Simon picked up his lemonade. “I’ve given this a lot of thought and prayer. I’m thinking about taking my ministry in a totally different direction. It’s a direction I think I’ve been called to.”
“What direction is that?”
“I want to become a missionary.” Simon tipped his glass, as if toasting Carston, and took a drink.
“What sort of missionary?”
“To Muslims.”
Meg’s mouth fell open.
Simon smiled at her. “Yes, Meg, I said Muslims. You know, Muhammad and all that?”
“Very funny. Where are you going to find these Muslims—in Iran?” Her laugh was decidedly nervous.
A drop of condensation slid from Simon’s glass onto his pant leg. He brushed at it, then put one hand under the glass. “Actually, you’re not far off. I would like to go any place they are—any place that will let me in, that is. In fact, there are areas in the U.S. that have large Muslim populations. I’ve been researching on the Internet. Dearborn, Michigan, for example.”
Carston leaned forward. “Aside from where you will find these Muslims, I’m interested in hearing why you’ve decided God is calling you in that direction.”
Simon turned toward me. “Taylor, do you remember that limo driver in Chicago—the seminary student from Lebanon? Hakim.”
“There’s not much that I’ll forget about that night.”
“Do you remember what he said?”
“He asked you when you were going to go to Lebanon to preach.”
Simon turned back to Reverend Carston. “I don’t think it was an accident that we had that conversation just before all of this happened. I’m convinced this is all part of God’s plan for my life. It’s a way to make something good come from this thing that I’ve done.”
Meg threw up her hands. “What thing that you’ve done? You were put in an impossible situation and you saved your daughter’s life. You retracted what you said, and now it’s over.”
“Look, Meg, I don’t really want to get into a discussion about all of that. I feel the way that I feel about what I did, so let’s just leave it at that. I’m convinced, though, that God wants to use this whole situation for a purpose.”
“Fine, but does that purpose have to involve Lebanon?” Meg said. “Do you know what’s been going on over there? You would be committing suicide to go there and try to convert Muslims.”
Simon shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be Lebanon. I said it could be here in the U.S. I don’t know yet. Don’t worry. I’m not looking to get myself killed.”
I watched his eyes as he spoke, and I wasn’t so sure. But I decided to sit this discussion out if I could.
Simon immediately dashed that plan by turning toward me and nodding at the Bible on the table. “That’s my Bible, isn’t it? The one you picked up from the Challenger Airlines Center?”
I held it up. “Yes. I figured you might want it back today.”
“When you picked it up that night, did you notice what it was open to?”
“No. The page was dog-eared. I remember that. Even if I’d read it, I wouldn’t have known what it was.”
He pointed to the Bible. “Find the page. It’s a passage I read over and over in the days leading up to that evening.”
I opened the Bible and flipped the pages until I found the one with the corner folded over. “Here it is.”
“Read it.”
My neck became warm. Within seconds it would resemble a fire hydrant. It was time to punt. I got up, walked over to Reverend Carston, and handed it to him. “I’m no Bible scholar. Maybe you should read it.”
He chuckled as he took it from me. “You know, Taylor, you don’t have to be a theologian to read this thing. You should stop by Fourth Baptist sometime. We have plenty of programs to help people get comfortable with the Bible.”
I was mortified already and the conversation was only a few minutes old. I gave him a lame smile and crept back to my chair.
“Now, let me see what we’ve got here.” He spoke with the confidence of someone who spends much of his time with a Bible in his hands. He pulled reading glasses out of his shirt pocket and leaned over. Placing his index finger on the page, he glanced up at Simon. “The underlined part?”
Simon nodded.
“It begins at John twenty-one, verse fifteen. ‘When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter—’”
Simon held up his hand. “You don’t need to read it out loud.”
Carston smiled. “Sorry, I misunderstood you.” He bent over the Bible again and ran his finger over the page, occasionally moving his lips. When he finished reading he looked up at Simon. “Jesus asked Peter three times if he loved him, and Peter told him three times that he did.”
“Why did Jesus ask him that?”
Carston rubbed his earlobe between his index finger and thumb. “Before Jesus was crucified, Peter denied three times that he knew him. Peter had been afraid that if he admitted he knew Jesus, he would be arrested too. This verse is after the resurrection. Now Jesus is basically beginning Peter’s rehabilitation by giving him a chance to start over. That’s why he asked him to restate his faith publicly, and why he asked him three times—because that was how many times Peter denied that he knew him.”
“That’s right. Jesus was giving Peter a gift that he desperately needed. He had let Jesus down terribly. He’d been afraid and denied him. Jesus was giving him a chance to redeem himself. He was asking Peter to commit. In verse 18 he even tells Peter, in so many words, that if you do commit, you’ll eventually have to die for your faith.”
Meg raised her hand. “Excuse me—what does this have to do with your becoming a missionary to Muslims?”
