That dark night at the underground Confiteri open-mic night was three years behind Mark.
He returned many times to continue his process of coming true before that room of strangers. Because of its secret entrance, passwords and privacy, Mark and Nathan called it the “SpeakEasy” and seemed to chuckle every time at the irony of the name.
Those dozen or so trips had transformed Mark. Bringing his inner life into the light had giving him freedom. Unfortunately though, freedom can be addictive and his new found honesty had leaked into his pulpit.
Within six months, his denomination swooped in and “encouraged” him to “voluntarily” step down. We don’t need a scandal.
From the shadows another took his place. Now they talk amongst themselves how they never bought his words.
Under new leadership (buoyed by the release of a bestselling book) the church rapidly grew.
The denomination was happy. All had been put right.
And Mark was forgotten and scrubbed from their hearts.
Here Mark sat. Many months later.
In his taupe cell, at his industrial desk, face illumined by the monitor screen, his feet exposed in front of his ergonomically designed office chair. Forty hours a week now spent in one of those chrome and glass buildings along the new southeast riverfront. His view was a wall. He of course rarely saw the river. Those offices were reserved for the worthy.
It was a Friday. The clock seemed to move backwards. Mark clicked mindlessly through client files and matching financial docs. Eyelids heavy.
His phone rattled on the cold desktop.
He flipped it over.
Mark blinked twice at the name.
It said Judah.
Judah had been one of the elders at his former church (much to his dismay) and presumably was still holding his place of authority. He was younger than Mark by a few years, wicked smart and irrepressibly confident. There had been no one over his years as a pastor who had been quicker to point out Mark’s smallest missteps or flaws than Judah.
They hadn’t laid eyes on each other since Mark had ”moved on.”
And yet, here he sat, his screen aglow.
Please come to church this Sunday. I would like you to be there.
Mark snapped up the phone and in one motion tapped on Judah’s name and hit “call.”
The phone rang only once.
“Hello.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are? Let me guess, some famous speaker or writer or some other bullshit is happening on Sunday and you want to show off how successful the church has become. Am I right? You need to remove me from whatever bullshit marketing phone list you have me on and save it for people who are looking to be impressed. I don’t give a fuck about you and your newly “famous” church.”
“No phone list. Just you. I only wrote you.”
“Oh,” Mark calmed himself, “I don’t… I mean… I’m a bit lost here. What’s going on?”
“The other elders are bringing me before the congregation under church discipline and I wanted you to be there.”
“Discipline? What? What happened? I mean… Hell. Why me?”
“I am sitting here trying to get my head around all this and when I try to think of the people that I trust and who I think can handle all this… the list gets short real fast. I don’t know… I thought of you.”
Then neither of the men seemed to know what to say. After the longest of pauses, Judah said, “Would you please come. You don’t have to come to all three services. Just one. I would like to have a few faces that won’t make me feel like I’m in a horror movie.”
Pause.
“I’ll be there.”
Mark hadn’t been inside the round worship center with the rack-of-lamb rafters since his redoubtable replacement had eclipsed his memory.
He took a seat in the balcony, along the railing off to the side, trying hard to enter anonymously and sit in the shadows (he still knew all the side doors and unused stairways.)
The music team took the stage and called the room to stand and rejoice. Clapping was encouraged and “spontaneous” cries of delight and adulation could be heard throughout the songfest.
Maybe they changed their mind? Maybe I got the date wrong. Maybe Judah was shitting me after all.
The “celebration” ended, announcements were read and displayed on the screen above the stage, and then the lights dimmed. The elders rose and ascended the stage’s four stairs. From gaunt to rotund, these middle-aged white men of financial means stood resolute.
Mark’s regal successor then rose from his velvet chair at the back corner and trudged timidly to the pulpit. “Friends, the Elders are here to exercise their authority in this place. I pray that you will listen with patience and graciousness. I pray that compassion fills your heart.” Then he raised his head for the first time and scanned the room. “With that, let us turn to God’s appointed leaders.”
And then it began.
Judah was called forth from the wings where he had been standing in the shadows. He was told to stand at center stage front. Mark watched him move, making eye contact with no one, his hands folded in front of him like a prisoner being led to the courtroom.
The discipline began.
Judah was asked to take a knee.
The room, full of hundreds of souls, was as quiet as a morgue. Some mouths actually hung agape. Mark sat frozen, leaning forward, his nose resting on the metal railing of the balcony.
Each elder took a turn. They stood behind Judah. A scripture was read. The indictment was itemized. The story was told. And at the end of each reluctant rebuke, each elder looked across the room and asked, “Can I get an Amen?” To which the hundreds in attendance echoed without hesitation a reverberating, “Amen!”
“Can I get an Amen?”
“Amen!”
“Can I get an Amen?”
“Amen!”
“Can I get an Amen?”
“Amen!”
