Point of No Return

by Paul McCusker

  Matt and Jack increased the flicks of their whips toward Joe. They had him dead center between them now. Joe looked down at the water and cursed loudly at the two boys. The whips cracked harder and got closer until it seemed like Joe had no choice: He had to jump into the water.

  “Stop it! Stop it!” came a voice from the clearing behind Matt.

  Matt didn’t turn to look, for fear that Joe might go for him. “Who is it?” he shouted at Jack.

  Jack and Joe both looked beyond Matt. Oscar rushed toward them, waving his arms and yelling.

  “Stop! Stop!” he cried out. He reached the end of the log on Matt’s side and breathlessly said, “This is wrong. Don’t do it.”

  Matt lowered his whip. “Oscar, listen—”

  Joe started for Matt, but Matt was too quick. He flicked the whip at Joe to force him back.

  “You just stay where you are,” Matt said to Joe.

  Jack shouted at Oscar. “Get out of here. We’re trying to help you.”

  “No!” shouted Oscar, red-faced. “This is wrong! What happened to your pledge? What happened to doing what Jesus would do?”

  “Oh, brother,” Joe mumbled. “I should’ve figured it was one of those religious things.”

  Matt said, “Jesus took action against the money changers and so we’re taking action.”

  “It’s the wrong kind of action,” Oscar maintained.

  “This is for you, you moron!” Jack shouted, clearly annoyed.

  “If it’s for me, then put your whips down!”

  “Yeah, listen to him,” Joe said.

  “Be quiet,” Jack growled and snapped the whip at him.

  “It’s wrong!” Oscar pleaded. “This isn’t what Jesus would do. There are other ways to stop kids like Joe.”

  “Yeah, like what? Not speak to him?” Jack said sarcastically.

  “Maybe. And maybe we’re supposed to just put up with him, too. Maybe we’re supposed to put up with him and even forgive him, just like God puts up with us and forgives us!” Oscar said firmly, “Now put your whips down and let him go!”

  Matt wasn’t ready to give in. “But he has to promise first!”

  “I don’t want his promise!” Oscar cried out. “I don’t want anything from him. I want you to let him go.”

  “No can do,” Jack said. “I’m tired of his bullying everyone around. If we can’t do this for you, we can do this for someone else.”

  “Yeah, and then what? As soon as he gets away from here, he’ll get his gang and hunt you down,” Oscar said.

  “Big deal,” Jack replied. “Then we’ll hunt him down. If he wants a war, he can have one. We have friends. We have kids who’ll help.”

  Oscar waved a finger at him in accusation. “Then you’ll be just like him—bullies. Is that what you want? You want to ignore your pledge to be like Jesus in order to turn into another bunch of bullies like Joe and his gang? Is that what you’re telling me? Because if you do, then you’ll have to give up friends like me and Lucy and Karen and the people at church! Don’t you get it? This isn’t the way to do it! Jesus had the better way! Now, are you going to put your whips down or not?”

  Matt and Jack looked at each other, trying to make a silent decision. They both knew Oscar was right. Their hearts told them so.

  “ ‘Vengeance is mine,’ says the Lord,” Oscar reminded them. It was a verse they had seen the other night when they read their Bibles together.

  Jack rolled his eyes, muttered under his breath, and stepped away from Joe. Leaping down from the log onto the bank, he slowly coiled up the whip.

  “Ha!” Joe snorted and crossed the log. “I won’t forget this,” he said to Jack as he walked past. He sauntered away without looking back.

  Jack and Matt glared at Oscar.

  “It’s what Jesus would do,” Oscar said.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE FUNERAL FOR Raymond Clark was a small affair held at the Chapel of Rest on the outskirts of Connellsville. Apart from Christine, her husband, Robert, and Whit and Tom, there were three former coworkers from the printing company where Raymond had once worked and been fired. It was hard for Whit to believe that only a few days had passed since Raymond Clark had entered his life. Now he was gone.

  “Jesus said, ‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die,’ ” the presiding minister read over the plain brown casket. “The eternal God is thy refuge and underneath are the everlasting arms.”

