Perfect Match (50 page)

There was a sprinkling of muffled laughter.

She paused as her eyes rested upon the congregation.

“I had prepared to bring you messages from the bravery of
Joshua, the fearfulness of Gideon, or the faithfulness of Ruth, but they
weren’t working out. I prayed and mediated and I kept getting the same answer
for today’s sermon…The F Word. So, if the F-word bombs this morning, then I
guess The Lord and I will have to find another place.”

There were a few nervous faces in the packed church.

“I realize that we have a mixed congregation of young and
older, women and men, but I want every person to hear the F-word loud and
clear. If you’re under age 18 do not close your ears, and if you’re over the
age of 18 do not close your ears.

“I know the F-word makes many of us feel uncomfortable, and
yes at times very embarrassed just thinking about the word. And even worse when
we feel forced to do the F-word. Often we’re repulsed by it. And yet…now get
this…each one of us said the F-word a few minutes ago. It is the twenty-ninth,
and thirty-seventh words in the Lord ’s Prayer that we pray during every
service. The F-word is forgive or forgiveness.”

There was a slight stirring of relief in the congregation,
with smiles and a little laughter.

Ramona looked surprised, and said, “Oh, I see, some of you
were thinking of the other F-word. Oh, my!” And then she smiled.

“I assure you the F-words, forgive or forgiveness, are much
more exciting words, and if you get involved with them, your life will be
turned upside down.”

Her left hand picked up her small red leather-bound Holy
Bible, held it up as seven different colored ribbons streamed from the binding,
and as she took the steps down from the pulpit, through the opening in the
altar, she said, “Let me get closer to you, and tell you some things about
forgiveness.”

She alternated walking from the left of the sanctuary to the
right, sweeping the congregation with her eyes as she dipped into Old Testament
and New Testament scriptures, painting an image of humanities’ struggle with
forgiveness.

The people sat captivated as Ramona reeled off scriptures
detailing the difficulties mankind has had with forgiveness. She recited most
scriptures from memory as she walked up the two aisles of the church, even to
the back pews, tempting them with tantalizing tails of how forgiveness had
worked in the lives of biblical men and women.

Each time Ramona lifted another colored ribbon, they knew
they’d get another blast from the soul-shaking scriptures.

In wrapping up her sermon, she moved back to the front of
the altar. “You know by now that Jesus Christ is the master of forgiveness. He
has extended it so openly, so freely, and oh, so sacrificially, but He made it
crystal clear that he wants a forgiveness partnership with us. Listen to our
final scripture, this is Jesus speaking in Matthew 6:14-15 “For if you forgive
others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you
do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”

She paused a moment, looking out across the faces. The
congregants sat motionless.

“As you can see from scripture, when we refuse to forgive
others it creates a gridlock. We get all jammed up inside. It shuts off the
forgiveness channel for us. Our refusal to forgive others usually stems from
how another person has caused us some kind of hurt, either physically,
mentally, emotionally, even spiritually. And when we’re hurt, well, we’re hurt.
It’s painful. Most hurts will stop, go away or scar over in some way over time.
Even Jesus had scars.”

She gave the congregation a moment.

“But when we refuse to forgive others, it means we’re
clinging to the hurt that someone caused. We refuse to give up the hurt,
because as long as we hold on to the hurt, we can remain a victim, and we feel
justified in holding blame against our enemy, the offending party. And that
balances everything out doesn’t it?” She paused. “Wrong.”

Ramona walked slowly from the left to the right side of the
sanctuary, peering at the crowd, stretching her neck, as if looking for a
particular person. She came back to the center front, looking from side to
side. “I have a feeling that some of you are hurting this morning, and maybe,
just maybe you’ve caused some hurt for someone else. If that has happened to
you, I want you to get relief this morning.”

She turned and looked at the altar railing that ran across
the front. She turned back to the congregation. “The altar has always been
sacred to God. It has a long history down through the ages. It’s always been a
special gathering place for humanity, especially God’s people. We worship around
this altar.

