Across the Western Sky

by S. C. Armstrong

  “Well, maybe one day she will. But it’s hard for you to understand where she’s coming from. You didn’t grow up with this kind of theology. I did. And I can tell you from experience, it took me a lot longer to stop believing in hell than it did in heaven. From her point of view, what she did was very consistent. In fact, I’d be worried if she said she cared about you and didn’t try to save your soul.”

  Curt couldn’t stop frowning. “Yeah, but she’s not telling other people in school about hell. At least, not that I can see. She only told me because we were involved or whatever.”

  Without explicitly saying so, the perceived hypocrisy of Hannah to only extend this news of salvation to someone she had a relationship with bothered Curt.

  “Maybe so. That would be a very human thing to do. Think of it this way.” His mom leaned forward. “Today, about 19,000 kids died from hunger-related illnesses. Now, you might not have known the number, but you knew things like that happened, right?”

  He nodded, unsure where this was going.

  “I’m guessing you didn’t think much about them today, though. Neither did I. As humans, we can only focus on so much at one time. Otherwise, life becomes too unbearable. I mean, we should focus more on those kids, but we don’t. We get too involved in our own little worlds. Don’t be too hard on her. She’s an imperfect human, probably with a big heart, and she’s doing the best she can.”

  Curt sucked in his cheek, mulling over his mom’s words. “So you’re saying I should give her a second chance?”

  “Nope. I didn’t say that.”

  He crinkled his brow. “You think I should give up on her completely?”

  She grinned. “I didn’t say that, either. You do have some major differences that will be hard to overcome.”

  He shook his head, resting his fist to his mouth. “How do we ever make this work? Is it even possible for religious and non-religious people to ever truly get along? Hannah and I are into each other and want this relationship to work. But we can’t even pull it off.”

  What hope does the town have? Curt didn’t ask that question aloud but still pondered its answer.

  “I don’t know.” She smiled sympathetically. “Best you can do is listen. Try to understand. And hope the other person listens back. That’s what your father always tried to do. It didn’t always work, though.”

  Curt inhaled, remembering all his father’s attempts at listening: he played racquetball with a local minister, asked questions of his opponents, even if he was offended by their actions.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Curt said at last.

  She patted his knee and smiled. Life had been lonelier without his father, that was for sure. But moments like this one reminded him that his father lived on. He was there in spirit, both in his mother and in him. They would carry him forward, no matter how empty life felt at any given moment. That truth filled Curt with the smallest kernel of optimism.

  28

  Town Hall Rerun

  Once again, town hall was packed. The June temperatures had hovered in the eighties all day, so the building’s air conditioning struggled to keep pace with all the body heat.

  Curt surveyed the room. From what his father had told him, audiences at town council meetings usually numbered in the dozens. They were not standing room only like tonight. The division within the town was palpable, too. The split wasn’t quite fifty-fifty, but the population of non-religious people or those opposing the Ten Commandments monument was much higher than Curt originally thought. Most of these vocal critics had been rallied by his father.

  The town council took their seats behind the table in front of the room. Seven out of the nine council members were male, and most of these were over fifty. The mayor, a large meaty man whose thinning brown hair already glistened with sweat, banged a gavel against the solid wood and called the meeting to order, causing the scattered conversations in the room to gradually fade out.

  “We’ll hear a few more arguments about the proposed Ten Commandments monument before we render a decision,” Mayor Beyers declared. “And before we start, I want to acknowledge the tremendous tragedies that have befallen our town. Please be sensitive in your comments and remember that we’re neighbors. Be kind to one another.”

  This last line he uttered like an elementary teacher addressing a particularly unruly class. But the preface was most likely necessary. Curt glanced at his mother next to him. Her face remained impassive, even though her husband had suffered one of these “tragedies”. Next, his eyes roamed to the Wilson contingent. Hannah wasn’t there. But Curt did make brief eye contact with her brother. He didn’t trust Samuel Wilson and his peers to steer clear of citing his father’s and Tom’s deaths as anecdotal evidence for their cause.

