A New Beginning (11 page)

“What are you going to
do
, Christopher,” I asked as we continued to sit together in the church, “—next, this week, next week? What does a pastor do besides lead the service on Sunday? I've never been married to a pastor before—”

“I should hope not!”

“You know what I mean. This is all new to me. I haven't been to seminary. I don't know what you did in Richmond.”

“Are you asking, not so much what am I going to do, but what are
we
going to do?”

“Maybe I am,” I answered.

“Well, set your mind at ease—you don't have to do anything. What I mean is that I don't expect anything of you besides what you normally do. Just be yourself and go on with life as always.”

“You mean stay at home, work in the freight company?”

“Exactly. Believe me, you'll be plenty involved in due time. Women will come to you, just like they did to Harriet, wanting to talk. You'll call on people with me.”

“I can't help being a little nervous,” I said.

“That's understandable. But it will all come about very naturally.”

“What will
you
do, then?”

“My, but you are persistent with that question!”

I laughed. “I'm just interested.”

“I know,” replied Christopher, then paused to think.

“Believe it or not,” he said, “I have been considering that very thing ever since leaving the church in Richmond. I've often said to myself, ‘What will I do the next time, if the Lord ever gives me another church? How would I begin a new ministry?' Now here I am with a chance to put into practice what I've concluded.”

“What is that?”

“Well,” Christopher began, “it has seemed to me, as I have reflected on it, that one of the great hindrances to effective ministry is that people tend to see a pastor as
different
from other people, as a man whose profession it is to be more spiritual than the rest. In a sense, they view their pastor or priest as the person responsible for taking care of the spiritual side of life so they don't have to do much about it themselves. It may seem a harsh thing to say, but I think that's why many people give money to support the church—almost as a way of paying someone
else
to be spiritual on their behalf. It's just the age-old problem of indulgences dressed up to look like faithful tithing.”

“I've never heard you talk about this kind of thing before.”

Christopher smiled. “I don't suppose I ever saw the need. I told you way back when we were together in Virginia that the ministry was a part of the past that I had put behind me until the Lord did something to change that fact. When a few months ago he did cause me to start thinking about it again, I kept quiet at first because—well, you know, because I thought it meant we were supposed to go back to the East. But along with that, I found myself thinking about all these things again. There just never came a time I felt was right to tell you about it.”

“So how are you going to keep people from looking at you as different?”

“The first and most important thing is to show people that the pastor is
not
different from the rest of them,” replied Christopher. “That's how I want people to see Christopher Braxton—not first as a pastor who walks and talks and acts different than the rest, who wears a clerical aura, so to speak, but just as a member of the community. A man's not a minister because he's a professional Christian, but because he feels he has something to contribute to the quality of life in a community—daily life, everyone's life, the kind of spirituality that is supposed to be intrinsic to
everyone's
existence. I don't think a minister can do that unless people view him as one of them. You have to keep that wall of separation from going up between the people sitting down here and the man standing up there.”

Christopher pointed up to the pulpit, where he had spoken to the congregation just a few days ago.

“I realize, of course,” he went on, “that one of the important aspects of a minister's role is to teach people things about life with God that they aren't aware of. But that teaching and preaching has got to be just one part of that role, and it has to emerge out of a life that is shared with the people of the community at very basic levels. In other words, I hope that people will see as much of you and me in their homes and in our home and in town and at the freight company and in their fields and barns and kitchens as they will in this church. So often the only time people see a minister is standing in front of the church on Sunday morning or in town and still all dressed up in his best clothes. If that's the only way they see him, what else can it lead to but the professional clerical image—he's someone who is paid to be spiritual, as I said before, when they have to work hard from day to day just to put food on the table. Why, I may stand up there some Sundays in my work trousers and shirt just to remind people of that sameness.”

I laughed. “You don't really mean it?”

“I do mean it. And why not?”

“So we're going to visit people a lot, I take it?” I said.

“Yes we are. And not as the pastor and his wife, but as their friends, as a man and woman who care about them.”

“I'm glad. I don't know about you wearing your work clothes on Sunday, but I do like the visiting part of it.”

“That's one of the first things I determined I would do if I ever pastored again, and I can't wait to get started—I'm going to personally call on every single person in this town, the saloon girls and Franklin Royce the banker and all the rest. Everyone. And not with a lot of spiritual talk either—just to shake their hand and tell them you and I are around if ever we can help them.”

