One Tuesday Morning (39 page)

“God is always faithful,” he'd say. Or, “I felt your prayers every hour.”

These were things Jake would've said, without a doubt, things he believed. But Jamie knew they weren't statements he ever remembered saying. In fact, in a ten-minute period Jake pulled off a performance that was worthy of an Academy Award, one that would've been impossible without the time he'd invested in reading his Bible and his journal.

People continued to approach Jake, and the attention he was getting gave Jamie the chance to glance around the inside of the church. It was actually fairly nice looking. A few banners with Bible words written on them, but none of the statues and stained glass she'd found so intimidating back when she was a child.

The people continued to come, thrilled for a chance to connect once more with Jake and to pass on their thanks. He was among the city's most famous heroes now. Not that he hadn't been before. But the status awarded firefighters in the weeks since September 11 went way beyond ordinary hero and skyrocketed up into the realms of celebrity. Normally this much attention might have shaken Jamie, but as long as Jake had hold of her hand, as long as he stood tall and strong by her side, she felt perfectly content.

They checked Sierra into Sunday school and then made their way to a pew toward the back of the church. As soon as they sat down, a dozen people came up and offered still more kind words and assurances of continued prayer. Jamie watched them, struck by the light in their eyes. It was then that she finally noticed something about these people. Their love wasn't only for Jake.

It was for her too.

Though Jamie had never come with him, though these people had never seen her even once at church, they hugged her and offered whatever help she might need. Several of them had tears in their eyes. The realization brought back Jamie's feelings from before September 11. Sierra had been asking her to come to church with them, and Jamie's interest had been roused.

Here, now, she was curious once more. She might not believe, but she didn't have to hold something against these people. Clearly, they loved her family and even her. The least she could do was give them a chance.

An older woman approached and patted Jamie's hand. “Well, hello, dear. It's so good to finally meet you.”

A man behind her smiled big at Jamie.
“We're family, remember. If there's anything we can do to help, please let us know.”

By the time the service started, Jamie's head was spinning. She'd gone from curious to baffled. Was this what she'd been afraid of? A warmly lit building filled with kind people, a place where she felt surrounded by comforting words? She stared at her lap for a moment and tried to collect her thoughts. It didn't matter how nice the place felt. What mattered was the fact that by sitting here she was making a mockery of herself. She didn't believe in God. Especially since September 11. It was wrong for her to be here, and as soon as Jake's memory returned, she wouldn't be back.

She wouldn't be a hypocrite.

The pastor took the pulpit, and Jamie steeled herself. This was the part where he'd do one of two things. He'd either shout at them about hell—making them feel guilty for every careless thought and pressuring them to believe. Or he'd give a sugarcoated message about how everything always worked out for those who believed.

Jamie huffed quietly to herself.
Tell that to the people buried in the rubble of the World Trade Center
. She dismissed her thoughts and worked her fingers more tightly between Jake's. The preacher could talk all day as long as she had Jake's hand in hers, his warm body beside her.

Someone had handed Jamie a bulletin when she came in. Now she opened it and scanned the list of pastors until she found the name of the man about to speak. Pastor Jason Ritchie. Jamie closed the pamphlet and set it on the seat next to her.

“Good morning and welcome to First Community Church.” He smiled, and something about the man reminded her of Jake's father. “If you're visiting with us today, we're glad you came.” He looked around the congregation until his eyes fell on Jake and Jamie. “We have someone very special with us today. Many of you know that Jake Bryan is part of the church family here. He's a firefighter with FDNY, and back on September 11, he nearly lost his life in the World Trade Center.” The man paused. “Jake's here today, well enough to join us this morning.” The man's voice sounded strained, and for a moment he seemed to fight tears. “Let's give Jake a welcome back.”

People all around began to clap, and after a few seconds, a row of people stood and then another and another until the entire congregation was on its feet, clapping and looking at Jake. Tears streamed down the faces of several of them. Jamie leaned in closer to Jake, her heart touched by this outpouring. Was this what she'd been missing? People young and old who saw Jake as part of their family?

