. “Hey, you’re lookin
g nice tonight.”

  “Thanks.” She glanced down at her new jacket. She rarely wore anything this flamboyant, but she liked it and hoped he would, too.

  “Looks good on you.” She felt herself blushing.

  On the way to the church, they talked about everything but what was uppermost on her mind.

  By the time they reached the church parking lot, it was already full, and Keene had to park on the street. “Looks like we’re going to have another capacity crowd tonight.” He took her hand as they walked toward the church. “I’ve got to get into makeup. Shirley is expecting me.”

  “Yeah, I’d better hurry, too. I promised the wardrobe lady I’d help her again tonight. Maybe I’ll stop by your dressing room after I change into my costume.”

  She watched him as they entered the doors, and he moved on down the hallway, whistling some unfamiliar tune while he walked.

  Jane helped the busy woman by checking over the costumes and making sure they were in the proper order on the racks then changed into her own costume and waited her turn at the women’s makeup table. After she finished there, she headed for Keene’s dressing room. She had to talk to him. By the time she entered, he was in full makeup and wearing the soft beige robe and pair of sandals for his first scene, Jesus’ triumphal entry.

  He slipped his arm about her waist. “I’m about ready to begin my warm-up. Are you here to check on my throat or to wish me good luck?”

  With a heavy heart and a sigh, she forced a smile. “Actually, neither. I figured if your throat was still bothering you, you would have said something about it by now. And remember? I don’t believe in luck, good or bad.”

  “Oh, yes, I forgot about that.” He gave her a grin and wiggled his brows. “So that means you came to hear me warm up?”

  “I love hearing you warm up, but I had another purpose in coming, Keene.” Her heart pounding furiously, she gazed up into his eyes, hoping he would see her love for him and not be offended by what she was about to say.