“That will raise some eyebrows,” I laughed, “and set tongues wagging—if Mrs. Sinclair sees you walking into the Gold Nugget! Or Mr. Royce's bank, for that matter, after all he's done to people over the years.”

“Let them say what they will.”

“Do you really think a saloon girl or a banker would come to you or me for help?” I asked.

“I don't know—but we've got to be the ones to make the first move, to extend our hands. Maybe we have to make the first several moves. A minister can't sit alone in the church day after day studying his Bible and writing out sermons, waiting for people to come to him, he's got to be out and part of the community every day. That's how people learn to trust him, and eventually to pay attention when he says, ‘God is our Father, yours and mine, and we can trust him more than we've been in the habit of doing.' I don't intend to write out any sermons, in fact. I'm just going to talk to people about God and tell them what kind of Father he is and how they can go about living for him and pleasing him.”

“But even calling on people doesn't necessarily make them see you differently,” I said. “Remember how awkward it has been between you and Tom Woodstock since we began visiting them.”

“I know. It takes time. But after I helped him with his fence a time or two, at least he began to talk a little. And you and Jennie have had some good talks, which I don't think would have happened had we not been persistent to involve ourselves in their lives.”

“But you can't go work with
every
man in the community like you did with Tom and his fence.”

“Why not?”

“Because you're the pastor now. You'll have church things to do.”

“What could be more the business of the church than that?”

The following Sunday, feeling almost like newcomers to Miracle Springs all over again, Christopher and I walked into church. I was so happy, and everyone greeted us so warmly.

We were to have been on a ship steaming south along the coast of Mexico by now. Yet here we were back in the Miracle Springs church. Then it dawned on me yet again—I was the pastor's wife!

The singing was so enthusiastic, and all the announcements and prayers even seemed to be more energetic than usual. When Christopher finally began to talk, everyone was full of anticipation of what he might say after all his warnings of the previous week.

“This morning I would like to do my best to tell you what I believe,” he said. “You may call this a sermon or a testimonial of faith or whatever you like. Whatever you call it, I want to outline as concisely as I am able the spiritual principles by which I try to order my life. While I am your pastor, it will be these principles that I will teach and emphasize and that I will constantly hearken back to. These principles are the foundation of my life, my ministry, my views. They were the cornerstones of my prior years of church ministry and will be the building blocks of however long a ministry the Lord sees fit for me to have among you. Presumably you will either grow with me according to these priorities I will outline, or else one day you will decide to terminate my pastorate.

“Let me say very clearly that these are the principles by which I
try
to order my life. I cannot say that I
do
live perfectly by them, or do even a tolerable job of it. These represent my
goals
in life, what I aim and strive and pray for,
not
what I think I presently am capable of. This life is an attempt, a journey we all share—pastor and congregation alike. It is a journey we must embark on
because of
our imperfection, not because I, or anyone, think he or she really lives these principles as they ought to be lived.

“Yet with God's help, we
shall
become capable of living them. It is my conviction that he wants us not merely to dream about these truths, but to have them become reality in our lives.”

Christopher stopped and glanced about, then a slow smile spread over his face.

“Before I begin with the deeper aspects of what I want to share with you this morning, let us take care of a very practical matter that all churches have to deal with and that everyone wonders about from time to time. Let's talk about money, for obviously, if I am going to be your pastor, Corrie and I must have money to live.”

He paused again. A little squirming about went on in the seats, and I must admit that I felt an embarrassed twinge starting to creep up the back of my neck. Money could be such an awkward subject, and I didn't think I could bear it if Christopher started off the first Sunday by asking people to give us money.

“Before we continue, would a couple of you men come forward and pass around these two collection plates here.”

Pa glanced around, then rose. Mr. Douglas joined him, and they came forward and stood in front of Christopher.

“I want to urge you all to examine your hearts,” said Christopher. “If you feel the Lord has been gracious to you, then repay to him accordingly and give generously. Let us pray.
Lord, give us thankful hearts for your goodness to us, and may we each return
abundantly to you from your provision to us. Amen.
”

Pa and Mr. Douglas now went through the church with the plates while Harriet played a hymn on the piano. I still felt awkward and kept my eyes looking down in my lap. I heard occasional shuffling about, and now and then the tinkling sound of coins being dropped into the plate.

In a minute or two the men took the plates back up to Christopher and resumed their seats.

