Sarah Redeemed

by Vikki Kestell

  What had not changed was the vibrancy of the worship and preaching. No one officially led the singing. An organist and pianist began a well-known hymn; a helper near the front held up a chalkboard on which was written the hymn number, the congregation found the correct page in their hymnals (also an addition), and everyone sang their hearts out to the Lord. Often the organist and pianist would play the same hymn twice. Repetition allowed the congregation to memorize the stanzas, set the books aside, and lift grateful hands in worship, singing from their hearts.

  This morning was no different. The musicians began, the congregation stood, and worship commenced. Heartfelt, overflowing praise filled the hall, but Sarah fidgeted. She found herself a bit distracted, unable to enter in as she was accustomed to doing. She glanced around and, for the first time, felt as if she were looking from the outside in, gazing upon the scene in the warehouse church, seeing it with fresh eyes.

  As the congregation raised its collective voice, Sarah shivered. Nearly three weeks had elapsed since Corrine had spoken to her with such serious conviction. Since then, Corrine’s normally generous and cheerful disposition had reasserted itself.

  It was Sarah who felt different. She had pondered Corrine’s words and the prophetic authority with which she had delivered them—an authority very unlike Corrine’s personality, a manner that continued to ring with power in Sarah’s heart, but that also left her uncertain. Somewhat agitated.

  I wonder what is amiss with me.

  That was the crux of Sarah’s deliberations. Much of what Corrine had said was true: Sarah was easily angered. She did not know why or what triggered it, only that a furious storm lay dormant and undetectable within her—that is, until some unexpected event activated it. And Sarah could not put her finger on what, specifically, elicited an outburst, a response she felt powerless to understand, let alone to control.

  Perhaps worse, as Sarah brooded over Corrine’s warning, she found herself pulling in, withdrawing into herself.

  I feel myself . . . slipping. Not in any definable or sinful way, but it is worrisome, because I do not know why or how to stop.

  She came back to her surroundings as the congregation finished singing and sat down. Pastor Isaac Carmichael walked onto the platform and began his sermon.

  “This is our third week on the study of ‘The Overcoming Christian Life.’ We began this series by asking the question, ‘Why do some believers overcome sin in their lives while other believers are defeated?’ We are examining this topic and question from several angles. Today we shall search the Scriptures on the topic of bondage. Isaiah 61:1 reads:

  “The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me;

  because the Lord hath anointed me

  to preach good tidings unto the meek;

  he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,

  to proclaim liberty to the captives,

  and the opening of the prison to them that are bound.

  “This prophetic passage was fulfilled when Jesus stood in the synagogue of his home town, Nazareth, took up the scroll of Isaiah, and read these same words aloud. We know that Jesus accomplished this prophesy because as he sat down, he added, This day is this scripture fulfilled in your ears. It is not often that we can know, by internal confirmation, when a biblical prophecy has been fulfilled; in this case, we can.

  “We, those whom Jesus has saved, often see ourselves as the brokenhearted in this passage: He hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted. Sin has a ravaging effect upon our lives, and we rejoice when Jesus heals our broken hearts. In contrast, we may not as easily see ourselves in the subsequent lines, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound. I wish to focus our attention today upon the words, them that are bound.”

  For a moment Pastor Carmichael paused, and the gathered believers quieted.

  “Think of what ‘them that are bound’ implies. It implies that some people are tied, unable to move. It implies that they cannot free themselves. The words ‘bound’ and ‘bondage’ are closely related. Our 1913 Webster’s Dictionary defines ‘bondage’ as,

  The state of being bound;

  Condition of being under restraint;

  Restraint of personal liberty by compulsion;

  Involuntary servitude; slavery; captivity.

  “Perhaps this definition helps us understand how detrimental ‘being bound’ truly is. No one wishes to lose their personal liberty. No one desires involuntary servitude, slavery, or captivity—which is why the greatest news in history is that Jesus came to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound.