Judah’s sin was unfaithfulness. That was the word they used, “unfaithfulness.” The scriptures that were read spoke of the importance of church discipline and the need to “put the unfaithful outside the community.”
The monologues were spiritualized and vague. As best as Mark could discern, it appeared that Judah had been on a downward spiral for some time. His faith had weakened and so had his marriage. Flirtations with infidelity had crept in. One thing was clear, Judah, as an elder, had betrayed the flock.
At the conclusion, all the elders placed their hands on Judah’s shoulders. Through cracking voices and strained speech, they prayed over him. They prayed for his soul. They prayed for his salvation. They prayed that Judah would repent, return to the path and be restored to his spiritual family.
Then they released. Judah was asked to stand, the indentations from his knees still visible in the plush carpet and escorted him back into the shadows. That was the last time most of those men would ever speak to Judah or acknowledge his years of service… or friendship.
Mark’s cheeks were streaked with tears.
The pastor rose again from his velvet chair and took his place at the pulpit.
“These are sober happenings,” he declared and asked for an “Amen,” which was returned to him from all present.
“These elders have exercised their authority as they believe is necessary for the protection of the flock and to that end, I have no right to disagree.” He took a beat to look each elder in the eye, where they sat in the front row, nominally enlightened by the halo of the stage’s lights.
“I do want to clarify… we must all pray for the restoration of Judah’s marriage but if flirtations are a crime, God help us all. Let it be known, the real reason the elders brought him before you is he simply doesn’t believe anymore. In ancient times this was called apostasy. While I love Judah deeply, he and I do not agree about several tenets of our creed. That is the truth… and you should know that the elders feel betrayed. They feel lied to. They feel like one of their own has strayed and that is why all this happened before you today.”
The pastor stopped. He removed a handkerchief and dabbed his forehead and neck. He took a long draught of water.
“When I went to seminary, I can remember my theology professor standing before the room and denouncing the sin of apostasy. He projected a dozen passages, testaments old and new, and ended with these words from Hebrews 6:
For it is impossible, in the case of those who have once been enlightened, who have tasted the heavenly gift, and have shared in the Holy Spirit, and have tasted the goodness of the word of God and the powers of the age to come, and then have fallen away, to restore them again to repentance, since they are crucifying once again the Son of God to their own harm and holding him up to contempt.
His eyes strained against the spotlights to see if his words were getting through.
Mark didn’t move, nor did the rest.
“Can I get an Amen?”
“Amen.”
He took one last sip of water.
“In my mind’s eye, I can still see those dozen passages projected above my professor’s podium. Do you know what I also remember?” Long pause. “I also remember the day that same professor taught us that the Bible has 2100 passages about the poor… not a dozen, 2100! Verses about God’s heart for the poor… about our responsibility to the poor… to love the poor… to be with the poor… to share God’s heart for the poor… to let the poor show us the kingdom way. That the way of Jesus cannot exist apart from the poor. Can I get an Amen?”
The response this time was restrained. The pastor nodded with understanding
“So I have some questions for you, congregation… When was the last time you stopped and gave an unhoused person a portion of your day, to hear their story, to share a bit of your life and to treat them like a neighbor? When was the last time you gave more than a trifle of your income to those less fortunate than you? When was the last time you opened your home to someone who needed a roof? When was the last time you saw a hurting person beside the road, bandaged them up and took them to an inn and paid for their care? When was the last time you looked into the eyes of the least of these and experienced the gaze of Jesus? For as much as you have done it to the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me.”
There were no more amens.
“I hear the silence.” He nodded slowly and deliberately. “I can’t speak for you, congregation, I can’t… but I can certainly speak for myself. My answer is ‘no.’ My answer is ‘It has been a long time if ever.’ I can’t tell you the last time I have given my day to a hurting person on the street. I, for one, have not given more than a token of my income. I have not opened my home. I have not let Jesus meet me through my least-of-these neighbors.” He took an audible inhale and exhale. “I am guilty of the sin of unfaithfulness. God have mercy.”
He pulled the microphone from its holder atop the pulpit. He walked to the middle of the stage and placed his knees in the divots Judah had left behind.
With his head bowed, he said, “My name is Pastor David, I am guilty of unfaithfulness.”
He paused then continued, “I ask the elders to return to the stage and place me under church discipline. I ask you to remove me from my office as pastor until I have repented and returned to submission to God and the scriptures.”
He looked up and saw that no one had moved. “Come. I’m not kidding. In this church, full of amens— and I heard your amens— if this is a church of discipline let it begin with me…”
The elders slowly rose, looking back and forth at one anther with shrugging shoulders and bewildered faces.
Mark could not believe what he was seeing.
David’s last words were, “Congregation, if you would like to join me please come forward and repent and may we all pray for the salvation of our souls.”
The foundation of the old church shifted as every soul stood in unison.
Thank you again for sharing your heart. It is a great gift! Don't stop!
Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy upon me a sinner. Thank you for writing