Avis poked her head into the church kitchen. Several women were bagging up leftovers from the repast and setting them in the pass-through window that opened into the main room for families to take home. True to her threat, Jodi Baxter had rounded up a crew of men who either had their arms in sudsy water up to their elbows or were whipping dishes into the cabinets as fast as they were dried—including her husband, Denny, his tie loosened, shirtsleeves rolled up, and a big white dish towel tied around his waist.
“Need some help in here?” Avis truly hoped the answer was no, but thought it was the polite thing to ask.
“Ha!” Jodi swept an arm at the dish crew. “Put an athletic coach, an engineer, and a marketing manager in charge of the dishes, and what we have here is the most organized cleanup SouledOut has ever seen!”
Denny Baxter winked at Avis. “You bet. Better skedaddle or you just might get caught in a cog, get baptized in this soapy water, and—”
Jodi whacked him with a dish towel. “Oh, stop. Avis, we’re fine. You go on. Tell Peter the program looked great. That picture of Pastor Clark on the front was perfect!”
Avis smiled and backed out of the kitchen. The picture was wonderful—a candid shot of Pastor Clark laughing, surrounded by some of the younger kids, including little Gracie Baxter, who had her arms wrapped around one of his pant legs.
Jodi poked her head out the kitchen door. “Wasn’t it fantastic that Sabrina McGill went up for prayer when Pastor Cobbs gave the invitation? I know Precious is thrilled—and I’m sure Gabby Fairbanks is happy too.”
Avis smiled. Precious McGill and her teenage daughter, Sabrina, had been some of the first residents at the House of Hope. “Sabrina’s graduating this June, right? Pretty amazing for a teen mom with a one-year-old.”
Jodi laughed. “That’s God for you! Oh—you’re next on the list to host Yada Yada tomorrow night. You good?”
Now Avis winced. She’d forgotten it was her turn. It wasn’t that she minded hosting her Yada Yada sisters. They all took turns having their every-other-Sunday prayer meeting at different homes. Just . . . not this week. Not with The Big Decision still hanging over her head. Not with the students right downstairs. She had some things to bring up for prayer and didn’t want any “surprise visitors” knocking at the door.
“I’m hosting in two weeks,” Jodi said. “You want to trade? I don’t mind.”
Avis nodded in relief. “You, my sister, are the best. I’ll host in two weeks, I promise.” She gave Jodi a hug and headed back to the main room.
Most of the congregation except the cleanup crew had left. There was no burial to attend. The funeral home staff had loaded the casket into the hearse right after the service and driven to O’Hare Airport. Pastor Clark’s brother was paying to take the body back to Washington State for burial, where the Clarks had a family plot.
“Ready?” Peter had her purse and Bible. They waved a few more good-byes and walked out to Peter’s Lexus in the parking lot. She’d be glad to get out of her dress and heels and do nothing the rest of the day. It had been a beautiful memorial service, but she felt drained.
When they got to the car, Peter said, “Say, would you be open to going somewhere for coffee? Maybe the No Exit Café over by the tracks. I’d like to talk.”
Avis almost laughed. So much for kicking off her heels. She knew better than to suggest they go home and change first. Once in, there was no way she’d want to go out again. She shrugged. “Sure, fine. The No Exit is kind of funky, but . . . okay.”
Funky was right. Even funkier than she remembered. A room that looked like a throwback to the sixties, deliberately unfashionable. An odd assortment of chairs, some comfortable, some not. Tables of various sizes. A stage that often featured music artists and even Broadway plays done by local theater groups on evenings and weekends to rave reviews. Avis definitely felt overdressed as she looked around the room at the clientele and staff in various versions of shredded jeans.
But a table in the back corner gave them a modicum of privacy and the coffee was first-rate. She relaxed. This was good. Back home, she’d probably have felt obligated to do a load of laundry or clean the bathroom. Normal Saturday chores that hadn’t been done yet—and maybe wouldn’t get done at this rate.
She eyed her husband over the rim of her coffee cup. Still a good-looking man for his age. Smart mustache. An impeccable dresser. Rich, dark skin, like Colombian roast coffee. A trim haircut with only a touch of silver sprouting along the sides. But at the moment he was frowning.
“Earth to Peter . . . what are you thinking?”
“Oh. Just about the girl downstairs—Kathryn. She was pretty shook up this morning. Kind of surprised me, since she didn’t know Pastor Clark all that well.”
“Yes. Surprised me too. Strange girl.” Very strange. The plastic bag of slightly moldy vegetables they’d found hanging on their doorknob a few nights ago—from a Dumpster, no doubt—had to be her work. Like a cat bringing a dead mouse and leaving it as a “gift” for her people. Avis had quietly thrown the whole bag out.