  “Now, it is relatively easy to recognize bondages of the physical realm. If I may inquire, how many of us here will testify that Jesus has loosed them from bondage to alcohol?”

  Hands lifted and a chorus of unabashed “amens” rang across the room.

  “How many has Jesus loosed from bondage to the opium den? To the gambling halls?”

  More hands rose, and many heads nodded in acknowledgement.

  “We know, too, that among us are those whom Jesus has loosed from bondage to adultery and fornication, from bondage to brothels, pimps, and habitual loose living. And we rejoice and declare, thank you, God! Thank the Lord! For God is well able, through the blood of Jesus, to free us from every bondage. No more shame. No more guilt. No more slavery.

  “Friend, if you are here, and you are enslaved in any area of your life, I tell you truly: There is hope in Christ. At the conclusion of the service we shall pray with you to surrender your life to Jesus, because the same Jesus who heals the brokenhearted also releases those who are bound.”

  Pastor Carmichael again paused, and he walked slowly across the platform, listening for the Spirit to lead him in his next sentence.

  “I wish this morning to address not only visible, overt bondages, but also those covert, internal bondages we cannot see, those bondages that are concealed within our hearts, screened from external scrutiny, hidden—we tell ourselves—from God himself.

  “But can we hide anything from the Lord of the Universe?”

  A murmur of dissent rippled through the congregation, and Sarah saw heads shake in the negative.

  “No, we can hide nothing from God. Hebrews 4:13 states, But all things are naked and opened unto the eyes of him with whom we have to do. So. Answer me this: When we think to ‘hide’ what is in our hearts from God, are we not deceiving ourselves?”

  Something about his question reverberated within Sarah’s heart: Am I trying to hide something from the Lord?

  His next words sucked the breath from her.

  “Deceiving ourselves. Anything that contradicts God’s word is deception—a lie. Self-deception, then, is a lie we embrace, a falsehood we justify and exalt above God’s word.”

  Pastor Carmichael stopped, stood still, and addressed the congregation.

  “My brothers and sisters, please give me your full and undivided attention. I beg you to listen with ‘ears that hear,’ ears that will receive this spiritual truth: No deception is more powerful than self-deception. It is a form of idolatry and must be treated as such—for when we have vaunted our own opinion above the Lord’s righteous decrees, are we not lifting our very selves above him? When we have willingly assented to a lie, have we not determined that we know better than the God of the Universe?

  “Have we decided that our finite minds know more than the One who made us? Is this not vain and fruitless reasoning? The danger of such a rationale cannot be trivialized, for we risk spiritual blindness and alienation from the life of God. The Apostle Paul said it this way in Ephesians 4:

  “This I say therefore, and testify in the Lord,

  that ye henceforth walk not as other Gentiles walk,

  in the vanity of their mind,

  having the understanding darkened,

  being alienated from the life of God

  through the ignorance that is in them,

  because of the blin
dness of their heart.

  “We see then, that self-deception is great bondage. It is bondage to a falsehood we embrace, a falsehood that contradicts God’s word, a falsehood we have exalted over God’s word. It is idolatry.

  “To briefly summarize, our ongoing study is on ‘The Overcoming Christian Life,’ and the question we seek to answer is, ‘Why do some believers overcome sin in their lives while other believers are defeated?’ Our text from Isaiah 61:1, fulfilled in Luke 4:18, tells us that Jesus came to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound.

  “We may be loosed from the bondages of visible sin, but if we remain the captive of deception, an invisible bondage, can we live an overcoming Christian life? No, we cannot. What lurks in the dark corners of our hearts will, in due time, reveal itself on the outside, through our actions and behaviors.

  “We shall, in the coming weeks, delve further into what God’s word says regarding spiritual bondage, how we can identify such bondages, and how to break free from them. At this time, however, I invite all who know they need salvation—those who wish to receive Christ as both Savior and Lord—to come forward and surrender to the Lord of Lords.

