Cross Roads

by William Paul Young

  “I have neighbors?” inquired Tony.

  “Well, not neighbors exactly. More like squatters. But I’m here to take you to meet them, if you would like. Up to you. I am going to be right outside while you decide.”

  With that he exited, leaving Tony to a fluster of thoughts and emotions and even more questions, but the curiosity of meeting someone else in this place was intriguing so he quickly dressed, splashed some water on his face, smiled and shook his head at his image in the mirror, and headed for the door.

  The morning was crisp, with that bite and shiver reflective of a change in weather. A few clouds had begun to form a colloquy on the horizon, not yet ominous but portentous.

  “Here, take this.” Jack handed Tony a jacket as he stepped from his room. It was a familiar Columbia soft-shell windbreaker and Tony put it on, grateful that it wasn’t tweed. Jack was dressed as always, but carried a knobbed walking stick and wore an old tweed fisherman’s hat that begged a remark.

  “Nice hat!” acknowledged Tony.

  “Oh, this old thing? Well, thank you. I keep losing it and it keeps turning up. Not sure what else to do when it does but put it back on till it disappears again.”

  As he stood and scanned the property, Tony was surprised that it seemed somewhat improved, as though a breath of order might have been blown into its former chaos but not much more than an innuendo. On a darker note, breaches in some of the distant walls were clearly visible that he had not remembered being there earlier. Probably just not paying attention, he thought as Jack pointed down a path and toward a clump of trees, beyond which were barely visible smoke curls rising in a cluster.

  “Neighbors?” he asked.

  Jack smiled and shrugged, as if he were reluctant to say more.

  As they walked Tony asked, “Jack, is this place, this in-between place that I know somehow is me… Was I brought here to be confronted with what I have done wrong?”

  “No, my dear boy, quite the reverse,” Jack assured. “The in-between and the life-after is centered and built upon everything you got right, not what you got wrong. And it’s not that what you got wrong is inconsequential or just disappears; much of it is all around you as you can see, but the focus is on the rebuilding, not on the tearing down.”

  “Yes, but—” Tony began, only to have Jack raise a hand to stop him.

  “Yes, the old must be torn down for the new to be raised; to have a resurrection you must have a crucifixion, but God wastes nothing, not even the wrong we have imagined into existence. In every building torn down there is much that remains that was once true and right and good, and that gets woven into the new; in fact, the new could not be what it is without the old. It is the refurbishing of the soul. You are from Oregon so you should understand recycling, aye?”

  Jack chuckled, and it made Tony smile.

  “Well,” responded Tony, “I like the building part. It’s the tearing-down part that I’m not a big fan of.”

  “Ah…,” sighed Jack. “And there’s the rub, isn’t it. There has to be a tearing down for the real and right and good and true to be built. There has to be a judgment and a dismantling. It is not only important, it is essential. However, the kindness of God will not do the tearing down without your participation. Much of the time, God has to do very little. We are masters at building up facades, only to tear them down ourselves. In our independence we are very destructive creatures, first creating houses of cards and then knocking them down with our own hands. Addiction of every imagined sort, the will to power, the security of lies, the need for notoriety, the grasping of reputation, the trading in human souls… all houses of cards that we try and keep together by holding our breath. But, thanks to the grace of God, we must someday breathe, and when we do, the breath of God joins ours and everything collapses.”

  Their pace had slowed as the path narrowed and became more erratic, small boulders and tree roots haphazardly strewn over what once was probably a smooth and easy trail. A noxious odor, subtle at first but growing as they proceeded, finally became a stench and Tony wrinkled up his nose.

  “Whew, what is that smell? It smells like…”

  “Garbage? Yes, that is what it is,” returned Jack. “Your neighbors are not the tidiest, and they waste no time cleaning up after themselves. They refuse to burn their own refuse.” He winked at Tony, pleased with both puns. “Look!”

  About a hundred yards down the path, two large figures were slowly approaching. Jack held his hand up and Tony stopped.

