The Thorny Path

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

  One by one, the choir gathered behind him, many of them greeting him as they took their places. He counted at least twenty people—six of them brethren—and silently gave thanks for this choir that had been born so reluctantly, but that had made what he regarded as amazing progress under Sister DeNeuve’s patient and expert tutelage.

  The Forelaw family filed into the back, their three little ones already clad in their pajamas and clutching blankets, ready to fall asleep during the opening prayer, the bishop suspected. The building filled rapidly just before it was time to begin. Even a carload of the Birdwhistle family had made it down from the hills—Ernie and the four children who were just younger than Pratt, their missionary brother. Buddy Osborne spotted them and slipped silently in beside them. The bishop was grateful for the friendship they had shown to Buddy ever since his tutorials to them on computer basics.

  As the minute hand of the wall clock clicked into place, signaling seven o’clock, the bishop stepped to the podium and stood smiling at the congregation as he waited for the last few bars from the piano and organ to slow, end, and die away.

  “Brothers and sisters,” he began, and was suddenly overwhelmed by such love and gratitude for the people present that he had to pause a moment to regain his composure. “We’re met here tonight to worship and praise our Heavenly Father and his Holy Son, Jesus the Christ. We will sing and speak and testify to their living reality and their influence in our lives. Now, we’re all aware that just outside of town, a very different kind of meeting is taking place. That’s fine—let them meet. You know the Article of Faith: ‘We claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship how, where, or what they may.’ As for us, I’m reminded of a scripture in the twenty-sixth chapter of Alma, verses six and seven, in the Book of Mormon: ‘When the storm cometh they shall be gathered together in their place, that the storm cannot penetrate to them; yea, neither shall they be driven with fierce winds whithersoever the enemy listeth to carry them. But behold, they are in the hands of the Lord of the harvest, and they are his; and he will raise them up at the last day.’ Our present storm isn’t a hurricane or a tornado, but I’m still grateful that we’re gathered here together, in our place, and I pray that the Lord will not allow the storm of opposition to penetrate to us.

  “I’m grateful for the lovely prelude music from Sisters Tullis and Patrenko and the soothing effect it’s had on all of us. I’m thankful for all who will participate in this special program tonight, whether in speaking, playing and singing, testifying, or praying. I’m grateful, too, that the police department has seen fit to send one of their men to stand guard outside—not that we expect any trouble—but just to keep an eye on things. I appreciate Sisters Ida Lou Reams and Frankie Talbot for arranging the beautiful flowers you see on the podium—and my dear wife, Trish, for growing many of them! We’ll begin tonight with a hymn by the congregation, ‘Come, Ye Children of the Lord,’ number 58, after which our opening prayer will be offered by Brother Robert Patrenko, my first counselor.”

  The meeting was all he could have hoped for. The film was touching. The singing, both by choir and congregation, seemed exceptional. Thrills coursed over him as the choir sang “the gospel’s joyful sound, to calm our doubts, to chase our fears, and make our joys abound.” Yes, he thought—there, encapsulated in those words, was the very purpose of this meeting!

  Elder Moynihan spoke of the First Vision of Joseph Smith, detailing very clearly the new understanding that had come to mankind of the nature of God, and of the apostasy that had occurred in fulfillment of the many prophecies in the New Testament that such a thing would happen. Elder Rivenbark then approached the stand, set his canes aside, and gripped the lectern. He expanded on the subject of the Apostasy, speaking with surprising authority of the precious truths that had been lost to the early Christians over the first few centuries after the Savior’s death and resurrection. He gave several quotes from very early Christian writers, which, as he pointed out, sounded strangely familiar to members of today’s restored Church, but which had ultimately been rejected and changed in times past, creating the confusion and disagreement on points of doctrine that existed among the various sects at the time Joseph Smith was searching for the truth. He went on to quote a number of latter-day scriptures and revelations that matched the early Christian beliefs, explaining to the listeners that Joseph Smith could not have known these things except by revelation from God, since the writings of the early Saints he had quoted had not been translated—some of them not yet even discovered—in Joseph Smith’s day. It was a powerful testimony from a young man who was universally loved and admired by all those who knew him.