  “I also invite any who will acknowledge self-deception in their hearts and repent of the lie undergirding the deception. We are here to pray with you and speak the word of God over your life.

  “Come now.”

  The organist began to play softly and, all across the wide hall, people left their seats and made their way to the front.

  Sarah sat still, the words Pastor Carmichael had spoken vibrating in her being: “What lurks in the dark corners of our hearts will, in due time, reveal itself on the outside, through our actions and behaviors.”

  Lord? You know I love you, but Pastor’s words echo what Corrine said to me. Is it true? Have I embraced a deception? Is something displeasing to you lurking deep inside? Lord, please show me. Reveal what is hidden in my heart.

  Please.

  SLEEP WAS DIFFICULT to find again that night. Sarah tossed and turned, visions of the past pressing in on her, demanding her attention. When she did, at last, nod off, it was only to dream, to remember, to relive.

  SARAH HAD CREPT DOWN the back stairs early the following morning. Neither the cleaning maid nor the cook “lived in” any longer, but Sarah knew that the cook, Mrs. Whitten, would be in the kitchen at this hour, preparing breakfast and planning lunch and dinner.

  When she pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Whitten uttered a gasp. “Child! Ye gave me sech a start. What air ye about, coomin’ down here this time o’ th’ morn?”

  Sarah was nervous and scared, but for Maisie’s sake she made herself talk. “I need your help, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Whitten turned from the biscuit dough she was rolling. “What kind o’ help?”

  “For Maisie . . . and me.”

  The cook put her fisted hands on her hips. “Maisie? And who might Maisie be?”

  “A little girl. Mr. Langston brought her home last evening. She is going to live with us now.”

  Comprehension bloomed over the cook’s face—comprehension followed by anger, then disgust. Within moments, those emotions resigned themselves to regret and caution.

  “A little girl, ye say?”

  Sarah nodded. “Please. She is so young. He said we are to give Maisie a home here, but . . .” She did not own the words to explain, but she saw that Mrs. Whitten understood her well enough.

  The woman dropped her eyes to the brick floor and did not answer.

  Sarah whispered, “I thought you might help us? Perhaps tell someone?”

  Mrs. Whitten muttered, “I figured what he was doin’ t’ ye after yer mother passed an’ he turned out all th’ servants boot me an’ Tess. Took our rooms, too, he did.”

  At thirteen, Sarah, despite the isolation Richard kept her in, had some concepts of justice, mostly derived from books. “Please. Could you tell the police? Will they not help us?”

  “Th’ police!” Mrs. Whitten slowly shook her head. “Iffen they arrests Mr. Richard, I’ll hev no job left. Or iffen he finds out I told on him, he’ll toss me that quick, he will. ’Tis sorry I am, bu’ I canno’ chance losin’ m’ place here, Miss Sarah. I am bu’ a wage day away from losin’ m’ rooms as ’tis.”

  The main door to the kitchen flew open under the impact of Richard’s boot. When he spied Sarah, he shouted, “Sarah! I went to your room to have you get Maisie up and dressed for breakfast—and imagine my chagrin to find you gone. What are you doing here?”

  He looked from Sarah to the cook. “Mrs. Whitten, what is the meaning of this?”

  Mrs. Whitten’s complexion had turned as pasty as her dough. “Nothin’ amiss, Mr. Langston, sir. Miss Sarah coom down just now, askin’ for a bit o’ dough to play wi’—ist so, Miss Sarah?”

  “Yes, Daddy. I woke up early is all.”

  Richard’s mouth flattened into an angry, taut line as he studied Sarah. “All? I doubt it. It is evident to me that you are no longer an innocent child. I can but imagine what newly hatched treachery runs in your veins. And you, Mrs. Whitten? I did not suppose you would be complicit in Sarah’s duplicity.”

  “Bu’ Mr. Langston, sir! I ha’ done nothing amiss, sir, I swears it!”