  He prayed a simple prayer about being comforted by God and to look beyond this life to the next one. “Help us to see the light of eternity,” he concluded, “so we may find the grace and strength for this and every time of need. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

  Christine read a collection of psalms reminding them all of God’s everlasting love. Robert, a tall young man with dark, curly hair and wire-rimmed glasses, read passages from the New Testament about the peace of Christ and the never-failing love of God.

  The minister then prayed, “Eternal God, who committest to us the swift and solemn trust of life, since we know not what a day may bring forth but only that the hour for serving Thee is always present, may we wake to the instant claims of Thy holy will, not waiting for tomorrow, but yielding today.”

  That’s what it’s all about, Whit thought. The days are so short, our time to serve God is so brief. Why do we spend so much time on things that don’t really matter? Whit echoed the words in his heart: “May we wake to the instant claims of Thy holy will, not waiting for tomorrow, but yielding today.”

  The late afternoon sky was alive with colorful contrasts: the brown carpet of fallen leaves on the cemetery lawn, a cloudless sky, pale marble tombstones that glimmered orange in the fading sunlight. “Not a bad day to go home,” Tom whispered to Whit at the grave site.

  “Lord, have mercy,” the minister said.

  “Christ have mercy,” the small gathering replied. They said the Lord’s Prayer together, and the minister said a few concluding remarks about God’s compassion, then ended with, “The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all. Amen.”

  Whit and Tom were formally introduced to Robert, then given heartfelt hugs from Christine. “Thank you for coming,” she said tearfully. “My father had few friends here.”

  “I only wish we could have been better friends when it really mattered,” Whit said.

  Christine pulled Whit close and whispered in his ear, “You can let go of that now. It’s finished. If you were really in the wrong, then consider it closed. My father forgives you. I forgive you. God has always forgiven you. What more do you want?”

  “To follow Jesus,” Whit whispered back, emotion rising in his throat. “But thank you for saying so, Christine. Bless you.”

  “Bless you, John Whittaker,” she said.

  Tom and Whit walked silently back to the car. After they climbed in and they began the drive back to Odyssey, Tom asked, “So what now?”

  “What do you mean?” Whit asked.

  Tom stole a glance at his friend. “This whole experience is percolating inside of you. I can tell. Where do you think it’s leading?”

  Whit shrugged. “That’s what I keep thinking about. It’d be easy for me to feel guilty and start giving my time to every charity in town.”

  “You’re doing that already,” Tom pointed out. “Where in the world will you find more time to give?”

  Whit shook his head. “I don’t have any more time. So I have to prioritize the time I have. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Tom chuckled softly. That’s what he’d been trying to tell his friend for weeks.

  “You’ve been absolutely right, Tom,” Whit said.

  Tom looked surprised. “Really? About what?”

  “About my time.” Whit casually rubbed the top of the dashboard. “Jesus did His Father’s work. That’s why He said yes to certai
n things, and no to others. Jesus knew how to prioritize. That’s what you’ve been trying to tell me. I realize it now.”

  “Terrific,” Tom said, impressed. “So where do you start?”

  “The same place Jesus started.”

  Tom looked at his friend quizzically.

  “Jesus often went off alone to pray,” Whit said. “And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  Two hours later, Whit returned to Whit’s End where Oscar, Jack, and Matt were waiting on the porch.

  “Is it time for another meeting?” he asked as he opened the front door.

  “We think so,” Matt said. “If you have the time.”

  “I’ll make the time,” Whit said. It was dinnertime—a slow period for Whit’s End’s business. He let the three boys in, then closed the door behind them and locked it. He gestured to a table. “Sit down. Aren’t Lucy and Karen coming?”

  “We don’t know where they are,” Oscar said. “Two of us left school as soon as the bell rang in order to—” He stopped, then turned to Jack and Matt. “Maybe you should tell him.”

  Jack and Matt squirmed in their seats. Whit watched them curiously.

  “Yeah, I guess we should,” Matt said. “Go ahead, Jack.”