  The bishop noticed how intently people were listening—including Muzzie Winston and the new investigators—and was pleased. Sister DeNeuve then sang her arrangement of the two hymns she had chosen, and then Sister Magda Warshaw stood to speak. She gave a brief version of her conversion story and that of her husband. Her accent was much thicker than John’s, so that the audience had to listen carefully to catch everything she said. She told of their experiences as Jewish children in eastern Europe during World War Two, being hidden away and moved from family to family—and how, coincidentally, they had both survived and came into contact with kind members of the Church in Germany, long after the war was over.

  “So do you t’ink ve could find de truth in such a place, after all dat had gone on, dere?” she asked. “Vould you t’ink that two Jewish kids vould accept de gospel of Jesus Christ, after all vhat had happened to us? And vould you t’ink ve vould go from being Jews—persecuted like no one could even believe—and join a Church dat also attracts persecution? I mean, vhat is dis? Are ve gluttons for punishment, or vhat?” There was a ripple of laughter as she held both hands up in a gesture of disbelief. “But ve did—ve found de truth and ve found each other, and I’m grateful ve had de sense to know it vas real and true. John vill tell you some of vat ve haf learned, but I just vant to tell you dat dis Church is true. Id is true in Germany, id is true in Poland, id is true in Africa, and id is true right here in Alabama! Id is for all people—efen stubborn Jews like us, once ve can see it for vhat it is!”

  John Warshaw then took the pulpit, patting his wife’s arm as they crossed paths, and plunged into a fascinating talk about the uses of adversity. He spoke of how persecution and adversity had always, from the beginning, been the lot of those who follow the truth, and was to be expected. He told of the troubles of the children of Israel during their sojourn in Egypt and their escape from Pharaoh and how in both the Bible and the Book of Mormon, trouble had followed truth, because the adversary of truth made every effort to destroy it. He reiterated the persecutions of the Savior during His earthly sojourn and of His apostles and followers after His death. He explained that in order for the gospel of Christ to be restored to earth, there had to be a nation set up with sufficient freedom of religion that it could get a toehold and survive and ultimately flourish. And even here in this blessed land, he reminded his listeners, the newly restored Church had barely survived the persecutions of those who didn’t believe that angels could visit or that the Lord speaks to ordinary mortals.

  “So here we find ourselves,” he concluded, “in a small city in Alabama, minding our own business, enjoying our right to worship as we please, and what happens? We are given a turn at being persecuted, too! Isn’t that wonderful? It gives us a chance to show of what we are made! It gives us a chance to stand up and be counted, but in a totally different way to those who criticize and make fun of us. If they are rude and abrasive, we can be polite and kind. If they call out insults, we can speak the truth in peace. If they spew hatred and venom, we can show love and tolerance. If they try to push us out of the circle of true Christian belief and love for the Savior, we can reach out and try to show them a better way and draw them in!

  “Now, the folks who are meeting at the fairgrounds—they will no
doubt be on their way to another place with their ugliness before we have a chance to speak to them. But we will have opportunities to speak with those they are influencing tonight and leaving behind in our community. Let us be true Saints, my brothers and sisters, and demonstrate what we really believe and know to be true! The Lord will uphold us when we honor and obey Him. Let us be not afraid, but take this as the challenge and opportunity it is, to show people the truth. And may we grow in love for our fellowman, reaching out in tolerance and understanding where little of that exists, that our Father in Heaven may be glorified. God bless us to do so, I solemnly pray!”