  He leaned into the woman’s face. “Do not give me another reason to doubt you, Mrs. Whitten. I am warning you.”

  “And you!” He grabbed Sarah by her arm, digging his fingers into it as he yanked her from the kitchen.

  “Ow! Daddy, Daddy! You are hurting me!”

  Richard rounded on her. “Do not presume to call me ‘Daddy’ again, Sarah. No, and I am glad you have shown yourself to be as devious and false as all women who have gone before you. Your actions make my decisions much clearer . . . yes, even necessary.”

  He pulled her along to the staircase. “Because of you, I now have urgent business to attend to. Go up and dress Maisie for breakfast.”

  Before he released her, he added, “Do not speak to Maisie other than to get her from her bed, dress her appropriately, and guide her to the table. I cannot have you ruining her. Do you understand me?”

  “Y-yes, Da—”

  He slapped the word from her mouth. “You will call me ‘sir’ or Mr. Langston. Do you hear me?”

  Sarah quailed before him. “Y-yes, sir.”

  He released her arm and gave her a shove toward the stairs. Sarah ran up them, sobbing as she climbed.

  RICHARD WENT OUT AFTER breakfast and was gone for several hours. During that time, he confined Sarah to her room and placed Maisie in the charge of Tess, the maid.

  “Sarah is not to leave her room, even for meals, and Maisie is not to leave your side, Tess.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tess was a slow, plain-faced girl, who never lifted her eyes from the floor in Richard’s presence.

  When Richard returned that afternoon, he had Tess fetch Sarah from her room and bring her to his study. When Sarah entered, she saw that Richard had a guest. She had not seen the man before. He was, she thought, near the same age as Richard and was, judging by his fastidious dress, a wealthy man.

  “This is the girl, Willard. Her name is Sarah.”

  The man did not rise from his chair. He beckoned to Sarah. “Come here, child.”

  Sarah stood before him, her hands clasped together in front of her skirts. She glanced nervously at Richard, then back to the man. He was busy studying her, looking her over from head to foot.

  “My name is Willard, Sarah. I am happy to meet you.”

  Sarah dropped an automatic curtsy. Her bob seemed to please Willard, who smiled, his thick mustache lifting to reveal a row of very white, even teeth.

  “Nice. Yes, very nice. Tell me, Sarah, are you a pleasant child?”

  Sarah blinked in her confusion. “I believe so, sir.”

  “Are you well-mannered? Biddable?”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  “Obedient?”

  Sarah’s eyes misted over
. “Yes, sir.”

  Richard murmured, “I did not misrepresent her to you, did I, Willard?”

  “No, no. She is quite lovely. All you said she was.”

  “Have we an agreement, then?”

  “Yes. Quite.”

  “Very good. I shall have her things sent over first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Excellent. Here is the amount we agreed upon.” He laid a check on the table beside his chair.

  Willard stood and grasped Sarah by the hand. He bent toward her ear and whispered, “Miss Sarah, I am taking you home with me. If you are good and obedient, we shall get on famously. Say goodbye to Mr. Langston and let us be on our way.”

  Sarah resisted him. “What? No! Daddy! Daddy, do not let him take me away!”

  The man pulled her closer. “Now, Sarah, do listen to me: If you fuss or make a scene, I shall have to punish you by shutting you up in a dark room. Do you wish for me to punish you?”

  Sarah was near to fainting from fear. “N-no, sir.”

  “Very good. So. Stand up straight and tall, Sarah, and, with your best manners, say your goodbyes.”

  Sarah was shaking but, scraping together what courage she could find, she said evenly, “Goodbye, Mr. Langston.”

  Richard nodded. “Goodbye, Sarah.”

  . . . WHEN SARAH CAME to herself, she was shivering all over, partly in fear revisited, partly in vain, futile rage. She was unable to calm herself enough to fall asleep for another hour. Under her breath she whispered an old, familiar mantra.

  “I hate them. I hate them. I hate them.

  “I hate them all.”

  Chapter 8