“And that was it. The man strode off without a word or acknowledgment of my apology. For me, however, in that moment my life started down a new road. I saw what an easy, immediate, practical, moment-by-moment thing obedience to Jesus really was. I had done something—tiny though it was—because Jesus told me to. It was a stunning revelation. Suddenly being a Christian was filled with worlds of practical immediacy. I have not been the same since. I don’t claim to obey His commands very well. But at least I now know what it means to be a Christian. It means to be a follower of Jesus in the small moments of every day, to do what He said—not so very complicated at all.”
“An amazing story,” said David.
“Imagine what went through my mind as I envisioned returning to my congregation. What would I say to them, ‘I have been preaching to you as a non-Christian’? What would my staid elders do with me? No doubt report me to the session!” Yates chuckled.
“I saw my personal duty plainly enough,” he went on, growing serious again, “to study and acquaint myself with Jesus and His teachings, then to put those teachings into practice. But how could I carry out such a lofty mission, recognizing myself as but a babe in the high realms of spiritual truth, while continuing in my position as minister? Now that my eyes were opened to my prior hypocrisy, it seemed the only responsible thing to do was resign.
“Indeed, I gave long and prayerful thought to precisely that possibility. But I could gain no assurance one way or another that it was the right course. I did not reach a decision in the matter until my drive home from Devon.
“Gradually my way became clear—at least for the immediate future. I would follow my great-great-grandfather’s example. I would bring my congregation into my quest. While perhaps not divulging every aspect of the spiritual doubts and quandaries that had led me to it, I would be open with them in a way I never had been before. I would do my best to encourage them to accompany me in new discoveries of truth, in the quest to know God more deeply, and to do what Jesus said. I assumed they would eagerly join in with me.
“I scarcely remember what I said from the pulpit my first Sunday back in Edinburgh. I do know that it was the first time in all my years in the pastorate that I had stood behind the pulpit without notes and simply shared from my heart. I tried not to say too much. I didn’t want to shock them. I was, however, honest in saying that I had been reevaluating many things in my life and faith, which over the coming weeks I hoped to share in more detail. Then I spoke simply about Jesus and His commands and what I was beginning to see that being a Christian meant.
“The reactions were understandably mixed. Some were unnerved. Some seemed to respect my honesty. Others had not the slightest idea what I was talking about. I could see the varied looks and expressions in their eyes as they filed out after the service. Actually, I found it humorous.
“In the coming weeks, as I continued in much the same vein, there began to be talk—and the word was laden with dark significance—that found its way to church headquarters. Conflicting reports reached church leaders about a change in my methods. Some of the influential members of my congregation had expressed ‘concern.’ The elders were mindful of the flock. Doubts must not be allowed to fester. At the outset I knew nothing of these reports. Many of my people were actually beginning to understand what I was talking about and were, like me, reading their Bibles with new enthusiasm. But as is always the case, the powerful are threatened by change.
“A day came when I received a polite but stiff visit from two members of the regional committee on church discipline, accompanied by one of my church elders and the wealthiest contributor in our congregation. None of them wore smiles. The call was formal and less than cordial. They put the question to me bluntly: Was I losing my faith?
“I could not help laughing. ‘My faith has never been stronger,’ I replied. ‘That is not the impression of some of your parishioners’ was their answer. ‘We are concerned that division not be permitted to develop,’ they said. Therefore, they concluded, they must insist that I cease preaching in the same vein that had been my custom in recent weeks, and return to more traditional methods and topics.
“I was stunned. Though I knew some were not interested in pursuing practicalities of faith, I never expected such a reaction. But those of the powerful clique were indignant that their pulpit should be degraded by such low practices as the raising of questions, thus destroying the solemnity of the weekly homily.
“Yet still I did not perceive the danger. I tried somewhat to modify my approach. However, I continued to urge courageous thought, personal application, and self-examination. I continued naïvely to assume that eventually the truth would win out. I had no idea how intransigent was the opposition to my ‘new preaching,’ as it was called.
“Unbeknownst to me, the criticism became especially acute when I hinted at certain long-held ideas which, as my great-great-grandfather had discovered, bore deeper looking into. A faction in the church developed, led by the wealthy elder I mentioned who, unknown to me, began setting about to find a pretext to have me removed.
“Eventually I was called before the session to face an inquisition of sorts. I was yet the more astonished that my quest to understand the heart of God, and my urgings upon my congregation to live in obedience to Jesus Christ, were being labeled as divisive and heretical.
“I see in retrospect that I had been far too outspoken. But the damage was done. I found myself put in a position where I could deny neither my convictions nor my conscience. I had to answer the charges humbly and honestly, which I did. Even at the eleventh hour, I assumed that my openness would demonstrate that they had nothing to fear from me but the truth.
“My naïveté continued. In disbelief I listened to their decision: I must either step down from the pulpit and resign my office or submit to the discipline of being sent to some obscure parish where I could continue to serve without doing too much damage, though they phrased it differently. If I chose the latter, it was their hope that I would come to see the error of my ways and could, in time, gradually reinstate myself in their good graces and regain my standing.
“I chose the latter option and was sent here, as far away as they could send me. I suppose they did not consider the good people of Whales Reef worthy of being protected from my heretical ideas.”
Rev. Yates let out a long sigh, and the room fell silent. The fire in his hearth had long since grown cold. “And now,” he went on, “I find myself at a new crossroads. The question has grown upon me in recent months whether I do indeed belong in the church at all.
“Nothing specific has caused this reevaluation. It has been a slowly deepening thought root. I have grown to love this little church and the people of your community. But I am loath to do or say anything that might have the effect of causing division again, here or anywhere. And I find myself questioning whether one such as myself, who has come to hold many perspectives that lie outside the mainstream of orthodox church thinking, will not inevitably cause division of one kind or another. Even if it is nothing more than my continual challenge that Christians learn to think for themselves, that danger seems ever present.”
He paused again and looked at the three men.
“I am sorry for going into such detail. But I wanted you to know why I asked you here. I would simply like us to pray, as four men seeking God together, knowing that His Spirit is with us, asking Him to make His will clear to me.”
“I would be honored to pray with you,” said David. “And please, as my friend said a few minutes ago, do not apologize for the time. I too have been moved by your story. May I seek God with the humble heart you have demonstrated and be as willing as you to be the Lord’s obedient disciple.”
He glanced toward Noak.
“Aye, I’d be privileged tae pray wi’ ye, Reverend,” said Noak. “I ken somethin’ aboot doubts, an’ I’ve had tae struggle wi’ what my own faith means, as ye say, for no bein’ the man I thought I was. I honor ye for yer honesty, an’ for a�
�� ye’ve brought tae oor community.”
Again it fell silent. The eyes of the three turned toward Sandy. He was already in prayer. They bowed their heads and joined him.
It was indeed nearly midnight when Noak, Sandy, and David left the parsonage and parted on the road outside to return to their homes.
38
Sunday at the Parish Kirk
As churches went in a secular age, the Whales Reef Parish Kirk was probably more widely attended per capita than most throughout the United Kingdom. In a village as small as Whales Reef, that eighty or a hundred men and women gathered for worship when the bell in the steeple rang out over the island at 10:30 every Sunday morning might seem remarkable. Its Sunday school usually boasted an additional fifteen or twenty youngsters, who were taken to a small room off the vestry during the sermon for handcrafts, games, digestive biscuits, and Bible stories. The fact that eighty percent or more of the population may not have been on hand in no wise lessened the influence the kirk exercised over the island, nor the general sense of quiet that pervaded the village on the day of worship. The Whales Fin Inn served no alcohol all day. Even the children seemed more well behaved on Sundays.
The Sabbath, however, placed no restraint on conversation, nor on its dark counterpart. Neither the free airing of opinion nor the whispering prattle of idle tongues were considered sins, either on Whales Reef or anywhere in Christendom. And as gossip could be spread without inflicting visible injury, it was the favorite Sunday pastime for most of the island’s women, and not a few of the men as they gathered at the square, the harbor, or at the pub for whatever teetotaling fare was their preferred substitute for Keith’s special brew.
The morning’s service in the church on the hill served as the weekly engine to stoke the fires of discourse and information. There was always something to report. Even those disinclined to endure getting dressed up in their finest clothes and standing through six verses of every hymn, then sitting in stiff-backed, uncomfortable pews through sermons they had little interest in were nonetheless curious about who told whom about what, and what so-and-so said about such-and-such.
Sunday was news day. What was there to report? What was going on?
Everyone on the island had his or her own sources within the intricate verbal network by which information circulated. The only question was whether they wanted it fresh off the press, in which case they must be at the service, or whether they were content to wait for it to circulate through normal channels until it came within hearing of their own itching ears.
The first news broke upon Whales Reef well before the toll of the morning church bells. Dressed in suit and tie and looking every inch the country gentleman he was, David Tulloch appeared at the Cottage shortly after ten. He and Loni had agreed that, weather permitting, they would walk overland to the kirk. As a downpour had erupted at 9:30, David appeared at Loni’s door with umbrella in hand and his car waiting. Their drive through the village was noticed by a few, as was his curious stop at the Muir home to pick up the man of the house, equally displayed in his finery.
When the three got out in front of the church and walked inside together, wide-eyed Grizel Gordon did not even wait for the service to be over. She turned on her heels and waddled back to town, heedless of the rain, her tongue eager to tell anyone she could find that “The chief an’ the American lassie’s at the kirk t’gither!”
Inside the church, all eyes were riveted on the second pew from the front where their new laird sat tall and upright between David Tulloch and Noak Muir. The significance was lost on no one of such a display of unity as symbolized by David and Noak in church together—Noak one of the Fountainite fishermen responsible for the loss of the Bountiful. Neither man was often seen in church. What were they doing here on this day, and together?
As eager as tongues were to wag about Loni and David, and likewise to resurrect the old Fountain controversy in which Noak Muir had played such a prominent role, never having been through the door of the church since, they were provided yet further fuel for their gossip by the Rev. Stirling Yates himself.
