Several audience members raised their hands in response, waving them around like kindergarteners eager to pass out a snack. For the next hour, the reverend and Susannah asked enthusiastic members to take on various duties.
An elderly woman with fleshy forearms grasped Ray’s hand, shaking it firmly. “I’m Mildred Watson, and I’m a seamstress. I’ve been sewing since I was a young girl. I’ll make new choir robes.”
“As soon as we have a choir,” he began, and before he finished the sentence, hands raised down the line, voices clamoring to be heard.
“I’ll be in the choir.”
“Me, too!”
“I have experience directing a choir,” another voice added.
“Well, this is answering God’s call.” Ray grinned.
“All you had to do was ask, Reverend,” said Mildred. “I’ll start a sign-up sheet for members, and I can start measuring folks today,” she said, pulling a tape measure out of her purse.
Susannah slipped from the receiving line and helped Mildred take names and measurements as excited parishioners queued up for the choir.
The man who’d expressed interest in directing the choir made his way to Ray. “Reverend Williams, my name’s Ryan McCarthy, and I have a degree in music from the Boston Conservatory. I believe I can assist with directing the choir.”
Ray marveled at what he was hearing, privately chastising himself for not thinking to approach the congregation sooner. Amid the bustling crowd, he caught Susannah’s eye. She beamed with contentment, and Ray wondered if she had any awareness of how much she had changed his life. Much had happened in a brief period, and he was a better pastor and a happier man for having realized that simply listening to Susannah Baker was just the beginning. Believing her seemed natural.
15
AUGUST 7, 2002 ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI THE CABLE STATION
In four weeks, the hard-working congregation had completely transformed the studio space. Carpenters built a moveable background of stained-glass windows and a raised stage. Mildred Watson delivered custom-made blue choir robes.
“Aren’t these robes beautiful?” Susannah clasped her hands together. “Mildred assembled a team of seamstresses to make these. And wait until you hear the choir sing!”
The choir gathered on the stage for a last run-through as Ray and Susannah looked on. “I understand Ryan directs both our singers and musicians and has written a song for today’s live broadcast,” he said.
The musicians finished tuning up, and Ryan began directing the choir, strains of a familiar melody filling the space.
Yesterday’s past and gone
And tomorrow’s coming into sight
Yes, it gladdens me in song, singing,
Help me make it to the Light.
Yes, it gladdens me in song, singing,
Help me make it to the Light.
“Well done, my friends, well done!” Ray was ecstatic.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Reverend,” Ryan said. “I think we’ll be even better live. We’re eager to share our gifts.”
Susannah put her hand on Ray’s forearm. “What did I tell you—God is bringing out the best in us.”
The cable station had a Wednesday evening slot open, and The Road to Calvary was happy to fill it. Ray had hoped for a permanent time slot on Sunday mornings since most people thought about church then, but right now, the costs were prohibitive. When the cable station offered Wednesday evenings, he had taken it. Even if this wasn’t their ideal hour, he trusted The Road to Calvary could use it to their advantage.
Glancing around the studio and seeing the handiwork of the congregation filled Ray with pride. Fresh flowers on stage bloomed in colors complementing the backdrop. Musicians and choir members were finishing Ryan’s song. This was all good, yet he felt vaguely apprehensive. Tonight would be the program’s first foray into technology. If they pulled this off, as Susannah was sure they would, The Road to Calvary would move in an entirely new direction.
A few moments later, Ray studied his audience from the stage. He was trying not to get distracted by thoughts of how the technology would work.
“How many of you are in the pit and want to come out?” The reverend paused as a few tentative hands went up. “How many of you are bogged down in the pit of addiction—drugs, sex, debt—and want to come out?” A few additional hands rose haltingly, and Ray kept talking, his voice growing louder with each question. “How many of you are trapped in the pit of adultery? In the pit of denial? In the pit of dishonesty? In the pit of abuse?” Ray deliberately scanned his audience as more and more hands rose into the air.
