Stand by Me (38 page)

A murmur rippled through the people gathered in the chairs, some heads nodding, others shaking, many whispering. “Sure would save some money in the budget,” someone cracked on the other side of the room. A few people laughed nervously. A few others said, “Amen.”

Pastor Cobbs pursed his lips a long moment before speaking. “As I shared on Sunday, I feel this church benefits from a plurality of leadership, because of the nature of this church. We are not a homogeneous church. We have a diversity of races, cultures, colors, ages—which is God's blessing, amen?”

More
amens
peppered the room.

“So I believe we would do well to continue with a plurality of leadership, even though we can't represent every one of our Heinz 57 varieties.”

More chuckles.

“Pastor?” Another hand shot up.

“Yes, Elder David.”

Now Avis did turn her head. David Brown stood up, thick glasses hiding his eyes. “I agree with you, Pastor, about needing a plurality of leadership, given our, um, mixed membership.” He swept a hand to indicate the people in the room. “But just to be clear . . . what you're saying is, the copastor we would be looking for should be, uh, Caucasian—to be an integrated team like you and Pastor Clark.”

More murmurings. Avis felt her neck and shoulders tensing. Pastor Clark held up his hand and waited until the room quieted. “If God sends us a white pastor with a heart for unity amid our diversity, praise God. But no, I didn't say that specifically. God might send us an Hispanic pastor, or Asian . . . I don't want to limit what God wants to do.”

“But to be realistic,” David Brown continued, “our congregation is mostly blacks and whites. And since you already represent the African-Americans here—”

“Excuse me, Brother David. A correction.” Denny Baxter stood up, looking for all the world like a former football player, square jaw on a thick neck, All-American good looks, graying hair, dimples in his cheeks. “I'm not African-American, but Pastor Cobbs represents
me
. I believe both he and Pastor Clark were pastors for all of us.”

Clapping erupted around the room. Avis didn't move. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the door open and Kathryn Davies slip into the room, finding a seat beside Nick and Olivia toward the back.

Pastor Cobbs cleared his throat. He'd lost his buoyant look. “Thank you, Brother Denny. That is certainly my heart. Brother David, I'm not sure what your point is. Can you clarify what you're trying to say?”

David Brown stood his ground. “All I'm saying is, if in the long run we want to hire a pastor to represent the diversity among us, I'm a bit confused at the present proposal for interim leadership . . .”

“Here we go,” Peter muttered. He gripped her hand.

Chapter 35

D
avid Brown's voice was Mr. Congeniality. “With all due respect to the Douglasses, who are five-star members here at SouledOut—”

Avis winced.
Doesn't he realize how sarcastic that sounds?

“—that would make our interim leadership team unbalanced racially. Three black leaders. Surely there are some white folks in the congregation who could fill Pastor Clark's shoes until we find a more permanent pastor—sorry—copastor, I mean.”

Some heads were nodding. Pastor Cobbs seemed to be weighing his next words carefully. “Well, this
is
a meeting for congregational input. We could certainly put some more names on the ballot if you'd like. But I wanted to avoid making this a popularity contest or a bidding war—which is why I proposed only one set of names to share the position.”

“Absolutely. But it might be a relief to the Douglasses to know this isn't riding on their shoulders alone. They are busy people, we all know, and already carry a lot of responsibility . . .”

Irritation crawled up Avis's spine. How dare he pretend to speak for them—without even talking to them about it?

“. . . but right here in our congregation, we have a young man who will soon graduate from seminary, who needs an internship in a local church to finish his studies. I'd like to nominate Nick Taylor for our interim leadership team.” Smiling broadly, David Brown swept a hand toward where Nick sat with Kathryn and Olivia.

Nick's head jerked up, startled. “What? Oh no, that's not—”

Kathryn waved her hand. “I second the motion!” Then she turned to Nick. “You
do
need an internship, Nick. And you said you'd love to do it here.”

“Excuse me.” Sherman Meeks stood again. “With all due respect to the young man, he's only been here a couple of months and he isn't a member, whereas the Douglasses are seasoned members, with a lot of experience in this church.”

“An' nonmembers can't second the motion or vote neither.” Florida Hickman eyed Kathryn deliberately. The girl reddened.

“Sisters and brothers!” Pastor Cobbs's voice took a sharp tone. “We are out of order here! These are not decisions to argue about or to make lightly.” He seemed to study the congregation, his eyes sweeping to and fro. Then he closed his eyes and lifted a hand. “I would like everyone to be quiet and just pray for a few minutes. We need to wait on the Lord.”

Shaken, Avis squeezed her eyes shut. Hadn't the elders agreed among themselves with putting the pastor's proposal for interim leadership to the congregation? Why was David Brown challenging it now? Challenging her and Peter, to be blunt about it.

Unfortunately, she had a good idea. His wife. Mary had been talking to him, telling him to speak up before it was too late and the church ended up “too black.” And Kathryn just added to the confusion! Though . . . she was probably just sticking up for her friend, jumping in half-baked, not realizing how it impacted them.

