An Extra Mile

by Sharon Garlough Brown

  Becca blushed. “Please, Pip. Our secret, okay? Simon would kill me.”

  Pippa sealed her lips with her finger. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  But Pippa had not proven to be a reliable guardian of secrets in the past. Becca would need to make sure Simon didn’t join them at the pub for drinks in the near future. She twirled to see herself from a different angle. “It is fabulous, isn’t it?”

  “You’re fab in it,” Pippa said, kissing her cheek. “You’ll have everyone drooling over you. Just like last night.”

  “As long as Simon’s drooling,” Becca said with a last glance at her reflection, “I’ll be happy.”

  “Champagne?” the server asked with a flirty, appraising stare. The dress didn’t leave much to the imagination.

  Becca crossed her arms against her chest. “Not for me, thanks.” The thought of drinking alcohol again made her feel queasy.

  “Something from the bar?” he asked.

  “Ummm, do you have Appletiser?” With his double-take, she felt as if she had just ordered a juice box.

  “Appletiser, it is.” He gave a slight bow before disappearing with his tray.

  “Did you just order an Appletiser?” Simon asked, sidling up to her. His free hand stroked the bare skin on her back while he held his drink to her lips. “Here, try this.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Why not?”

  “Not in the mood.”

  His hand circled lower on her body and squeezed. She jumped. “Simon,” she whispered. “Stop.” Maybe it was her imagination, but many eyes seemed to be fixed on her—and not with admiration. Most of the people onboard were wearing smart business attire. Maybe she and Pippa had overdone it.

  Simon finished off his drink in one gulp. “Be right back.” He wove his way to the bar and ordered another drink as the band began to play. How would she dance in these spiky heels? She’d only been wearing them a couple of hours, and already her feet were killing her. She would have blisters by the time the cruise finished.

  “What’s your dad drinking?”

  “Sorry?” Becca spun around to face the server.

  He handed her a glass. “Your dad—what’s he drinking?”

  “He’s not my—”

  He winked and slipped her a piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. As he left with a smirk, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a window. Becca, her mother’s voice pleaded. Setting her jaw, Becca turned away and tried not to hobble to the dance floor.

  Hannah

  Nervous and distracted, Hannah caught only snippets of what Steve spoke about her during the announcements: faithful servant, tireless commitment, grateful for her tenure. She hoped no one noticed her shaking hands when one of the elders gave her a bouquet of flowers and a card. After the congregation clapped politely, Steve prayed for her.

  “Well done,” Nathan whispered when, trembling, she took her seat beside him again.

  During her quick scan from up front, she hadn’t seen Nancy and Doug, who usually sat on the pulpit side at the first service, about four rows back. She cast a surreptitious glance over her shoulder. No sign of them. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she crossed her ankles and tried to listen prayerfully to the Scripture reading and the sermon. But if someone had asked her later what Steve preached about, she wouldn’t have been able to say. She was thinking only of the moment when she would stand beside him at the table and offer the broken body and blood of Christ to the ones she had loved.

  “On the night he was betrayed,” Steve declared to the congregation, “Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, ‘Take. Eat. This is my body, broken for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’”

  Sunday after Sunday Hannah had watched Steve break the bread. She had broken it herself at many services. But when Steve broke the loaf in half at the table, hands lifted high above his head so all could see, her eyes stung with tears. This is my body. Broken for you. Given for you in love. Take. Eat. Receive the brokenness and the fullness of my body. And remember me.

  “In the same way after supper,” Steve said, “Jesus took the cup, saying, ‘This is the cup of the new covenant sealed in my blood. Take, drink, all of you. Do this in remembrance of me.’”

  After the elders came forward to receive the elements for those seated along the side aisles, Steve gave Hannah part of a loaf and one of the chalices. Taking her position on the lectern side, Hannah served, bread in one hand, cup in the other. As many as she could, she called by name, and when she didn’t know names, she called them “beloved.” Beloved, the body of Christ has been broken for you. One by one, the worshipers tore off a piece of bread—some took large chunks, others only crumbs—and dipped it into the cup. His blood has been poured out in love for you.

  Take. Eat. Drink. Remember.

  Occasionally, someone would touch her hand while taking the bread or the cup and whisper a thank-you or a blessing, and Hannah would nod her gratitude. When Nathan came forward to receive, both of their eyes brimmed with tears. Her voice cracked as she said, “Beloved. Nathan. The body of Christ has been broken for you.” He tore off a piece, his eyes riveted on her as she spoke the next words. “The cup of Christ has been poured out for you. In love.” He dipped the morsel into the cup and placed it in his mouth, eyes closed as he chewed slowly. Take. Remember. With a touch of his hand to hers, he returned to his seat.

  That’s when she glimpsed Nancy and Doug rising from a row on the lectern side. They would be in her section! Her heart fluttered. Oh, God. Mend. Heal. Restore. Please. What a privilege to serve them, to share that holy moment with them. Hannah tried to stay focused on the people in front of her, but part of her was rehearsing the moment when she would be face to face with her wounded friend. This is Christ’s body, broken for you. Given in love for you. Take. Eat. Remember. Please.

  The congregation continued singing as the people streamed forward to receive. In the press of the crowd, she lost sight of Nancy and Doug, but they would be moving forward in her line, coming closer and closer. She offered a blessing to a little child in his father’s arms, then took an opportunity to scan the faces again so she could mentally calculate how long it would be until—

  She saw them.

  There they stood, waiting to receive the sacrament from Steve, both of them avoiding eye contact with her. As she watched, they each tore off a piece of bread, dipped it into the cup, and returned to their seats on her side.

  For a moment Hannah forgot there were others patiently waiting to receive. Trying to compose herself, she greeted the next in line. “Sarah,” Hannah said—it was Sarah, wasn’t it?—“this is the body of Christ broken for you.” Broken. Her hand trembled as she offered the cup. Poured out. She quickly brushed aside a tear with the back of her wrist as the next in line moved forward. Do this in remembrance of me.

  With many people wanting to greet her at the end of each worship service, Hannah didn’t have a chance to tell Nathan about Nancy until they were loading a few wedding gifts into the U-Haul after the reception. “Maybe Steve’s line was shorter,” he said. “It would be awfully petty if they deliberately avoided you.”

  But it was hard to believe otherwise when Nancy did not make any effort to seek her out after worship or attend the reception. “Even if Steve’s line was shorter,” Hannah said, “it wouldn’t have been by much. We finished serving at the same time.” After she and Steve had finished serving the congregation, they had served one another. It was a moment she was grateful for.

  She was also grateful for the kindness of many who had thanked her in specific ways for comfort she had provided or wisdom she had offered or the way she had encouraged them during times of trial. Her ministry, they affirmed, had made a significant difference, and this was something she needed to take to heart. As for whoever might be spreading rumors or believing conspiracy theories about her, they hadn’t spoken them to her face. Not that she would have expected them to. Anyone could hi
de behind a smile and a hearty “Congratulations!”

  “Anything else you want to do while you’re here?” Nathan asked. The parking lot was nearly empty. She had survived the morning. Now she just wanted to click her heels and be back in Kingsbury.

  “No.” She had said her goodbyes. She had spoken her thank-you to those who gathered at the reception after the second service, some of whom didn’t know Hannah but came for the cake. She had offered her well wishes to Heather, who would finish up her internship at the end of May and then officially be installed as an associate pastor.

  “I’m proud of you, Shep.” Nathan draped his arm around her shoulder. “You finished well. You wanted to keep company with Jesus, and you did.”

  In her own small way, she supposed she had kept company with Jesus in his sorrow, in his rejection. She had shared in the broken body of Christ. With a final glance at the steeple, she murmured, “Let’s go home.”

  Mara

  Promptly at six o’clock on Sunday night, the garage door opened and both boys entered with their duffel bags, Kevin grunting half a response to Mara’s greeting and Brian brushing past her without speaking. “Nice to see you too!” she called to his back. From the window she watched Tom reverse out of the driveway. “Who’s in the front seat with your dad?”

  Kevin yanked open the refrigerator door and stood there, letting the cold air out. “Tiffany.” He muttered something else Mara couldn’t hear.

  “Everything okay?”

  He stayed hidden behind the fridge door. “Yep.”

  Mara turned down the Crock-Pot heat. “I’ve got that apple pork tenderloin you like,” she said, removing the lid to stir the juice. “And mashed potatoes.” She thought she heard him sniffle. “Kev?” He wiped his face against his shoulder before closing the door. “What’s up?”

  “Nothin.’”

  “Everything okay with your dad?”

  “Yep.”

  Since she couldn’t think of any questions that required more than a one-word answer, she said, “Bailey missed you this weekend.” As if on cue, the little dog trotted into the kitchen and flopped down in front of Kevin, who stooped to pet him. “And some of the boys at Crossroads were asking about you today, wanting to know when Mister Kevin is coming back to play basketball.” Kevin kept stroking Bailey’s stomach. “And oh! Almost forgot! Abby called and invited us all to come over for cake and ice cream on Thursday for her birthday.”

  “I’ve got practice.”

  “I know. After practice.”

  “I’ve got homework.”

  Since when had Kevin ever used homework as an excuse for missing a party? “We won’t stay long. I thought maybe you’d like to see Madeleine. It’s been a while and babies, they change really fast.”

  “I don’t want to go, okay?” he said, then bolted up the stairs. Neither boy came when she called them for dinner half an hour later, and when she checked on them, both were sleeping—or pretending to be asleep—in blind-darkened rooms.

  “I don’t know what to do with them,” Mara confided to Katherine at her spiritual direction appointment at New Hope later that week. Though she’d planned to be on a monthly rhythm, she hadn’t met with Katherine since December. So much had happened since then, she had been talking Katherine’s ear off for the past thirty minutes. Not that Katherine acted bored or annoyed. She always made Mara feel like she was being listened to without being judged. “Kevin’s been the one to confide in me lately, but this time he’s keeping quiet. Says there’s nothing going on whenever I ask if he’s okay. And then with everything going on with Jeremy . . . I just feel completely overwhelmed, you know? I try to pray, but it doesn’t seem to do any good.”

  “In terms of what?” Katherine asked.