Into his earpiece, Buck’s voice crackled, “Okay, Ray, let’s see if this works. The overweight gentleman in the red short-sleeved shirt, sixth row from the front—he’s seated on the end and starting to cry. Name is Jim, and we’re lucky enough to have us a last name, Jameson. We’ve got ourselves a drinking problem.”
Ray sought out Susannah’s face. She smiled and nodded, as if to say, “Go ahead.” Encouraged by her presence, he marched with purpose up the aisle and took a deep breath. “You sir, Mr. Jim Jameson! You are trapped in the pit of alcoholism, but you are desperate to be free!”
Stunned as to how exactly the Reverend Ray knew his name, the quivering mass of a man stood up as Ray motioned for him to rise. Jeff tightly focused the camera on Jim’s tear-streaked face, words stammering out of his mouth. “Yes, sir. My name is Jim Jameson. How did you know? I’ve lost everything—my job, my house, savings. My wife said that if I didn’t come with her today, I’d lose her, too.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” the reverend affirmed, and Jim Jameson began to sob uncontrollably. Susannah slipped up behind Ray and took the microphone so that his hands were unencumbered. “Jim Jameson, you can be free and take back your life, if only you ask Him. Do you want to leave the pit of alcoholism, Jim?”
The pained wailing from Jim grew louder. “Yes! Yes, I want to come out of the pit!”
The Reverend Ray stood before Jim and placed a large hand on each of the man’s heaving shoulders. “Rise, my brothers and sisters,” he commanded. Sensing something amazing was about to happen, the congregation dutifully rose to their feet. “Extend your hands over your brother James, that we may help him be free.”
To Rev. Ray’s amazement, the audience did as they were told, rising with arms outstretched toward the sobbing man.
“Repeat after me, James,” he said, “‘Lord Jesus, I ask you to help me climb out of the pit of alcoholism!’”
“Lord Jesus, I ask you to help me climb out of the pit of alcoholism!” Jim closed his eyes and stretched open arms toward the ceiling.
It had taken a few simple words, but Ray hadn’t felt this influential since he was newly ordained. Susannah was right; he truly believed he was helping this man overcome temptation and create a better life for himself and his family. Ray closed his eyes tightly, his voice rising, shifting into that smooth, southern drawl. “You are leaving the pit, Jim, unlocking the shackles of alcoholism and setting yourself free!”
Jim Jameson’s body convulsed with sobs as he looked heavenward again and proclaimed, “Thank you, Jesus!”
Susannah handed the microphone back to Ray, who gently turned the still teary Jim toward the camera. “James, what you do from this day forward will reflect on your Lord Jesus Christ. He has saved you from the depths of the pit. Find a good AA meeting, get yourself sober, and help others rise up out of the pit of alcoholism.”
The big bear of a man responded with great enthusiasm. “Yes, sir, Reverend! I will turn my life over to Him and help others to be free of alcohol!”
Wild applause emanated from the audience as the pastor walked up the aisle. Ray had never experienced a service such as this, and he called out to the audience, “The pit is vast and deep, but you can be free!”
In his earpiece, he heard Buck’s words. “Well, that went darn well, so let’s try another one. Lady on your right, third row from the front this
time. Fourth seat from the end and wearing a print blouse and has gray hair. Thelma wants to mend the rift among family members.”
Immediately, Rev. Ray began scanning the rows for Thelma, without being obvious. When he spotted her, he proclaimed, “Thelma! With the help of Jesus Christ, this family rift can be healed, and your loved ones will rise from the pit of estrangement!”
16
LATER THE SAME DAY ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI THE CABLE STATION
Afterwards, Ray and Susannah stood together in the receiving line, shaking all the attendees’ hands. For Ray, it had been as exhilarating as preaching his first sermon. Members complimented him on his words and truly seemed to be listening. An hour later, the four of them were packing up the monitoring equipment while they critiqued this first experiment.
Jeff was giddy with enthusiasm, and for him, that was something to take note of. “That was amazing! Did ya feel the energy between Ray and the audience?”