  Turning back toward the town council, Curt doubted any speaker would add much to the argument. Though he planned to speak, Curt offered few new insights; he merely wanted the people to see his generation in a new light.

  Justin stepped forward first. Curt tensed up, fearing his de facto big brother would douse the fire of public discourse with gasoline.

  “I wanted to make sure, in no uncertain terms, that the proposed monument stands in direct opposition to the Establishment Clause and is therefore illegal, plain and simple,” he said, gripping the lectern and leaning toward the microphone. Resolve was etched into Justin’s expression. “If you proceed with it, we’re prepared to launch a lawsuit. Do not test us on this. We will fight, and we will win. Thank you.”

  With that, Justin dismissed himself from the stand. Murmurs accompanied his exit, though a smattering of applause also punctuated his brief statement. Curt couldn’t quibble too much with the content of Justin’s speech. Justin had shown restraint and stuck to facts.

  Samuel Wilson approached next. He wore a button-down shirt and tie with a pair of gray dress pants. Curt glanced back at Caleb Wilson, who fidgeted in his seat. Perhaps he’d passed the baton to his son in wake of the pornography controversy hanging over the minister’s head.

  Wilson shifted on his feet as he prepared to speak. “Our town stands at a crossroads. Your decision tonight will have a bearing on which road we take going forward. Even in the short years of my life, things have changed drastically in our country and in Beaumont. Actions and behavior that were once unthinkable are now commonplace and even celebrated.”

  Homosexuality. That was what Wilson was talking about, even if he didn’t use the word. And maybe sex in general. These seemed to constitute the majority of Christian gripes against the direction of the culture at large.

  “We need to return to our roots, to our foundation,” Wilson continued. “We were once a nation founded on the word of God and the Christian faith. Now look at us: a nation of immorality and unbelief. And these changes lie at the heart of our recent tragedies. A young life lost due to the influence of drugs and alcohol. This rising generation has lost its way. We need to return to our moral moorings.”

  No evidence linking Tom’s accident to drugs or alcohol had come to light. Toxicology reports would take months to come out. None of this mattered to Wilson or his supporters. He’d spun a story that fit the preconceived notions of their worldview.

  “The greatest enemy we face as a nation is not ISIS, Global Warming, or the economy. It is ourselves. It is sin. We need to turn away from our sin to Jesus. This proposed monument is a symbol of that, about what is most important.”

  The dig against global warming notwithstanding, Wilson’s salvo wouldn’t play to his entire base. Sure, the dyed in wool Christians would cheer his words. The MAGA crowd that wasn’t as religious might not appreciate him dismissing threats like ISIS (or Muslims in general) or the economy. But no doubt they would find points in his message to appreciate. Wilson had spoken about returning to a previous era when America was greater.

  Justin shot up from his seat. “Maybe we should add an eleventh commandment on the monument about porn. I hear that’s a problem in your circles. Just a suggestion for you. Or we could just sw
ap that in for the Sabbath command because no one really follows that one anymore.”

  His comment sparked a brief bout of laughter from people on his side of the aisle, countered by angry murmurs from the other side. Samuel’s cheeks burned with anger. Caleb Wilson shifted in his seat but said nothing.

  “Please, let’s keep this civil,” the mayor warned, eyeing Justin. “No one interrupted you during your statement.”

  Justin shrugged. “I didn’t give them time. Wasn’t preaching a sermon like some people.”

  “Sit down or we’ll have you removed,” the mayor threatened, his tone becoming severe.

  This time, Justin raised his arms in surrender and dropped into his seat. So much for showing restraint, Curt thought as he watched Justin.

  Wilson cleared his throat and waited for the crowd noise to dissipate. “I also want to be very clear that if the Ten Commandments monument is struck down, we will pursue legal action for violating our rights to religious freedom.”