She tipped her head at her husband. “Is . . . that what you wanted to talk about?”
“No, no.” He was quiet a long moment. “The service today did something to me—in here.” Peter tapped his chest. “Made me think about the void Pastor Clark leaves in our congregation—which is kind of funny, when you think of it. He was way past retirement age, an old geezer to be sure. An old white geezer at that. Not many preachers I know—white or black—have the kind of personality to share the pulpit. At least, the church I grew up in only had one pastor and he was a one-man show. Feel free to read between the lines.”
Avis had to laugh. She definitely could read between the lines.
“But somehow Pastor Clark and Pastor Cobbs did it. Our two churches merged, and they made a team. And now Pastor is asking us to help fill in for the team. I’m beginning to realize what a big deal that is. I mean, it would be so easy for Joe to simply take Pastor Clark’s death as a natural opportunity to go back to a one-man pulpit. No disrespect intended. But he’s asking for help, to keep the team mind-set alive and well from day one.”
Avis nodded slowly. She hadn’t looked at it like that, but it rang true. “And . . . ?” She had an idea what was coming.
Her husband shrugged. “I don’t know. Somehow, right in the middle of the service, I quit struggling. It just seemed right to say yes to Pastor Cobbs’s proposal. If you’re willing, I mean. Because it would have to be both of us.” He laughed in self-deprecation. “No way could just one person fill those big ol’ size fourteen shoes Pastor Clark used to wear!”
Avis and Peter got on the speakerphone and called Pastor Cobbs that afternoon. He was delighted with their decision. “And what about the Sisulu-Smiths’ invitation?” he asked bluntly. “Can you be at peace putting that on the shelf indefinitely?”
As Peter responded, Avis realized it hadn’t been that hard for her. She’d been theoretically open to the idea all along, but as long as Rochelle and Conny were “missing”—or at least incommunicado—she hadn’t been able to fully embrace the idea of leaving the country, even for a few weeks. In fact, Pastor Cobbs’s proposal had given her a worthy excuse to lay it aside: they were needed here.
“. . . so we’ll write Nony and Mark and tell them it’s not possible right now,” Peter was saying. “But you did use the word interim, right? Until the church calls another pastor for the team.”
Pastor Cobbs chuckled. “I hear you. Yes, temporarily standing in the gap. But I have to be honest, sometimes calling a new pastor can take a year or more. Especially for a church like ours, which is called to embody the diversity within the body of Christ. We need leaders who are not only excited about that vision but see it as essential for the health of the church today.” He could be heard chuckling again. “Some experience in a multicultural church would be nice too. Brother Hubert and I had to learn on the job.”
They talked a bit about various responsibilities, but Pastor Cobbs put a longer discussion on hold. Right now he wanted to call the other elders, let them consider the proposal overnight, and meet before worship to see if this could be a unanimous decision. “You’re excused from that meeting, Peter, since you and Avis are the topic under consideration. But the sooner we do this, the better. Lord Jesus!” Without skipping a beat, Pastor Cobbs launched into a prayer. “I thank You for this brother and sister, putting aside their own desires and stepping up to the plate when their church calls . . .”
Avis had been on the schedule to lead worship the next morning—the first day of June—but Justin Barnes had called a few days ago and said he’d gladly take her place since Avis had covered for him the previous Sunday. She was relieved, since she’d also led worship for the memorial service.
Jodi Baxter pulled her aside as she and Peter arrived at SouledOut a few minutes before nine thirty. “Denny told me Pastor Cobbs shared the proposal with the elders this morning,” she whispered. “Just want you to know we both support you one hundred percent. Whatever else happens.”
Avis gave her a funny look. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing. It’s going to be fine.” With a quick hug Jodi headed for the front door to steal her granddaughter, Gracie, who was just coming in with Josh and Edesa.
A few minutes later Justin was giving the call to worship from the mike, and the praise team had everyone on their feet with songs of praise and worship. As the words flowed through her spirit, Avis found herself praying for young Sabrina, already a single mom, with so many challenges ahead—but now she had Jesus. Oh Lord, give her wisdom! Guide her along the way. And praying for her daughters—Charette and her family in Ohio, the twins growing so fast . . . Natasha working in a government office in Washington, D.C., . . . and Rochelle.
Oh God, where’s Rochelle? Bring her back to me, please. Jesus, please protect little Conny. I don’t know where they are, don’t know why Rochelle hasn’t contacted me. My heart is so sore, Lord . . .