In a way it reminded her of the love at the fire station. But this was different. These people didn't love Jake because he was a firefighter; they loved him because they shared the same faith, the same God. Whole or broken, flawed or not—their common bond was one Jamie had only that morning begun to understand.

When the people returned to their seats, Pastor Ritchie began telling them a story about Jesus and a few of his friends. Mary, Martha, and Lazarus—siblings who shared a home together. The story went that Jesus cared about these three in a special way. So it was when Lazarus took sick and died, Jesus was deeply moved.

“See,” the pastor's voice rang clear and true, and Jamie found herself listening, so caught up in the story that she forgot to be leery of it. “Death was not a part of Christ's plan. It never had been.” He hesitated. “Certainly as he listened to Mary and Martha cry for their dead brother, Jesus was reminded that life was never supposed to hold that type of pain and loss.” His voice dropped a notch. “What did Mary and Martha say to Jesus, anyway?” He paused. “They said, ‘Lord … if you'd been here this wouldn't have happened.’”

Pastor Ritchie sauntered across the stage and made eye contact with people on the far side of the church. “Since the terrorist attacks, we're tempted to say the same thing, aren't we?” He gave them a sad smile before turning and making his way toward the other side of the congregation. “We rail and shout and shake our fists at God, yelling at Him through our tears. ‘If only You'd been here, God … in the buildings where You were supposed to be … none of this would've happened.’” The pastor stopped and squared himself toward the middle of the room. “But is that really the way it is?”

He returned to the story of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. As he did, Jamie waited anxiously for each word. Why hadn't she heard this story before? And when was he going to start yelling at them? She glanced at Jake beside her, but his attention belonged completely to Pastor Ritchie—almost as though this were a part of his life he remembered perfectly. Jamie wondered if he really did, or if spending all those hours in the Bible had created a new belief as strong as the one he'd forgotten.

Finally, the pastor reached the part in the story where Jesus went to the tomb, the place where Lazarus was buried. The congregation was silent as Pastor Ritchie searched their faces. “Jesus was surrounded by weeping people, folks He knew and loved, and He was staring at the tomb of a man who had been like a brother to Him.” The pastor narrowed his eyes. “What did Jesus do? Did He look at them and tell them everything would be okay?”

Jamie wanted the end of the story so badly she could barely sit still. She squirmed and leaned forward a bit.

“No.” The pastor gave them a half smile. “Did He shout at them, yell at them, ask them where their faith was? Berate them for grieving when He'd promised them it would all work out in the end?” Pastor Ritchie shook his head. “No, Jesus did none of those things. Do you know what He did?”

Jamie had no idea.

“He cried.” The pastor's voice dropped a notch. “He wept right alongside them.” Pastor Ritchie held up a Bible, and the man had tears in his eyes. “Sometimes I think John 11:35 is my favorite verse in the whole book. Because it tells us Jesus cares. If we cry, He cries. No question about it.”

The pastor began to pace again and wrapped up his sermon. “The truth was, Jesus had it all figured out that day. He shouted at the tomb and ordered his dead friend to come out, and that's exactly what Lazarus did.” Pastor Ritchie smiled bigger than before. “And everything worked out just as it was supposed to.” He cast a look in Jake's direction. “But that didn't mean death would stop dancing on our earthly days. Since the snake entered the garden, it has done that, and it always will.” He gave a shake of his head. “Rather … the story of Jesus and Lazarus is a prototype, an illustration that with Christ, death will not have the last dance. Not ever.”

He took a few more steps, stopped, and faced them again. “Those of us in Staten Island lost seventy-eight firefighters on September 11. Some of you here today worked with or lived among those fallen heroes. Others of you lost family and friends who worked in the World Trade Center.”

He paused, and across the church, Jamie could hear the muffled sound of several people sniffing or reaching for tissues. Tears filled her own eyes as the pastor continued.