By now most of his weekly listeners had accustomed themselves to his unorthodox style of preaching without a memorized text, and his habit of sharing out of his own experience, even if they did not fully grasp the heterodox implications suggested by some of his observations. Thus it was not until he was halfway through his message that ears began to perk up with the sense that his tone was different today, with gradual hints that something big was in the wind.
Yates began with an abbreviated version of his personal story as recounted the previous evening to Sandy and the two men flanking Loni. As rumors had been circulating on the island since his arrival that he had been sent to Whales Reef under a cloud, interest grew as his story unfolded. Loni, who had never heard anything like it in her life, sat enthralled.
None in the building, however, not even David or Noak, was prepared for the announcement with which he concluded his message.
“I have thoroughly enjoyed my time here on Whales Reef,” he said. “I came to you as a stranger, as the Lord said, and you took me in. I came, in a sense, as a prisoner in exile, and you visited me with your kindness and your openheartedness. I was sick of heart, and you ministered your goodness to me. My time here has rejuvenated my spirit and I thank you one and all.
“However, in one sense I realize that perhaps I did not sufficiently value unity in the body of Christ. The result caused confusion in my former congregation. And as I look to the future I know I cannot abandon my views nor my conscience nor my belief in God’s infinite Fatherhood. Thus I cannot guarantee that disunity might not result again from something I might say. I have therefore been seeking the leading of God’s Spirit about my suitability for the pastorate. I have prayed with friends that God would make His will for my future known. I did not expect a quick answer. Most prayers are answered slowly. However, in this case, the answer was almost immediate. I awoke at four in the morning from a sound sleep. I knew instantly that the answer had come. I went out in the stormy morning—though thankfully the rain had not yet begun—and walked the length and breadth of your beloved island, praying for you all, as personally and individually as I possibly could.”
Yates paused and drew in a deep breath.
“In closing . . . I have decided to leave the pastorate and to resign as your minister. Whether this change will be permanent, I do not know. I covet your prayers, that in the months and years to come I will know God’s will, and will have the strength, courage, and humility to do it. I will contact church headquarters in Edinburgh tomorrow to begin the process of finding a replacement. I will, of course, stay on until one can be found.
“God bless you all.”
Rev. Stirling Yates walked from the pulpit, as was his custom, accompanied by the singing of the final hymn.
39
Decision
Reverend Stirling Yates’s very personal message exercised an unexpectedly powerful impact on at least one of his listeners. Self-conscious as the service began, Loni knew that all eyes were probably glued to her back. She and David were sitting beside each other in the second row, and stood a head taller than most everyone in the building when they rose for each hymn. As the minister began to speak, however, she found herself so caught up in his story that she forgot her surroundings entirely.
She had never heard so honest and intimate an account of a personal spiritual quest from a minister. His story reminded her of David’s recent narrative about his own inner journey. Rev. Yates’s candor in speaking of his weaknesses and doubts, especially, and his search to find truth in unexpected places, his willingness to be criticized and disciplined by the church, and his love for God’s people all touched her deeply.
He had paid a price for his faith. Now he was willing to pay an even greater price by walking away from a job he had come to love in order not to cause dissension.
After the service, as people milled about, David introduced Loni to what must hav
e been twenty or thirty men and women. They were friendly and obviously glad to see him in church. Sandy, Eldora, and Odara stood beaming with pride in their new laird. Then Loni, David, and Noak dashed through the rain to David’s car.
“Everyone seemed as glad to see you in church as they were probably curious about me,” said Loni as they drove away.
“I’m certain the village tongues are wagging!” David laughed. “Believe me, you and I will be the subject of many conversations today.”
“Not Rev. Yates’s announcement?”
“That will be talked about too. I must say, it was a shock, though Noak and I had some inclination from talking with him yesterday evening. But I did not expect a decision so soon.”
They dropped Noak off in the village, then continued on to the Cottage. David jumped out and hurried around to the passenger side with his umbrella, then escorted Loni to the door, doing his best to keep her as dry as the blustery rain would allow.
“Thank you for going with me, David,” said Loni.
“Of course. I’m glad I was there for Rev. Yates’s announcement. It was good for people to see you out in the community.”
Rain squalls continued all day. Even with the hiking boots and other attire from her purchases in Lerwick, Loni was not tempted to brave the tempest. The rain came down in sheets, battering the windows ahead of thirty- to forty-mile-per-hour wind gusts. She built a fire in the Great Room and was happy to remain where she was.
It was a good day to be alone. She needed time to think. She felt Rev. Yates had been speaking to her alone. Nothing he said bore specifically on her life. She was simply struck by the idea of personal growth, change, that one’s spiritual life was meant to be, as he said, a flowing river and not a stagnant pool, a river whose course you could not always predict in advance. Spirituality was moving and growing. Faith meant more than filling one’s mind with ideas and beliefs you were taught while remaining stagnant in those ideas. Faith meant growth into a new and deeper and expanding knowledge of God.
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