The pain she usually hid beneath the busyness of every day suddenly triggered tears she couldn’t hold back. But at the same time, the words of the song they were singing—“I’ll Praise You in This Storm”—washed over the searing pain with a cool, healing touch. Yes, she would lift her hands, for God is who He is, no matter what storm she was going through!
“Thank You, Jesus! Glory to Your name! Glory!”
She felt Peter’s arm slip around her waist and hold her. Had she said that out loud? She hadn’t really meant to, but her heart was so full. The tears still flowed, but they weren’t tears of despair.
The music finally faded and Pastor Cobb took the mike as people sat down with a rustle and scraping of chairs. Avis found a tissue and dabbed at her eyes, grateful she didn’t have to lead worship or be up front for any reason.
And then she heard her name.
“Sister Avis and Brother Peter, would you come stand with me, please? And, Rose, honey, would you join us?”
What? What was this about? Avis sent a startled glance toward Pastor Cobbs, but he was smiling and beckoning with his hand. Peter took her hand and she felt herself getting up out of her seat and walking to the front. First Lady Rose had joined her husband—a sweet woman who didn’t like the limelight.
Approaching the low platform, Avis hesitated, but Pastor Cobbs said, “Come on now, come up here and stand with us.” Which they did, even though both Avis and Peter were taller than the pastor’s five-foot-six.
Pastor Cobbs addressed the congregation. “As you all know, we said good-bye to our beloved Pastor Clark yesterday, amen?” Amens flooded the room. “And, glory to God, even in death, the man left a legacy. At the end of the service, several new names were written in the Book of Life, amen?” The amens got louder, and Avis saw Precious McGill, who’d been a teen mom herself and now was a grandmother in her early thirties, jump up from her seat and throw her arms in the air, the loudest of all. Daughter Sabrina, the cause of all this joy, ducked her head in embarrassment.
“But, brothers and sisters, Pastor Clark’s death is also a challenge for SouledOut Community Church.” Heads nodded. “Hubert Clark and I were called by God to be copastors of this church, but now God has called him home. Where does that leave us? Where does that leave me? Without a copastor. What is God saying? What is God doing?”
Avis felt her cheeks burning. It was hard standing up in front of the congregation like a mannequin in a store window while the pastor spoke like this. She might have run for her seat if Peter hadn’t been holding on to her hand so tightly.
“I’ll be honest,” Pastor Cobbs went on, “I don’t know what God is doing. Our loss is too new, too fresh to see clearly. That’s for us as a church to pray about and seek His will in the weeks ahead. But God did speak to my spirit about one thing—and that’s my own limitations. You all deserve more than just one man—just this one man—can do or be.” The pastor, perspiring with the intensity of the moment, mopped his face with a small towel. Then he turned to Avis and Peter. “And so I am recommending that we consider this precious couple, whom you all know, to stand in the gap as interim pastors until God shows us who He is calling to share leadership of this church.”
Several people started to clap, but Pastor Cobbs held up his hand. “Let me finish, dear people. Some of you may be wondering, why move so quickly to appoint some interim leadership. Because I don’t want this church to get used to seeing me standing up here by myself. In fact, I might like it too much.” He allowed a wry grin. “I’m just being real. It’s not always easy working things out with a partner—all you married folks know what I’m saying, right?”
Laughter mingled with a few rolled eyes and meaningful pokes between spouses.
“As your pastor, I felt we needed to move quickly so that pastoral needs are cared for here at SouledOut while we are waiting on God. I spoke with Avis and Peter earlier this week, and they’ve given it a lot of thought and prayer. They are willing to be considered, even though it means some sacrifice on their part. The elders are recommending that we have a congregational meeting sometime in the next two weeks to consider appointing Avis and Peter Douglass as interim pastors of SouledOut Community Church.”
A number of people, including Jodi and Denny Baxter, clapped enthusiastically. Others said, “Amen!” and “Praise God!” But Avis didn’t know what to do. Smile? Stare at the floor? She felt sweat trickle down her face—was it just embarrassment or a hot flash? Whatever it was, she needed to keep her chin up. Forcing herself to look out over the congregation, however, Avis realized not everyone was responding to the pastor’s announcement with the same degree of enthusiasm.
Catching a movement with her eye, she saw Mary Brown, the wife of Elder David Brown, look sideways toward someone in the row behind her, a grim expression on her face. The two women’s eyes locked, a look passed, knowing nods.
And suddenly the exchange she’d overheard in the ladies’ restroom rang in her ears: “We need more white people in leadership so things don’t get too far off.”
“Too black, you mean.”
“Exactly.”
Avis felt faint. What had they let themselves in for?