  “Me! Why do I have to confess?”

  “Confess?” Whit asked.

  “Oh, I’ll do it,” Matt said, and told Whit what had happened with Joe at the creek. All in all, Whit was impressed with how well Matt told the story: He admitted fairly what he and Jack had done wrong, and included what Oscar did right.

  When he finished, Whit patted Matt’s arm. “Well done, Matt.”

  Matt shrugged awkwardly.

  “Oscar, I want to commend you for the way you handled Joe,” Whit said. “I think you’re on the right track with him. Who knows? Maybe you’ll lead him to Jesus eventually.”

  Oscar blushed.

  “You two, on the other hand,” Whit said to Jack and Matt, “should be ashamed of your behavior.”

  Matt slouched in his chair. Jack fiddled with a plastic spoon to keep from looking anyone in the eye.

  “How did you ever think that threatening Joe with whips and trying to ruin his clothes in the creek was a good idea?” Whit asked.

  Matt shook his head. Jack looked as if he might say something, then changed his mind. Instead he muttered, “Jesus did it.”

  “What Jesus did when He drove the money changers out of the temple was vastly different from what you did to Joe,” Whit said. “Jesus was purifying God’s holy place of worship. What were you two doing?”

  “Trying to get Joe to leave Oscar alone,” Jack said.

  “Is that all?”

  “Getting revenge,” Matt admitted. He looked to Jack. “Come on, you know it’s true. We wanted to get back at Joe for causing us so much trouble.”

  Jack nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Do you see what happened? You willfully distorted Scripture so you could vent your anger and get revenge.” He sighed deeply, then smiled. “Welcome to the human race.”

  Matt and Jack perked up as if they hadn’t heard him correctly.

  Whit continued, with deep understanding in his voice, “Boys, you did what some Christians have been doing for two thousand years. You twisted the Bible around to suit your desires. It’s sad, but true. So let’s learn from this mistake, all right? It’s the Spirit within us that helps us to understand God’s Word and lead us into the right action. We have to be very, very careful not to confuse our ideas of what Jesus would do with what we want to do. Do you remember what the apostle Paul wrote about the fruit of the flesh versus the fruit of the Spirit?”

  They shook their heads no.

  “Let’s see if I can paraphrase what he said. It’s in Galatians, chapter 5. The fruit of the flesh is immorality, impurity, idolatry, hatred, quarreling, jealousy, anger, dissensions, envy…well, I think you get the idea. But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. See the difference? It’s a good checklist when you’re trying to decide whether or not you’re behaving the way Jesus wants you to. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack said.

  “Would it be okay if we started over?” Matt asked.

  “Start what over?” Whit asked in return.

  “Our pledge,” he replied, then nudged Jack. “From now on, we’ll honestly try to do what Jesus wants us to do. Right?”

  “Right,” Jack said.

  “Most of us have to ‘start over’ as Christians every day,” Whit smiled. They fell silent for a moment. Whit looked at the two empty chairs and said, “I wonder what happened to Karen and Lucy?”

  “Why didn’t you tell us about this before?” Karen’s father asked her.

  “I thought I could deal with it myself,” she replied. Karen, her father and mother, and Lucy were in the Crosbys’ living room. Somewhere a radio played soft guitar music. Karen and Lucy sat on the couch, facing Mr. and Mrs. Crosby who nestled into two easy chairs. “I’m really, really sorry,” she added.

  Lucy felt awkward being there for this family meeting, but Karen wanted her nearby, if only for moral support. They had eaten dinner together, then moved to the living room to talk about Karen’s troubles.

  “Don’t ever let things go so far before you talk to us,” Mr. Crosby said as a final reprimand.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Mrs. Crosby asked her husband as she reached over and gently took his hand. Mrs. Crosby was a beautiful woman with blonde hair and large blue eyes who once was a model but left the business to get married and raise a family.

  Mr. Crosby was a handsome, easygoing man with friendly eyes, a ready smile, and plenty of jokes for Lucy whenever she came around. But he was deadly earnest now. “Without any proof, there isn’t anything we can do about Mr. Laker.”