  Brother Warshaw closed his remarks, and the choir stood to sing their second number. They were just singing, “In the furnace God may prove thee, thence to bring thee forth more bright,” when the bishop felt his cell phone vibrate in his shirt pocket. He slipped as unobtrusively as possible from the stand and into the sacrament preparation room, where he closed the door and answered. It was, as he had surmised, Ralph Jernigan.

  “Yes, Ralph?”

  “Nasty people, these, Bishop. Looks like the rally’s starting to wind down, and guys in yellow tee shirts have been handing papers around. Picked one up that somebody dropped, and it’s got maps to all the chapels in our stake. Ours is circled in red. They may be coming. Don’t know what exactly they’ve got in mind, but it won’t be nice. Heard one guy say ‘They’re all gonna burn in hell someday, might as well start now!’ Don’t know if he’s serious, but thought you ought to know.”

  “Thanks, Ralph. Be safe. Watch out for yourself.”

  “Will do. You, too, sir.”

  The bishop eased out of the small room and out the door nearest to the front of the building, called by some the “casket door” because it was the simplest route of egress at funerals. He jogged around the front of the building and approached the black and white car of the Fairhaven Police Department. The officer got out of his car as he saw the bishop coming.

  “Yessir, what can I do for you?” he asked, grinding out the stub of a cigarette on the pavement. “Y’all got trouble?”

  “Not yet, but I just received word that they’re handing out maps to this building at the rally and that some people are talking about burning, though I really doubt they’d try that.”

  The deputy raised his eyebrows. “Don’t doubt it. Heard it’s been tried, other places. Sorry we don’t have more men to siphon off, but one’s at the rally, and the others are needed other places. I’ll give ’em a heads up, though, and maybe somebody can run over here. Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Thank you,” the bishop replied, and headed back to the meeting. Just outside the door, in a private corner of the porch, he paused for a moment in the fragrant summer dusk, thinking about what Ralph had said. Had they done the wrong thing, he wondered, by calling this meeting? Should he have counseled all the ward members to stay safe in their own homes this evening? Would the faithful be brought to harm by being here? A dark blanket of guilt and fear began to descend over him. What had he done?

  “No!” he said aloud. President Walker and his counselors had met and prayed and determined that this was the best thing to do. He and his own counselors had felt positive about it as well. He bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, we’re in Thy hands,” he prayed. “Please bless and protect these good people who love and serve Thee, and keep them safe from harm and evil of all kinds. Forgive me, please, Father, for my weakness and fears. Thy will be done in all things.” He closed his silent prayer and slipped back to his place on the stand, giving his wife a quick wink as he did so, as he knew she would be concerned.

  In his absence, Bob Patrenko had taken the opportunity to bear his testimony and was issuing an invitation to members of the congregation who felt so inclined to do the same. The bishop thanked him as he sat down, then leaned over and gave his counselors a brief update on Ralph’s call as they waited for the first to testify.

  In a steady flow, people streamed to the front, waiting to take their turn at the microphone, expressing their tender feelings and their witness of the living Lord and His restored Church. The bishop had one ear tuned to the testimonies and one to any disturbance or sound of increased traffic on the outside of the building.

  Eventually the sound materialized. Cars could be heard turning in to the already full parking lot, circling the building. The bishop could see, reflected on the back wall of the cultural hall, the pulsing light on the police car. He wanted to rush outside and assess the situation, but something kept him rooted to his seat. That same something also soothed his fears, so that he was able to smile at those who came forward to testify. He was aware of the elders quorum president strolling out into the foyer with his baby son, but no one else left. Linda Jernigan looked poised for flight, but by some power—probably the same power that held the bishop back—she remained seated. The bulk of the congregation, if they heard the traffic outside at all, seemed to be paying no attention to it. The testimonies being borne were especially fervent and simple, and there was no abatement in the line of those wishing to testify.

  A sudden shout outside and the gunning of engines as cars headed out of the parking lot caused the bishop’s heart to leap in his chest, but still he was restrained by the Spirit from moving. The elders quorum president returned to his seat, and as the sound of the departing vehicles died away, the reflection of the revolving light ceased. All was calm. A few minutes later, Ralph Jernigan quietly took a seat beside his wife, seeking out the bishop’s gaze and giving him a discreet thumbs-up sign.