“The altar is such a special place, but one day I began to
wonder if God thought we’d trash it up by bringing our troubles to it, but we
know Jesus wants us just as we are, troubles and all.

“Whoever you are, Italian, Polish, American Indian, black,
Hispanic, white, male, female, it doesn’t matter, if you’re hurting or you’ve
hurt someone, and you need to deal with this forgiveness gridlock, I want you
to join me at the altar. Spiritual renovations and redemption can begin at this
altar.

“You know in this church we don’t pressure or emotionalize
people into making spiritual decisions. God knows how to speak to your heart in
a special way. So we don’t feel that we need to yell at you.

“Our praise team is going to play some soothing music, so there’s
no rush. If you feel you can’t make it on your own down to the altar, or you’d
just like for someone to walk with you, raise your hand, and one of our
counselor-ushers will assist you, and if that doesn’t work for you, then I’ll
come to your seat.”

Ramona held up her Bible in her left hand, and beckoned with
her right hand, as the praise team began playing Just As I Am. From all over
the congregation people streamed toward the altar. Faces carried hurt, sadness,
confusion, and some had fresh tears. Ramona moved among them, touching their
arms, shoulders, speaking praises and comfort as they gathered and knelt.

The count would be 113. Madison had knelt at the end of the
altar on the left.

When Ramona was sure no one else was headed to the altar,
she said, “Let us pray.
Dear Jesus, we’ve brought you our burdens, just as
we are. We’re here because we know we need your help. We’re hurting or we’ve
hurt someone, or maybe both, but we know we need your healing and your help
with forgiveness. We either need it from you, from others, or we need to give
it to others. Help us sort it out, Lord. Give us the wisdom to know the right
thing, and give us the strength to do the right thing. As always we thank you
for your mercy, your grace, and your forgiveness. Amen
.”

As the people began returning to their seats, Ramona shut
off her mic as she spoke private words of encouragement to the few remaining
around the altar. Madison was still kneeling, head bowed. Ramona leaned over
and whispered, “You’re having a tough time with this. Meet me in my office
after the service. Let’s talk.”

Madison rose along with other stragglers returning to their
seats.

After Ramona gave the benediction, the praise band played
selections of upbeat music while the crowd made their way to their cars, and
off to Sunday lunch at the local restaurants scattered along the highways of
Asheville.

Madison was waiting in the reception outside Ramona’s
office, when she rounded the corner. “I’m so glad to see you. I need a hug from
one of Asheville’s most admired women.” Their embrace brought a smile to
Madison’s face.

“Come on in my study. Something to drink?” She placed her
Bible on the edge of her desk, and positioned two rocking chairs.

“Iced tea, if you’ve got it?” Madison took a seat.

From her small refrigerator, Ramona quickly poured tea into
glasses filled with ice, and took her seat. “Where’s Selena?”

“The hospital.”

Ramona looked puzzled. “Why didn’t I know about it?”

Madison stumbled through an explanation of everything that
had transpired beginning with Selena’s insistence to know and meet the donor of
her kidney. She confessed honestly the details of the blowup in Dr. Hertford’s
office.

Ramona, knowing things about Madison, Selena, and Roscoe
that they probably didn’t know or accept about each other, took her time
thinking about what to say. “Madison, someday would you like to see Jesus?”

“Well, yes. We all do.” She spread her hands.

“Why do you feel it’s necessary for you to meet Him one
day?”

“He…He did something for me. He saved my life.” She brushed
a strand of hair back.

Ramona paused. “That’s the reason Selena wanted to meet the
donor of her kidney. The donor saved her life. Remember, Selena has been closer
to death’s door than either one of us.”

Madison nodded, coming closer to understanding Selena.

Ramona, shook her glass of tea, clinking the ice cubes. She
took a long swallow. She smiled, “You like Roscoe, don’t you?” But Ramona’s
smile was not exactly angelic.