  “I think you meant to say religious supremacy,” Justin said as a boisterous ovation erupted for Samuel Wilson. The preacher’s son had empowered the crowd, assuring them they wouldn’t roll over if the town council decided against them.

  In the melee, Curt breathed in deep and rose from his seat. His mom and Kate glanced nervously at him. Perhaps they would’ve preferred he remain quiet. That would have been the safer move. Regardless, Curt approached the stand. He was careful not to look anyone in the face on the Wilsons’ side, lest the opposition in their expressions squelch his fire.

  Curt stood behind the lectern and met the gazes of the town council. The crowd went quiet.

  “I could repeat points that have been raised by others, about the legality of the Ten Commandments monument or the relevancy of the Ten Commandments to our generation. Instead, I want to speak for my generation. Of course, I can’t speak for everyone. There are numerous, diverse voices amongst my peers. Not all would agree with me.”

  He shuffled his feet and held onto the lectern. “My generation isn’t perfect. We spend too much time on our phones and social media. We probably suffer from a little too much entitlement. Despite our flaws, I assure you we are very concerned with right and wrong. We just don’t take our cues from a book that’s thousands of years old. We consider the well-being of others. We want to give everyone, regardless of their sexual orientation or gender or race, the opportunity to thrive. And we’d like everyone to have freedom, so long as their actions don’t harm others.”

  Curt now took care to make eye contact with everyone in attendance, even the ones who’d likely simmer against his message. “Like any generation, we’ll bring both positive and negative things into the world. A growing number of us are trying to make our way through this world without any attachment to organized religion. I believe in my generation, overall. I believe we’ll leave a positive legacy behind. I don’t want us to be a prop in this conversation. So don’t strawman us. When you think of our generation, don’t think of us as something we’re not. Thank you.”

  A similar reaction as Justin received greeted his words. There was applause, though nowhere near as much as Samuel Wilson received. Again, there was a lot of murmuring, too. Mostly, it depended on which side of the aisle people sat on. But were people listening? That was Curt’s chief concern as he returned to his seat. Wilson and his contingent glared at Curt. Especially Jake, who appeared as though he might ambush Curt then and there.

  “Didn’t you learn anything from your father?” an older man with thinning hair and a scruffy beard screamed from the back. “He blasphemed God and paid the price. Be careful, lest the same thing happens to you.”

  Curt’s eyes immediately focused on his mom. Ignore them, she seemed to say amidst a backdrop of pain and pride. They don’t know what they’re talking about.

  “Order!” shouted the mayor, his face turning red. “That kind of rhetoric has no place in our town hall or anywhere else for that matter. The next person who speaks out of turn will be removed from the room.”

  But Curt couldn’t let that statement go unchecked. He smiled. “Yes, I did learn a lot from my father. He taught me to value others, even people who didn’t agree with us. He was a great man and I’m proud of him. I hope I become even half the man he was.”

  Curt returned to his seat, his head held high.

  His mom latched onto his arm and leaned into him. “You are the kind of man your father was. And he would have been proud.”

  She wiped a stray tear from her eyes with her other free hand. Curt stifled a tear of his own.

  “Well, it’s good to see young people engaged in civic issues, on both sides,” the mayor said after regaining his composure.

  The mayor appeared as though he was ready to convene with the rest of the council when another person approached the front. This man was tall and slender, with dark hair peppered with gray that he wore short and neat. Dressed in a blue blazer and designer pants, he was the picture of middle-aged respectability.

  “Good evening,” he said, squaring himself up to the lectern. “As most of you know, my name is Jensen Keeler. I’m the pastor at Lifespring Church. I, too, learned a lot from Matt McDonald. I think I share his son’s assessment of the man. He was a good man. Matt and I didn’t see eye to eye about everything, but we could talk to each other. I always knew Matt would hear me out, and I did my best to return the favor.”