“Without Peter the church might not have survived in those early days. Jesus needed leaders with total commitment. Guilt is a remarkable motivator. If Peter hadn’t denied Christ, if he hadn’t felt the shame and guilt, who knows whether he would have been committed enough to risk death every day by spreading the Word? Who knows if he would have been willing to die for what he believed? The same thing happened with the Apostle Paul. He persecuted the Christians before Jesus appeared to him on the road to Damascus. Who knows whether he would have been willing to suffer the things that he suffered to build the church if not for the guilt that he must have felt from that? He eventually died a martyr also.”
“Are you implying that Jesus wants you to die?” I said. They all turned and looked at me. My neck grew warm. I reminded myself that as the spiritual leper of the group, I needed to keep my mouth shut.
Simon shook his head. “No, I’m just saying that I’ve done something as awful as any Christian could ever do. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it. Maybe God is using my guilt in the same way that he used Peter’s and Paul’s. Maybe that’s why we just happened to run into a Lebanese limo driver on the night all of this began—a limo driver who put the idea of preaching to Muslims into my head. Do any of you doubt that Muslims need to hear about Jesus?”
Meg crossed her legs. “Just a hunch, little brother, but I don’t think they’re interested.”
“You could say that about any group that missionaries have reached over the years. How can they know whether they’re interested until they hear the story?”
Carston tilted his head back. “‘How can they believe if they have not heard? How can they hear without someone preaching to them?’”
“What was that?” Meg said.
“I’m sorry. The verse just came to me. It’s Romans 10:14. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Meg frowned, then turned back to Simon. “Look, this is crazy. You’ll get killed. Preaching to Muslims in the Middle East is not like preaching in Ecuador or Samoa. You know that.”
“Yes, I do know that. Does the fact that it’s dangerous make it any less important? Besides, you’re getting too hung up on the Middle East part of this. I may never leave the U.S.”
Carston took off his reading glasses and pointe
d them at Simon. “You know, old pal, an outsider looking in and listening to what you’re saying might conclude that martyrdom is what you really want out of this.”
“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think, Tom?” Simon leaned back in his chair. “There’s a difference between doing something that has identifiable risks, and going out and looking to die.”
“Maybe, but if you have the notion that you are going to stand outside of mosques in the U.S. and preach to Muslims, you will most certainly be in some danger. If you try to do it in the Middle East, you may very well die. That is, if you can ever get there in the first place. It’s not as if you’re unknown. I’m not sure any of those governments would even let you in.”
“I’ve thought about that—about whether I would even be allowed to try to preach in those countries. On that score, I’ve got an idea that I’ve been bouncing around in my head. I don’t know if it could work or not.”
“What is it?” Carston picked up his glass of water and took a drink.
“Something like a debate.”
Carston hesitated, then lowered the glass back on the table. “A debate . . . about what? With whom?”
“Maybe debate isn’t the right word. I’m thinking about something more like a public dialogue with a prominent imam—the principles of Christianity versus the principles of Islam. That’s simple enough, wouldn’t you say? I’d venture that most Christians don’t know much about Islam, and most Muslims don’t know much about Christianity. Maybe it’s time to let the ideals of the two religions compete openly.”
Carston rubbed his earlobe again. After a few moments, he nodded. “I get it.”
Meg, who had been standing beside the couch, spun toward him. “What do you mean, ‘I get it?’ I didn’t ask you over here to get it. I asked you over to reason with him.”
He held out a hand. “Now, calm down, Meg. We are reasoning. All I’m saying is that I understand what Simon is suggesting. There is a certain theological symmetry to it.”
She squinted down at him. “This is not some classroom discussion at the seminary. My brother is talking about getting himself killed!”
“Most missionaries expose themselves to danger,” Simon said. “If they didn’t—if they hadn’t—Western civilization wouldn’t exist. What you’re saying, Meg, is that all of that is fine as long as someone else’s brother, husband, wife, or daughter, is taking the risk.”
“Now you’ve got it right. I don’t want my brother exposing himself to that level of risk, and I don’t care about all of your talk of missionaries and saints. By the way, you haven’t mentioned Kacey. You still have a twenty-year-old daughter, you know. Have you thought about her? You couldn’t exactly take her with you.”
Simon leaned forward. “Of course I have. That’s the rub in this whole idea. It’s the one thing that’s holding me back, the one thing that makes me think of doing something else, or going just halfway.”
“What do you mean, halfway?”
“Like I said, I may start here in the U.S. There might be a little bit of risk in that. I’m sure there are some radicals out there, but they’re a tiny minority in this country. I don’t think it would be all that dangerous. And doing that would help me get my feet on the ground with this thing—figure out the best approach. In the meantime, though, I could contact Hakim in Chicago. At the least I’d like to discuss this Lebanon idea with him.”
Carston stood and put his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry, Meg. I don’t think I’ve been much help. As crazy as this sounds, I can’t tell you that Simon is wrong. If anything, I’m a bit ashamed that I haven’t got the sort of commitment necessary to do the same thing. When I look at the world and what’s happening around us every day, it’s clear to me that this is the most pressing missionary opportunity that exists.”