Lord, help us
. Avis's jumbled thoughts became half prayers.
Lord, am I willing to give up the idea of being an interim pastor? Well,
yes . . . I was happy being just a worship leader before this even came up!
So why do I feel resentful about David Brown's challenge? Oh God! Help
me not to give in to resentment. Help me not to make Mary and David
Brown my enemies. You said to love our enemies, Lord. Help me to—

“We wait for You, Lord, to show us the way. Amen.” Pastor Cobbs's voice broke into her thought-prayers. “Brothers and sisters, it's clear to me that we are not in a position to move forward tonight. And that's all right. To move forward in unity takes time. So I'd like to resume this congregational meeting in two weeks, same time, to consider two things: our interim leadership, and nominations for a pastoral search committee. If you have names to suggest for either, please send them to me or one of the elders personally by the end of next week, so the elders and I can consider them and present a slate to all of you. Are there any announcements or other business that we should attend to right now? If not, Elder Debra Meeks, would you close us out in prayer?”

Avis and Peter slipped out from the meeting as quickly as they could. Peter was tight-lipped all the way home. Parking the Lexus in the garage, he finally slammed a hand on the steering wheel. “Fine. Let them put this boy in Pastor Clark's place. He's got the main thing going for him—he's
white
.”

Avis was startled out of her own struggling thoughts. “Peter! It's not Nick's fault. You said yourself he's a nice kid. You were impressed with him. David Brown is just . . . just
using
him to get at us. Or maybe not us personally . . . I don't know. Whatever's going on, it's not Nick's fault.”

Peter snorted. “Yeah, well . . .” He got out of the car, slammed the door, and stalked up the outdoor back stairs of the three-flat.

Avis followed. Peter had already flopped down in front of the TV news when she came in the back door. But she had no sooner put on some water to boil, hoping to brew some herbal tea to calm their nerves, when she heard a knock at the door. The TV volume jacked up louder.
Hm
. Peter obviously wasn't going to get the door.

Nick Taylor stood in the hallway. “Mrs. Douglass, I—”

“Come in, Nick . . . Peter?” she called over her shoulder. “It's Nick.”

Nick stepped just inside the door and Peter, put on the spot, turned the TV down and appeared at her side. “Nick,” he acknowledged.

“Mr. and Mrs. Douglass . . .” Nick took off his baseball cap, twisting it in his hands. “I want you to know I had nothing to do with Mr. Brown putting my name out there. I think the two of you would make a wonderful interim pastoral team, and if I were a member, I'd vote for you. Twice!”

Peter let a wry grin slip. “Yeah, that's what good Chicagoans do. Vote early and often.” He glanced at Avis, chewed his lip a moment, and then sighed. “It's all right, Nick. It'll all work out. Actually, I remember you said something last Saturday night about needing to do a pastoral internship to complete your studies. You're hoping to do that at SouledOut?”

Nick looked distressed. “That was before Pastor Clark died. I'd thought about asking the pastors about it—but then everything changed. And I know this church needs more than an intern now, especially someone who has no experience yet—like me. So I gave up that idea. I don't know how Mr. Brown found out.”

Peter nodded. “Don't worry about it, son. Thanks for coming up.” He stuck out his hand. “Don't know how God's going to work this all out, but . . .”

Nick shook Peter's hand, then Avis's hand, and scurried back downstairs. Avis closed the door and raised her eyebrows at Peter.

“Okay, okay.” He made a face. “You're right. It's not his fault. Just . . . makes it complicated, is all.”

Complicated
. . . That was the truth. Avis had no idea what was going to happen next at SouledOut.

Avis pushed the uncertainty to the back of her mind the next few days so she could focus on ending school well in spite of muggy temperatures pushing into the nineties. The end-of-year assembly to which parents had been invited took place the following afternoon, and she had to smile as her “tame the bully” strategy unfolded before her eyes. Derrick Blue, chin up, grinning, wearing a white shirt and bolo tie, his usually shaggy hair slicked and combed to the side, marched down one aisle of the auditorium carrying the American flag, and little Sammy Blumenthal—white shirt, bow tie, yarmulke clipped to his hair—marched down the other carrying the Illinois flag.

Neither of Derrick's parents showed up though.
Lord, give
Derrick a glimpse of his worth in spite of his family situation
, she breathed. She made sure to congratulate him and tell him how handsome he looked all dressed up.

Avis stayed late at school Thursday night as teachers turned in final grades and report cards, and she was back early Friday morning to make sure the hour-long “day” moved like clockwork. And it would have, too, except that a deafening clap of thunder drowned out the final bell at ten o'clock and rain poured from the sky. Antsy students eager to leave were diverted into the auditorium where parents could pick them up; students riding buses were held until a break in the rain, and in general the whole process took twice as long.

And no one came to pick up Derrick Blue, even though the thunderstorm passed and the sun poked out. But Sammy Blumenthal plucked at his daddy's coat sleeve and whispered in his ear. Mr. Blumenthal—bearded, wearing a black wide-brim hat, the fringe of a prayer shawl peeking out from beneath his black coat—spoke to Avis in a solemn voice. “We can take the young man home. If there's no one there, he can play with Sammy until someone gets home. Is that all right?”