  “In terms of making a difference in anything, changing anything. Tom’s still a—” she caught herself before she said the word she wanted to say and substituted with “jerk. Brian’s getting worse. I don’t think I can take much more. Enough is enough.” She exhaled slowly. “And I think I know what you’re gonna ask me next. You’re gonna ask if I have any sense of how God’s with me in all this crap, right?”

  Katherine smiled. “What a great question.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t. I mean, I know he is, but I just wish he’d do something to fix it, to make it go away. I know I shouldn’t feel jealous, but it’s hard to look at the blessings in other people’s lives and not feel like I’m getting the leftovers. Which reminds me . . .”

  As Katherine listened intently, Mara recounted her experience of praying with the story of the woman and the alabaster jar and how the only thing she had to offer Jesus was her envy, envy not just toward a woman who lived two thousand years ago but toward everyone whose life seemed to be easier than her own. She tried not to think about it, but Charissa and Hannah weren’t exempt from her jealousy either, much as she hated to admit it. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”

  “Not pathetic, Mara. Honest. A beautiful offering to Jesus.”

  Mara laughed, not joyfully but cynically. “Well, I’ve got plenty more where that came from. An endless stinking supply of envy.” The Christ candle on Katherine’s coffee table flickered and winked. “Charissa and I were talking about it, how discouraging it gets, seeing the same sins over and over and feeling like you’ll never be free of them. It’s like I’ve been jealous for so long, it’s become part of me. I mean, it goes way, way back in my life, way back into my childhood with all the girls who lived on the right side of the tracks, you know? The girls who had everything going for them, handed to them. And then there’s me, the rejected—”

  No. Stop.

  Not rejected.

  Chosen. Loved. Favored.

  That was the new script that replaced the old, the script she needed to keep rehearsing, keep living as her new reality, even and especially when circumstances screamed something contrary to that truth, even and especially when the old condemning voices clamored in her head.

  “What are you thinking?” Katherine asked.

  She sighed. “That I need Jesus to tell all the old voices in my head to shut up, like he told off the disciples. Maybe I need to practice listening to him say, ‘Leave her alone!’ whenever the voices get loud.”

  “Oh, I love that idea! What a good spiritual practice, to let Jesus do the quieting.”

  “Yeah, well, I just wish I had something other than my jealousy and failures and sin to offer him. I wish I had something precious and beautiful, like that woman had.”

  Katherine leaned forward slightly in her chair. “You do have something precious and beautiful, Mara. I hear it again and again in your story, how you’re persevering in faith. In spite of everything you’ve got going on in your life—and it’s a lot, believe me—you aren’t giving up. You’re pressing forward with hope. You’re growing in confidence in God’s love and care for you, even when it would be easy to doubt it. And you’re finding ways to love others well. I say that’s a beautiful thing. Those are all beautiful things.”

  Mara stared at her hands, her empty, open hands. She hadn’t considered the possibility that she could be the gift, that her life was the broken and fragrant offering, that her faith in the midst of everything that was dysfunctional and ugly was beautiful. Precious. Costly.

  Jesus.

  Maybe she had something to offer him after all, something that pleased him, something—could it be?—something that perhaps Jesus would even praise. She shook her head with wonder and closed her eyes to listen and imagine.

  When Mara left New Hope, she left with a brochure describing special Holy Week events: a “Journey to the Cross” prayer walk with Scripture and art, a Good Friday worship service, and a silence and solitude retreat on Holy Saturday. “Count me in on the retreat day,” Charissa said on the phone later that afternoon. “I probably won’t get much silence and solitude after the baby’s born, so I might as well take the opportunity now.”

  “Great!” Mara said. “I’ve got to work on Good Friday, but I think I
might try the art thing too. Katherine said it’s eight different prayer stations with Bible verses and art about Jesus’ death.”

  “Like paintings of the crucifixion?” Charissa asked. Mara could almost hear her wrinkle her nose.

  “I don’t know. She used the word, ‘experiential,’ whatever that means. I figure I’ll try anything once.”

  “Well, I’ll go with you if you decide to go. Just let me know which night.” Charissa paused. “What about Hannah? Maybe we could all go together.”

  “I’ll call and invite her,” Mara said, but she wasn’t optimistic, not after Hannah skipped their last meeting. There was no way to force her into community, no way to keep the Sensible Shoes Club from unraveling. Mara knew that. But if the group died . . .

  She rubbed her forehead slowly. She wasn’t sure she could handle one more loss right now.

  Charissa

  “You’re sure saying yes to lots of stuff,” John said. “What’s up with that?” He peered over Charissa’s shoulder at the skillet, where she was browning ground beef using the step-by-step instructions Mara had provided.

  “Just trying to grow deeper in faith and be a good friend, go the extra mile.” She poked at some pink meat with her spatula.

  “Well, don’t overdo it.”

  “I’m feeling fine. And I’ve got a good handle on my work right now.” She’d had such a productive weekend of writing that for the first time all semester, she was ahead on both her personal papers and her lecture notes.

  “Okay, Riss. I’m just saying, you have this tendency to try to be perfect and—”

  “That’s not why I’m doing it.”