  “It’s time for you and me to part company, Anthony. I am not sure that I will again see you in the in-between, but assuredly, we will have many occasions in the life-after.”

  “You’re leaving? But what about the neighbors? I thought you were going to introduce them to me.”

  “I told you that I was going to take you to meet them. Introductions are not necessary.” His words were kind and gentle, and with a bit of a sly grin he added, “I am not one of their favorite people, and our presence together would cause more confusion than yours alone.”

  “It’s me that’s confused, as usual,” confessed Tony. “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t need to, dear boy. Just remember, you are never alone. You have everything that you need for the moment.”

  Turning, Jack gave Tony a huge hug and then tenderly, with barely a brush, kissed him on the cheek, as a father would his precious son.

  Tony slid.

  12

  A THICKENING OF PLOTS

  True friends stab you in the front.

  —Oscar Wilde

  Oh, my gawd!” Tony was looking through Maggie’s eyes, looking through the kitchen window at two men getting out of a Lincoln town car in front of the house.

  “Maggie?” Tony interjected. “What’s the matter?”

  “Tony?” squealed Maggie. “Thank the Lord Almighty you’re here. Where have you been? Never mind that now; we have a crisis of magnanimous proportions. Do you see who is getting out of that car out there; do you see?”

  Tony could feel her agitation flooding him like a sneaker wave, but he focused on the two outside who were in a conversation, glancing in the direction of her house. Suddenly, Tony recognized one of them. “Elder Clarence is a cop? You didn’t tell me he was a cop.”

  “Clarence is a police officer. Why would I think to tell you? Why are your tights all twisty—have you done something illegal?”

  “No!” asserted Tony. “It’s just unexpected.”

  “Please,” exclaimed Maggie, “you—talking to me about unexpected? Oh, my gawd, they’re coming here! Quick, do something!”

  Tony had no idea what that meant. In a normal situation and by her tone he would have looked for somewhere to hide, which in light of the current circumstances was absurd and laughable, and he started giggling. Maggie tore down the hallway and in a panic began applying lipstick and makeup. Tony, not able to keep from howling in glee, advised her where to apply it. Finally he calmed down, trying his best not to grunt or snort as another wave of snickering would start. Maggie glared at the mirror. If looks could kill, there would be a dead white guy in her head.

  The doorbell rang. “What are you so freaked out about?” asked Tony.

  Maggie whispered into the mirror, tidying one last bit of hair. “That’s Clarence out there, about the last person I ever wanted to see today, excepting for that other guy that’s with him.”

  “The older white guy? Who is he?”

  “The guy with the big Bible, that’s Associate Pastor Horace Skor, that’s who. If I remember, I’ll tell you about him later,” she added with a slight grin, which Tony was relieved to see.

  The doorbell chimed a second time. “You better get that. They probably saw you at the window and your car is parked right outside. By the way, how’d you get that dent…”

  “Not the time, Tony,” she snapped. “Grrrrr, you can be so irritating.”

  She got up, smoothed her dress one more time, and headed for the door.

&n
bsp; “Well, if it isn’t Pastor Skor. What a wonderful surprise. And Elder Walker, so good to see you so soon… after… um, I was just getting ready to leave.”

  “Well,” began the elderly man, “we need to talk to you.”

  “… But if you would like a cup of coffee or tea, I have a few minutes. Come right on in.”

  She stood aside as the man entered, followed by Clarence, his eyes an apology even though a barely visible grin played at the corners of his mouth. Maggie was flustered but smiled her best and directed them to the living room, where elder and associate pastor situated themselves, the former rigid and erect, the officer at ease and comfortable.

  “Well, old Harry’s a bit pompous!” observed Tony. Maggie cleared her throat, more a warning to Tony than anything.

  “I am so sorry, where are my manners? Can I serve either of you two gentlemen a cup of coffee or tea?”