“Did you see the look on that guy’s face when I called out his entire name?” Ray asked with a mild chuckle. “How did you know his last name?”
Buck was occupied with packing up a computer monitor. “Luck. He’s sitting there, and his wife is raggin’ on him, you know, ‘I’m telling you, Jim Jameson, either you listen to this man or it’s over,’” he said. His laugh was nervous, almost jittery. “It was funny in a pathetic sort of way.”
Ray had moved onto loading the next box. “Now, it would be nice if some of this took hold, and these folks did improve their lives.”
Buck laughed. “Yeah, everybody got pretty swept up. Now, if it keeps Mr. Jameson out of the bars for a few weeks, it can’t hurt.”
On the opposite side of the room, Susannah stopped packing and addressed the men. “This is exactly what I mean by giving people a little push toward their greatest potential! They will change for the better, and they’ll be back.”
“Yeah, and hopefully, they’ll have friends! From what I can tell, the crowd seems to be gettin’ bigger every week.”
Ray nodded at Jeff’s observation. “Well, we’ve got a choir now. Mrs. Watson did a fantastic job on the robes, and what a song Ryan wrote! The set is colorful and inviting.”
Susannah beamed at him. It would have been obvious to anyone else in the room that she and Ray had entered a comfortable familiarity in the next stage of their relationship. But neither Buck nor Jeff knew that Susannah was living with Ray, a fact he planned to keep secret indefinitely. “And once Buck gets the website up, word will spread even wider.”
Buck’s shoulders arched when he answered her. “It’s comin’, okay? I’ll have it up by early next week. I’m still working two jobs, remember?”
Susannah looked hurt, as though she felt Buck was taking unnecessary offense.
“I realize you are, Buck. You’re working hard, and I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.” She stopped and surveyed the men. “I’m glad the site isn’t up yet because I have another idea.”
At her pronouncement, everyone ceased packing. Ray wanted to hear additional details but realized Buck was getting annoyed with Susannah’s constant questions about his progress. While he understood that she meant well, he sensed his friend was feeling enormous pressure to turn her ideas into reality. On the other hand, this was the woman Ray realized he loved, so he smoothly intervened.
“I think Buck has his hands full. Let him get the site up and running, and then we can talk about your latest proposal.”
But Susannah wouldn’t be denied. “One last proposal and I promise that it doesn’t have anything to do with makeovers, though I still think that one has merit. I was thinking that if we added a tag line it would give the show more punch, something easy to remember. For example, The Road to Calvary, Your Salvation Station!” She paused, watching them mill over this latest idea.
Ray was the first to break the silence. “The Road to Calvary, Your Salvation Station,” he repeated slowly. “We’re not actually a station, but I like it.” He looked at Jeff, then over to Buck. “Susannah has a point—something catchy to remember us by.”
Standing directly across from the reverend, Jeff signaled his agreement.
Buck’s tone was sarcastic. “I’ll be sure the slogan is prominently displayed on the website’s home page. I’ll make sure it’s big and bold, where our audience can’t miss it.”
Susannah’s reaction was bursting with sweetness as thick as honey. “You won’t regret this; the tag line is simply another aspect to set us apart.”
From his vantage point, Ray swore Susannah’s eyes narrowed to a cool, almost ruthless gaze. But then he blinked, and there was the woman he loved right before him, as charming as could be. He figured the excitement of the day had worn Buck out. He prudently hoped Buck would feel better after a good night’s sleep.
17
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 1, 2002 RICHMOND HEIGHTS, MISSOURI RAY’S HOME
Ray looked out the window at burnished orange, red, and mustard leaves wafting gently to the ground under an azure blue sky. He didn’t want to share this letter, but he had to. Buck, Jeff, and Susannah sat around his kitchen table, glum looks across their faces. He had received the notice lying at the center of the table in yesterday’s mail and called the group together at once. The letterhead displayed the name of the property management company that owned the cable station building.