  He straightened his blazer. “But it wasn’t Matt’s influence that led me to believe the Ten Commandments monument is a shortsighted idea. See, I too believe in separation between church and state, as much for the good of the church as for the state. I don’t want the state wed with any one religion, even if it happens to be my religion. Bad things have always followed that unholy marriage—for both the church and the state.

  “With that being said, if people would like to construct the proposed monument on our church grounds, we’d be supportive of that. But not here. Not in front of this building. Let’s keep church and state separate. We’ll all be happier that way. Thank you.”

  Keeler nodded toward Curt and then Justin before returning to his seat. This time, the right side of the hall remained quiet. One of their own had abandoned their cause. No one seemed to know quite what to say about that.

  The mayor nodded. “Thank you, Pastor Keeler. I think we’ve heard enough. We’re going to convene in the other room and will return when we reach our decision.”

  One by one, the town council filed out. Each of them looked miserable, even Robert Johnson who’d started this mess, as if this was about the worst scenario they could have imagined. Regardless of what they decided, someone would be angry. And legal action would be waiting.

  Curt remained sandwiched between his mother and Kate. Loud conversation broke out on both sides of the aisle.

  “So now we wait, I guess,” he said softly.

  His mother nodded absently. Kate exhaled. They couldn’t make out any of the conversations around them. Most likely, people were saying the same things they had for the last few months, holding the exact same opinion they’d entered the debate with.

  Thirty minutes later, the town council returned to their seats. Curt tried to read the council’s decision from their expressions but couldn’t arrive at any conclusion. The mayor pulled his microphone closer.

  “Before we announce our decision, I’d like to reiterate a few things. Beaumont is a small town. Throughout our history, we’ve been strongly religious, though that has waned a bit in recent years. We have a lot of diverse voices in our community. All of them need to be heard. We want unity, harmony, and civility. We want to be a neighborhood where everyone is welcome. To that end, in a 6-3 decision, we’ve decided not to erect the Ten Commandments monument on town property.”

  Exhilaration surged through Curt. They’d done it! They’d won. He almost couldn’t believe it. From what his father said, he feared they’d have to fight the decision in the courts. Curt turned and hugged Kate and his mother as a mi
xture of applause and angry shouting rippled through the room.

  The mayor stared grimly at the assembly. “Please accept this decision with civility and remember that we are neighbors. If you’d like to appeal the town’s decision, please do so through proper channels. Thank you and goodnight.”

  The town council hustled out of the room as a few police officers created a buffer between the town officials and the crowd.

  It was over. Theoretically. But judging by the expressions on Samuel Wilson and Jake Ankiel’s faces, never mind the hundred-plus others in attendance who sided with them, the matter would drag on. The best-case scenario: it would be a legal battle that remained in the courts, possibly for years. The worst-case scenario? Anger over the council’s decision would spill into the community and they’d be caught in a state of perpetual unrest where an us vs. them mentality dominated.

  29

  Fallout

  “Someone left something on my door last night,” Kate said in an anxious tone.

  “What?” asked Curt, sitting up in his bed. Kate’s phone call had disrupted his sleep and he was still a little dazed from being woken up.

  “Can you come over?” she pleaded.

  “Uh, yeah. Just give me a few minutes.”

  To say Kate sounded panicked would have been a reach. But she did sound shaken. Kate had absorbed more than her fair share of homophobic comments since she’d come out and usually laughed them off. The tone of her voice suggested this latest incident was different.

  Curt stumbled out of bed. It was only an hour before school, so he would have had to get up soon, anyway. He threw on a pair of tan khaki shorts and a gray graphic tee and then headed out the door.

  As Curt closed his front door, he happened to look back. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have seen the message left on his house. A posterboard recreation of the Ten Commandments was taped to his door. He stepped forward to examine the picture more closely. Beneath the original ten commandments, a Bible verse was written by hand: “The fool says in his heart there is no God.” A second verse appeared as a postscript to that first one: Romans 1:18-20.