  When all who desired to bear testimony had done so, the bishop stood to close the meeting.

  “Brothers, sisters, dear friends—I feel we’ve been richly blessed this evening—maybe more richly than we know,” he said. “Let’s express our thanks to our Heavenly Father by singing together hymn number two, ‘The Spirit of God,’ after which the benediction will be given by Brother Sam Wright.”

  The singing was powerful—perhaps, Bishop Shepherd thought, because he and his counselors heard it in stereophonic sound, with the choir behind him and the congregation in front. On the last verse, Sister DeNeuve contributed a soprano obligato. It made the bishop feel that angels might be singing with them. Perhaps, he thought, they were.

  Chapter Twenty

  * * *

  “ . . . Oh, know you not that angels are near you?”

  As the piano and organ provided a reprise of one of the hymns they had played for the prelude, people filed from the building with quiet smiles and thoughtful expressions. Mary Lynn Connors touched a tissue to her eyes and smiled mistily at Chuck. Bishop Shepherd shook hands with those who had participated on the program, sincerely thanking each for doing his or her part to invite the Spirit in the meeting. He then moved down to greet the investigators whom the missionaries had brought, but he didn’t linger, since he wanted to catch the Jernigans before they left. He also wanted to speak to Officer Ed Bizzell and find out what had happened to cause their uninvited visitors to depart so abruptly.

  He needn’t have worried about Ralph, as he and Linda were waiting for him in the foyer.

  “Ralph, good—I want to talk to you,” he said, squeezing that man’s arm briefly. “Just let me just grab Officer Bizzell first. I want to hear his report, too.” He turned in time to catch Trish’s eye and ask her and the children, including Tashia Jones, to wait inside the building until Tashia’s grandmother picked her up, or until he could finish his night’s business and lock up, whichever happened first.

  “Officer, thanks so much for your presence here tonight,” he said, reaching to shake Ed Bizzell’s hand. “Can you tell me what happened when all those cars drove through the parking lot?”

  Officer Bizzell laughed. “Funniest dang thing I ever saw,” he said. “They come roaring up here with all kinds of flags and banners hanging out their car windows, with crosses and Bible verses and what-have-you on ’em. I swear, one of ’em looked like he had a pair of man’s long-johns flying from his anten
na! They was yellin’ and honkin’ their horns and all, and they pulled in over yonder, drove through the back part of the lot, and come around this way, and I reckon that’s when they saw my vehicle here, and they flat-out panicked! Lead guy, he leaned out his window and yelled, ‘Place is full of smoke, boys, must be a hunderd of ’em!’ And they all gunned their engines and took off. Kinda made me laugh, seein’ as how there was only me! Reckon they didn’t know that a couple of my buddies from the Sheriff’s department had tailed them all the way from the rally, but was just hangin’ back to see if they started any mischief.”

  “You say they were honking their horns as they came through here?”

  “Land, yes—didn’t y’all hear ’em? Must have good insulation in your church, there.”

  The bishop nodded. “Reckon maybe we do, at that.”

  “I don’t know exactly who those fellers are, but there was license plates from California, Oregon, Washington, Kentucky—let’s see—um, Ohio, and I think I saw one Tennessee. My S. D. buddies are still on their tail and will be until they pull out of the county. Understand they got a couple of buses out at the fair park, as well as all their private vehicles.”

  “Interesting. Well, my friend, we’re grateful to you—and I just want you to know that you were on the Lord’s errand, tonight.”

  Officer Bizzell looked a bit taken aback. “Ain’t nobody ever told me that, before,” he said. “But I’ll say this—if them fellers was Christians, they ain’t the kind we got around here—and I was glad to hear that some folks that went to their rally up and told ’em so.”