  “Nothing for me,” answered the pastor stiffly.

  “I would love a glass of water, Maggie, if that wouldn’t be too much trouble?” The pastor glanced sideways at the elder as if communicating this was a formal time, not one where personal address was appropriate.

  “No trouble at all. Just give me a second.” Maggie turned and entered the kitchen. She whispered, “Tony, you are going to have to shut up… way too distracting. And the man’s name is Horace. Pastor Skor to you!”

  “But he’s an…”

  “Shhhhhh! Not a word out of you, got that?”

  “Yes, ma’am! Got it, loud and clear. Tony signing off, over and out.”

  “Thank you!”

  She returned to the living room, interrupting a whispered conversation, and handed the glass to the elder, who nodded his thanks. She seated herself facing what felt like inquisitors.

  “Mrs. Saunders,” began the pastor.

  “Ms. Saunders, actually,” corrected Maggie. “I’m not married.” She couldn’t help but smile at Clarence and then wanted to kick herself for doing so.

  “Of course. Ms. Saunders, as you know I am Pastor Skor, one of the lead pastors of the church that you have been attending for, how long now? Six, seven months?”

  “Two and a half years,” answered Maggie.

  “My, really? How time flies,” recovered the pastor. “Well, I am sorry that we haven’t met before, or under better circumstances, but after last night’s… uh, events, well…”

  “Oh, about that…” Maggie reached over and started to pat the pastor on the knee. He immediately shifted himself in the chair out of her reach, as if she was contagious. “That was a huge misunderstanding. You see, I have been under a lot of stress, you know, with what is going on with Lindsay, and last night it sort of all came out and I am so sorry…” She knew she was stumbling through her apology but couldn’t stop herself until Pastor Skor raised a hand. She halted midsentence.

  “Lindsay is your daughter?” he asked, almost with an air of concern.

  “My daughter? No!” Maggie was a little shocked and glancing at Clarence saw him shake his head slightly, almost as if warning her not to go there. She turned back to the pastor. “You don’t know who Lindsay is, do you?”

  “No, I am sorry I do not, but be that as it may, what is important is that you understand I have certain responsibilities at the church and among them I oversee spiritual life, the spiritual life of the members of the church.”

  “Hee-haw!” brayed Tony.

  Maggie slapped her leg and then rubbed it as if bitten by a mosquito, trying to warn Tony to keep quiet and not attract question. She smiled, which the pastor took as encouragement to continue.

  “In light of last night’s… uh… events, I find it incumbent upon me to help shepherd and educate our people in areas where we have become entirely lax, and I take full blame and responsibility for that. God knows he has convicted my heart deeply, and I did not hardly sleep a wink last night confessing and repenting of the sinful and lazy attitudes I have had toward the Word, toward essential doctrines and the order of church polity and member behavior. Ms. Saunders, I am truly in your debt. You have done our congregation and I a huge service by bringing to light our backslidden condition. So I am really here this morning to thank you!”

  With that he sat back, as did Maggie and Clarence, the latter two stunned and the pastor satisfied.

  “Uh, you’re welcome, I guess?” was all Maggie could think to respond.

  “It’s a trick!” Tony couldn’t help himself. “I smell a rat in the manger. I’m thinking one of the wise men is on the take!”

  Maggie slapped her leg again and was about to stand when the pastor leaned forward.

  “Ms. Saunders, we have a healthy and vibrant religious community. We are open to the move and work of the Holy Ghost. We allow women to fully participate in the worship and even to occasionally bring a word of prophecy to the congregation, as long as the leadership first hears and then allows it, of course. Women teach our children, and there is no greater responsibility in the world than the teaching of our young boys and girls. They are the future of our church. We are committed to the truth that before God, we, men and women, are all equal…”

  “But?” Tony whispered. “I hear a ‘but’ coming… Wait for it…”

  Maggie slapped and rubbed.