Madison, caught off guard, almost strangled mid-sip of tea.
She coughed and cleared her throat. “I’m not sure. I like what he did for
Selena, but—”

“Take Selena out of the picture. Just between you and
Roscoe, you like him, don’t you?

“Ramona? What kind of question is that? I thought we were
going to talk about forgiveness?”

“We are, but first I think it’s important for you to decide
if you like Roscoe. Do you?” She smiled.

Madison shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Would you like to know how to find out if you like him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know-w-w.” Edginess clung to her
response.

Ramona nodded her head. “There are some things we don’t want
to know, because when we know them, we might have to make changes in ourselves.
And that’s a big unknown for you.”

She continued. “But right now, you’ve got this huge elephant
in your living room called “unforgiven”, and you don’t know how to get rid of
it.”

Madison nodded.

Ramona studied her a moment. “Forgiveness is not always as
neat and clean as presented from the pulpits of churches.” She took a deep
breath, and continued. “As you know I’m a former prostitute from a town in
northwest Tennessee. One night I was caught by the wife of the man who I was
fucking in the back seat of his car. I knew he was married, but I didn’t care.
I was being paid and I was high on alcohol and drugs. Later I was caught, by
another wife, screwing her husband in their bed. I laughed at her also, even
though she hit me with a golf club several times before I could get out of the
house.” She pulled back her thick hair, revealing a scar.

Madison had stiffened at Ramona’s use of the other “F” word.

Ramona smiled sadly. “Madison, I’m telling you like it was.
I was an animal back then. There was no love in what I was doing. It’s okay for
you to know the kind of woman I used to be.”

Madison nodded.

Ramona took a swallow of tea. “For the rest of that night I
hit some of the trendy bars, and ended up pulling into a darkened parking lot,
and fell asleep. I awoke the next morning, when two men and two women were
smiling, as they tapped on my windshield. I was in pretty rough shape,
disoriented. They coaxed me out of the car and I stumbled with them into this
tiny little country church, a United Mission Church.

“They were the kindest people, as they gave me two donuts
and hot coffee. The women took me to the restroom and cleaned up my face with a
washcloth. They put a couple Band-Aids on my head and arm where I’d gotten hit.

“They didn’t pressure me, but they asked me if I would sit
with them in the church service. Told me I’d enjoy the sermon, and they’d take
me to lunch afterwards.” Ramona chuckled. “Needless to say they’d caught me at
a weak moment with a hangover, and they’d won me over with their kindness. I
stayed, but kept having an urge to bolt back to my car.

“The preacher was a kindly gentleman with an honest smile,
and messy white hair. He preached on
Loving Sinners
. He gave different
occurrences in scripture of how Jesus loved all kinds of people, just as they
were. He described the compassion Jesus had for the adulterous woman he met one
day. As I sat there, listening, the idea that there was a Jesus who could love
a woman like me was the most inviting thought I’d ever had.

“When the preacher gave the invitation for any who wanted to
commit their life to Jesus Christ, I ambled down to that altar, along with
three other people. My head was still throbbing and my heart was breaking. I
was dressed then as I am today. Snug jeans and white cotton shirt. That’s what
I wore when I was on the streets prostituting for the devil. Same outfit, but
now I preach for my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.”

Ramona took another sip of tea.

“But all of that was the easy part.”

Madison looked puzzled.

“The hard part came when I finished seminary a few years
later and received my first assignment to pastor a small church on the
outskirts of the town where I’d been a prostitute. The first Sunday I preached
I recognized the two wives in the congregation. I’m not sure how I got through
that sermon, because my distracted mind was desperately praying that the Lord
would please let me ascend into Heaven, because I knew I was already in Hell
with those two women in the congregation. The Lord must have been on a lunch
break, because He didn’t grant my prayer. I was scared to death.”

Madison smiled. “Serves you right.”

Ramona laughed. “Yes, indeed. As I greeted the congregation
leaving, I asked each woman if I could meet with them, one after the service,
and the other on Monday morning. They didn’t know each other to the extent that
I’d been with each of their husbands. One recognized me, but the other didn’t.