Meg’s mouth fell open and she shook her head. “I don’t believe what I’m hearing.”
Simon chuckled. “We can do a team thing if you’d like, Tom.”
“Thanks, but I’m pretty sure my wife would wring my neck before any terrorists got to me.” He looked at Meg, who scowled. “I guess I should be going now.” He turned to leave but stopped and turned back. “One thing, though, Simon: If this really is about martyrdom, if you have some cockeyed notion that you need to become a martyr to redeem yourself—well, you know it doesn’t work that way. Don’t lose sight of grace. It applies to famous televangelists just as much as anyone else. If you’ve asked for forgiveness, you’ve been forgiven. You don’t need to—you can’t—earn anything better than what God’s grace can give you.”
Simon nodded but merely said, “Give Cynthia my best.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
AFTER REVEREND CARSTON LEFT, I could see that Meg wanted to talk to her brother, so I excused myself and spent the next hour in Kacey’s room, listening to downloaded songs on my phone and wondering about the note in Simon’s Bible. When I went back out to the family room, Simon was in the kitchen making a peanut butter sandwich.
He pointed toward the peanut butter jar with his knife. “Want one?”
“Yeah, thanks.” I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water.
“Would you grab me a soda, please?” He spread the peanut butter on a slice of bread. “Open faced or closed?”
“Open is the only way.” I closed the refrigerator door.
“Agreed.”
I handed him the soda can, and he handed me the sandwich. I walked over to the breakfast table, balancing the sandwich on the palm of one hand.
“Where’s Meg?” I lifted the bread carefully with both hands and took a bite.
“She went home for a while. She’s got a family, too, you know.”
“You’re lucky. She really loves you and Kacey.” I worked my tongue through the peanut butter on the roof of my mouth.
“In some ways I think this whole thing has been harder on her than on Kacey and me. She worries so much.” He folded his sandwich in half and took a giant bite. Half of it disappeared.
“Why do you bother making it open faced if you’re going to fold it in half?” I took another bite.
“Haven’t you ever folded a slice of pizza?”
“No.”
“Then you wouldn’t understand.” He took a drink of soda.
I stuck my hand in my back pocket and touched the note from his Bible. “Did you get your Bible back when Reverend Carston left?”
“Yes, he left it on the couch. Have you had it all this time?” He shoved the rest of his sandwich in his mouth.
“Yes.”
He took another drink of soda, then put the can on the table. “I’m glad you didn’t let me leave it at the auditorium.”
“I figured you would want it.”
He looked at me for a few moments. “Do you have anything that belongs to me?”
I shifted my weight in my chair. “I think I might.”
He held out his hand. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the note.
“Is that something you really thought I would want you to read?”
I placed the note in his hand. “No, I assumed you wanted to keep it private.” There was a time when I would have concocted a lie at this point. Now I didn’t even consider it. “I read it anyway.”
“And you want me to tell you what it’s about.” He sat down with one hand resting on the table.
“Do I want you to tell me? Sure. It’s not self-explanatory. But do I expect you to tell me? Not really. If it affects your security or Kacey’s, you should tell me. Otherwise it’s none of my business.”
“It has nothing to do with keeping us safe.”
“How do you know that?”
“Now you’re just trying to convince me to explain the note.” He picked up his soda and drained the rest of it.
“That’s not true.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Fine.” I folded my arms.
He opened the note and focused on the page. “I s
hould fire you.”
“I can’t disagree with you on that. I hope you won’t, though.”
He folded the note again, took a deep breath, and let it out. “A year or so before Marie got sick, I had an affair. I have a son. At least I think I do. That’s what this is about.”
I leaned back in my chair. “You’re kidding me.”
“It would take an unusual sense of humor to kid about that, wouldn’t it?”
“But, the letters in the shoebox.”
“They’re real. I did love Marie, and I still do. Do you want to hear the explanation?”
“That’s up to you. You certainly don’t owe me.”
He tapped his index finger on the side of the soda can and studied it, as if the words he needed could be found in the ingredient list. He didn’t look at me when he began to speak. “She had an affair first; I was paying her back. It’s as simple as that.”
I shook my head. “This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard. I mean, coming from you.”
“Well, it’s the truth.”
“How can you act as if you’re still in love with her?”
“It’s no act. I miss her more than I can describe. No offense, but you’re very young, Taylor. You’ve seen a lot in your life, but you’ve not seen marriage from the inside. It’s different than you might think. At least, it was different than I imagined. In some ways marriage is a much stronger thing than I thought, in other ways more fragile. Marie and I had our problems, but we got over them. Then she got sick. When I told you how much I loved her, how much I still love her, I meant it.”
“You said you think you have a son. Don’t you know for sure?”
“No. There’s never been a blood test or anything. I do believe that it’s true, though. I believed it then, and I believe it now.”
“Where is he?”
“He lives in a suburb of Houston. He’s eighteen years old.”
“Does he live with his mother?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Simon looked away. “He’s been adopted.”
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