“Effective November 1, 2002, Management Properties is increasing television studio rent from five hundred dollars each week to one thousand dollars to contain rising expenses.” Seeing the dour faces, Ray knew no one had anticipated the news.
Jeff picked up the message, started to read it again, but threw it down in disgust. “We’ve finally got a little bit of success, and the building’s owners want to increase their cut by doubling the rent? Shit.”
Ray didn’t have an answer. Slowly grasping the document, he again read aloud, “Notice to terminate your lease must be given in writing by October 15, 2002. If we have not received written notice of cancellation, Management Properties will assume the tenant has agreed to these terms.” He couldn’t hide the exasperation. “We aren’t bringing in that kind of money.”
The diamond in Buck’s single pierced ear glinted in the fall sunlight. “This doesn’t have anything to do with our success,” he reasoned. “The area is undergoing gentrification, and the property management company sees this as an opportunity to increase revenue. Other programs will smart from an increase, too.”
“I want to have faith that we can overcome this and that the Lord will show us the way to two thousand dollars more a month, but I’m a realist,” Ray stated, scowling at the uninvited missive.
Susannah lifted the page off the table. She read it deliberately, before throwing it back into the center. “This doesn’t make sense. If there’s no program, there’s no rent.”
“True,” Buck acknowledged. “But they are banking on us not cancelling and renewing our lease at the higher price. The building’s owners think they have us between a rock and a hard place.”
“Well, don’t they?” Jeff asked.
On the verge of responding, Ray was interrupted before he could speak. Her fists clenched, Susannah proposed a plan Ray initially believed too far-fetched to broach with the others. “Fine. Let’s find another building.”
Buck’s weight shifted in his seat, the doubt rising in his eyes. “How? Susannah, we still have a ways to go financially and little time to find something, even if we did have the money.”
Susannah’s features softened, and her fists opened as if their problem had been solved. “We’ve had to ask members for support before, and they’ve come through in spades. Now we have real urgency; we need a building, or we shut down.”
Jeff and Buck’s words overlapped, heads shaking in unison. “No way!” and “That’s impossible!” but Ray stopped the chorus of naysayers. “She’s right,” he said, slowly meeting the doubters’ gaze. “Have we come this far only to give up? The worst that can happen is that nobody has a building o
r space to rent, but we won’t get an answer unless we ask.”
Buck folded his arms across his chest, and Jeff remained quiet. Ray forged ahead before they could open their mouths and start arguing. “We’ve walked this path before and with quite positive results. There’s no guarantee we’ll find a building. The spot we’re trapped in has little wiggle room for other options. This is the best we’ve got.” When Ray looked toward Susannah, goose bumps prickled his skin. He’d last felt this kind of courage with his wife—a complete willingness to go against convention as a team and trust in the unexpected. “Susannah is right,” he said again, softly brushing her hand. “I know exactly what to do.”
Prior to the broadcast’s conclusion the following Wednesday, Ray placed Susannah’s proposal before his congregation. The stage was nearly bare, so the audience could focus their attention on Ray’s urgent message. Standing at the center of the unadorned space, he spoke to his flock.
“Before we go forth to serve the Lord, I come before you today with the greatest challenge The Road to Calvary has ever faced. I have asked you to heed God’s call, and you have risen to the occasion and given of yourselves fully. But what I am about to reveal will affect each one of us.” He waited, looking deep into the faces before him. “We are confronted with a fiscal crisis of great magnitude—the inability to continue renting this space.”
Ray paused again as the murmurings of surprise and concern rolled among the audience.
“Unless we can find another location from which to broadcast The Road to Calvary, the program will shut down at the end of this month, four short weeks from today. I realize that what I am asking is no small thing, but I ask each of you to search your heart with humility and prayer for a solution. It doesn’t matter whether it’s another building we can rent for a reasonable amount or even negotiate to purchase. But we must find a new home, or we will not be able to continue.” Ray paused again and judged by the creased brows that he’d made his point. “Let us stand together and pray our prayer of deliverance.”
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