  “What about the missing money?” Karen asked.

  “Unfortunately, they have all the proof they need for that.” He tilted his head and looked thoughtfully at the fireplace. The flames crackled and popped there. “I suppose we can refuse to pay the money, especially since Karen didn’t steal it. But the school district won’t sit still for that.”

  Mrs. Crosby rested her chin on her fist. “What if we refuse to pay and demand some kind of inquiry? Maybe that’ll shake a few apples out of Mr. Laker’s tree. If the money really is missing, then he must’ve put it somewhere.”

  “It won’t be an inquiry, darling. It’ll be a battle,” Mr. Crosby said. “Are we ready for that?”

  “What would Jesus do?” Lucy asked them.

  Mr. Crosby released his wife’s hand to tend to the fire. He picked up a poker and jabbed at the logs a couple of times. “I get the impression from Scripture that it’s better to be wronged than to fight or go to court. Jesus said it when He talked about turning the other cheek and Paul wrote about it in First Corinthians.”

  “The truth is, Karen’s reputation is solid,” Mrs. Crosby said. “People who know her will also know that she didn’t steal the money. We can’t worry about the rest.”

  “Then I’m right?” Karen asked. “I should resign from the student council?”

  Reluctantly, Mr. Crosby nodded. “Yes, sweetheart. You probably should. Otherwise you’ll spend the rest of the year battling this incident—trying to stay credible with those who are against you. Life’s too short and you’re too young for that.”

  “Do you mind?” Mrs. Crosby asked.

  Karen considered the question. “Being president hasn’t been so special, but I hate to quit like this. It’s like admitting I’m guilty.”

  “I know, I know,” Mr. Crosby said. “But unless you find those copies, there’s nothing else you can do.”

  Lucy stood up. “I’m going home and ransacking my house one more time.”

  “I’ll look around here again,” Karen said.

  “Meanwhile, girls, I suggest we all do a lot of praying,” Mr. Crosby said. He gave the fire one last poke and it spat sp
arks back at him.

  When Lucy got home, her mother informed her that Mrs. Stegner had called. Lucy slipped into the study and dialed the number her mother had scribbled on the pad. Somehow it felt very serious calling a teacher at home.

  “Thanks for calling back,” Mrs. Stegner said after they said their hellos.

  “I was over at Karen’s, talking to her parents,” Lucy explained.

  “No doubt they have a lot to talk about,” Mrs. Stegner said. “I phoned to tell you that Mike’s been working on an article about Karen’s resignation. I assume she’s still going to resign tomorrow?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The line hissed for a moment, then Mrs. Stegner said, “You’re so close to this situation, Lucy, that I’m pulling rank on you. I’m making the decision to print an article about Karen’s resignation and the allegations about the missing money.”

  “I figured you would,” Lucy said.

  “However, I want you to write an editorial. Make it a rebuttal, if you want. But I want to print your response to what’s happened. Will you do that for me?”

  Lucy thought about the opportunity to set the record straight—or, at least try to. “Yes, ma’am. Thanks for giving me the chance.”

  “I need it by tomorrow morning,” Mrs. Stegner said.

  “Okay,” Lucy said. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Thank you. And, again, I’m sorry your friend is having such a hard time.”

  “So am I, Mrs. Stegner.”

  They said good-bye and Lucy hung up the phone.

  She glanced over at the cursor on her parents’ computer as it sat indifferently on the desk. It winked at her over and over again. I’m going to have to write the best editorial of my life, she thought.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  IT WAS JUDGMENT DAY—or so Jack took to calling it later.

  The day began with Lucy and Karen meeting to pray together before school. They huddled outside next to a side door and asked God in hushed tones to be with them both, to give them courage to do what was right, and to allow the truth to come to light. It didn’t seem like much to ask. But they both remembered Jesus’ night in the Garden of Gethsemane, His betrayal at the hands of Judas, and the long road to that cross on top of the hill.