Christopher took them and glanced at the contents of both. “Good,” he said with a big smile, “very nice indeed! It would appear you have been most generous.” Then he jiggled the plates about in his two hands a little, so that you could hear the money bouncing around.

Christopher
, I thought,
what are you doing?
I was getting seriously embarrassed.

“Now, let me ask you a question,” he said, still holding the plates. “What is this money for? Who did you give it to?”

The church was completely silent.

“Come on,” Christopher insisted. “Who is this for?”

“We give it to you and yer missus, preacher!” someone called out from the back.

Christopher gazed back at the congregation.

“Is that what the rest of you think as well?” he asked. A few nods gradually went around, along with some low murmurings of assent.

“I see. All right, then, now I want to do something with this money which may come as a surprise.”

Christopher stepped forward and handed one of the plates back to Harriet, who was sitting in the front row on the right side, and the other to me, in the front row of the left.

“I want to pass these plates back among you,” he said. “If any of you right now finds yourself in such financial straits that you scarcely know where your next meal is coming from, I want you to take from the plate when it comes to you. Take whatever you feel will meet your need until next week.”

Slowly Harriet and I looked at Christopher, then passed our plates to those seated next to us. Everyone was quiet. No one knew quite what to think.

“I am absolutely serious,” Christopher went on. “The rest of you keep your eyes down. No one need see what his neighbor is doing. This is no cause for embarrassment. If you have need, then in God's name I urge you to receive this provision from his hand through your fellow church members.”

It was so silent you could have heard a pin drop as the plates now went through the church again, with now and then the slightest tinkling sound, though I couldn't tell if anyone was doing as Christopher had said or if the sound was just from the plates being passed. A few minutes later they made their way back up to the front, and Christopher took them again from Harriet and me, then set them down on the table in front of the pulpit.

“I know this proceeding may seem a bit unusual, but I did it to make a point,” said Christopher. “This will be the nature of the tithes and offerings we bring to the Lord in the future. As you know, when the tithe was introduced in the Old Testament, it was usually given in the form of grain rather than money. This grain was stored in what the Bible calls storehouses, for use either in times of famine or to feed the poor. Now while it is true that the priests of Israel received their sustenance from these tithes, they were not primarily given in order to pay the priests. They were given to provide for the people themselves. And such shall be our tithes here while I am your pastor.

“You all know the deep and abiding respect I had for Avery Rutledge. My plan has no bearing whatever on his ministry nor the honor in which I hold him. But I am a young man. I have hoisted great sacks of grain on my back and worked Drum Hollister's mine with what I hope was sufficient strength to earn his favor.

“Therefore, as I told you last week, I will take no salary as your pastor. Not so much as a penny from these plates will be used by Corrie and me. I will work with my hands and my back and my legs for our bread, as the rest of you do, and I will pastor your church as one of its laborers, not as one who is paid to speak to you on Sundays.

“The money we collect from Sunday to Sunday will be in the way of
family tithes
, which we will place in our friend Franklin Royce's ‘storehouse' to be used, as was the grain of the Israelites of old, in times of famine and to feed our poor. We will each give to the Lord out of the abundance of his provision to us, and we will use the contents of our tithe-granaries for those of our community in need, when crops fail, when fire comes, when death visits unexpectedly. When you give, therefore, you will be giving to your neighbors. It may even be your own family that will one day find itself in need.”

Christopher paused, and again smiled so as to lighten the atmosphere.

Everyone stared at him from their seats. They had never heard anything like this before. And although Christopher and I had already discussed what he was proposing, I was still amazed by how much sense it made. I thought I had known most of what there was to know about Christopher, and yet I continued to be surprised by—and sometimes even in awe of—this man I had married.

“You can see, therefore,” Christopher said, “that I am going to need work from Sunday to Sunday. I am capable of most things and am an eager learner. As I said earlier, Corrie and I are going to need money to live. But I would ask you to give me opportunity to labor for that provision. I have worked for many of you already and I am willing to do anything—from cleaning stalls to stringing fence wire to digging ditches—and I know a fair amount about construction and livestock. I will not be able to work a full ten or twelve hours every day, for there will be times, of course, when I will need to carry out my pastoral function during the daytime hours. But I should think myself able to give forty or forty-five hours in honest labor most weeks and will appreciate any opportunities you can give me to serve you in this way.

“Now, Harriet,” he said, glancing over to where she sat, “perhaps we could have a hymn before I begin my sermon.”