  “Both men and women are able to express the gifts of the Holy Ghost; both men and women are essential to the life and growth of the church…”

  “Wait for it…” The leg slap was a little firmer and more pronounced, but the pastor paid no attention.

  “… And we affirm the Word, which declares there is no longer male or female, but…” And now he grew even more somber, moving forward slightly before he looked deep into her eyes.

  “Ta-da!” Tony said, gloating. “Didn’t I see that one coming… This pompous dork sounds just like… me actually.”

  “But the Word is speaking of how God sees us, not about how we function in the church, and we must always remember that God is a God of order. It is vital that each person play their part, and as long as they stay within the roles God has mandated, the church functions as it was meant to and the health of the body is maintained and even celebrated.

  “Now, Ms. Saunders, I would like to show you a passage in my Bible,” and with that he produced a well-worn and aged King James Version, opening it directly to a place that had been marked in preparation for this meeting. Clarence sat forward in his chair, his attention riveted on the pastor and his Bible.

  “Now it says, right here in First Corinthians, chapter 14; let me read this for you, Ms. Saunders, and you can follow along if you like, starting right here at verse 34: ‘Let your women keep silence in the churches: for it is not permitted unto them to speak; but they are commanded to be under obedience, as also saith the law. And if they will learn any thing, let them ask their husbands at home: for it is a shame for women to speak in the church.’ ”

  Having emphasized four words in the reading—commanded, obedience, law, and husband—he closed the book and sat back, nodding to himself in an entirely sanctified manner. “Now, Ms. Saunders, as it has now come to light that you are not married and therefore have no husband, and as it says here you are to ask your ‘husband,’ then the church male leadership stands in place of your husband as your head and covering; and if you have any questions, I would like to make myself available to you personally for counsel and encouragement in all matters spiritual.”

  The silence that descended in that moment was not holy. It was awkward. Even Tony was speechless. Maggie had no idea what she was supposed to do with this invitation.

  “It’s sarcasm!” Maggie and the pastor both turned to Clarence, who had spoken in a tone firm and sure.

  “Excuse me?” The interruption caught Skor by surprise, but he recovered professionally. “Elder Walker, I asked you along because you know Ms. Saunders and I thought your presence might be helpful, but as we discussed earlier, you are not here to speak but to be a witness.”

  “It is sarcasm,” Clarence stated
a second time, clearly and slowly. If he was upset, he covered it well behind a stone face, focused and intent.

  “What are you talking about, Brother Walker? Do you think I am being sarcastic?” There was an edge of challenge in Skor’s voice, which Clarence expertly deflected.

  “No, sir, not you. The apostle Paul. I believe that the apostle Paul was being sarcastic when he wrote what you read.”

  “Well, Clarence, did you go to a Bible school or seminary that I didn’t know about?” The tone now was clearly condescending. “Have you suddenly gotten ordained so that you understand all mysteries? Do you not believe that the Holy Ghost leads us into all truth?”

  There was more than a challenge now, and still Clarence didn’t bite.

  “I do, sir, believe that the Holy Spirit leads us into truth, but sometimes we can’t see the building for the underbrush, and sometimes it takes time for our eyes to heal.”

  Skor whipped out his Bible again, for a second time turning to the marked passage, and stuck it out in Clarence’s direction. “So show me. And remember, I have been to Bible school and seminary, and I know the Greek pretty well.”

  Clarence took the Bible from the older man’s hands and held it so both of them could see. “Here,” he said and pointed. “Look at this next verse. It begins with ‘What?’ which is the first of three questions. None of these three questions make any sense whatsoever unless Paul is being sarcastic, that the point he is actually making is the opposite of what you just told Maggie. He is quoting a letter that these folk sent him with questions, and he is in total disagreement with what they have written to him.”

  “That’s utter nonsense. Let me see that!” And he grabbed his Bible from the hands of the elder. A moment of silence passed as the pastor read and reread the passage.

  Maggie, her eyes like saucers, hardly dared breathe.