“God's message for you this morning isn't that everything will be okay here on earth, because it won't. The rotten, sorrowful smell of death is still too strong among us for me to tell you anything but the truth.” He held up a single finger. “But death will not have the last say. For those who believe in Jesus—in a God who would cry alongside you—death will never have the last word. And that, dear friends, is the hope we can take home with us. Hope that comes packaged in that very special story about Mary, Martha, and Lazarus.”

He was finished speaking, and he asked them to close their eyes, bow their heads, and pray. “Every Sunday I do my best to give you a glimpse of Jesus, a picture of the man that He was, the God that He is. And each week I give you the same chance I give you today. The most important decision you'll ever make is what to do with Jesus Christ. Today, right here, you can decide to have a friendship with Jesus, a relationship with the One who weeps alongside you in all your pain, the One who knows that if only you'd take His hand, everything really will work out in the end.”

Jamie's heartbeat doubled, and her defenses dropped like so many autumn leaves. She'd never thought about God that way, never imagined Him as a friend who cried with her and cared for her. It was all she could do to remember that she wasn't a believer, that this information was fine for people like Jake, but not for her. Not when God had taken her parents so swiftly and surely; not when He'd robbed Jake of his best friend and allowed the deaths of so many innocent people. She blinked and tried to focus.

“Others of you have been believers for a long time, but you need a chance to recommit, a chance to tell God yes all over again. Yes you believe, yes, you want Him to lead your life from this point on. Yes, you want to know your eternity is safe with Him.” Pastor Ritchie's voice was filled with concern. “If you fit into either of these categories this morning, please—right now while everyone has their eyes closed—raise your hand.” He waited for a minute. “Okay, I see you over there. And you near the side.”

Jamie felt a subtle movement beside her, and she opened her eyes just a crack. Jake's hand was high in the air, and watery streams made their way down either side of his face. The image of her husband weeping, his hand high in the air, seized Jamie's heart and shot it into her throat. She had the sudden urge to join him, to raise her hand and say yes to a God who would stand by her and cry with her.

If only she could believe.

Instead, she tucked her free hand beneath her leg and gritted her teeth. A God like that wouldn't want her, anyway. Not after she'd spent so many years rejecting Him, dismissing Him, and refusing to believe He even existed.

Pastor Ritchie's voice interrupted her thoughts. “If you're one who has your hand raised, why don't you come down here to the front. We have people who want to pray with you, help you nail down what a relationship with God actually looks like.”

Jake stood, and Jamie could feel his good leg shaking. He tapped her on the shoulder and motioned for her to come with him, but this time she shook her head. She couldn't go, couldn't venture into a place where people were doing the one thing that had terrified her all her life—putting their stock in a God who allowed bad things to happen.

An older man with a name tag pinned to his shirt appeared at the end of their pew. He held out his hand, and Jake went to him. He turned back just once and gave her a final sad look. Then he met up with the man, and together they moved slowly down the aisle until Jake disappeared through a door to the right of the stage.

After the service Jake found her back at the pew, and the moment Jamie's eyes met his, she began to shake. He no longer had that vacant, uncertain look she'd come to expect. Instead, his eyes glowed with a love and depth that Jamie hadn't realized was missing until now. It was a look that had always set Jake apart, a look that gave people a glimpse of his soul. The peace and joy Jamie saw there now made her wonder if a miracle had happened in the room, if maybe now that Jake had his faith in God back, he might've remembered everything else too.

It wasn't until after they'd picked up Sierra and made their way out to the beach that Jake shared his thoughts about what had happened back at church. They'd brought folding chairs and they set them up on the sand. Sierra took a shovel and pail and set about building a castle closer to the shore.

“Why didn't you come with me?” He gazed out at the harbor, his voice more curious than hurt. The breeze had picked up, but the afternoon was still warmer than usual for October.

“I couldn't.” She exhaled hard and watched Sierra, the simple joy written across her face. “It wouldn't be right. Not when I don't believe.” She cast him a quick glance. “Surely you know that much, at least, Jake. Doesn't your journal tell you how I feel about God and church?” He reached over and took her hand in his, and Jamie silently celebrated. The familiar gesture was becoming natural again. For a long time he was silent, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand.