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I didn’t get back to Ohio often, and if so, usually to Cleveland. A new corporate opportunity outside Columbus changed that. With a little luck I’d secured a Saturday evening flight. The result was a long Sunday morning drive, but I knew it’d be worth it. Heading west on U.S. Route 36, I compared my rental car’s clock to my watch. I didn’t want to be late.
The last time I’d attended services at my old church, I was in elementary school. My parents had divorced and Mom took my sister and me to stay with Grandma while she went to school. Grandma insisted we go to Church every Sunday.
There weren’t many kids at Church. It was usually me, my older sister and two other girls. Grandma always phoned the Pastor and worked on a committee to get more children in the church. Besides Pastor Don, the only one who seemed concerned was my Sunday school teacher. Every now and then a new kid would show up, but only for two or three Sundays.
Grandma told everyone, “Prayer needs to be followed up by action.” She said, “It’d be this Church’s epitaph.”
My Sunday school teacher agreed with Grandma. She knew a lot of stories about Jesus and helped the Pastor during Children’s Moments. They told us things about God that kids understood. Now, when I think back, I understand the congregation’s polite laughter when one of us kids said something.
Everybody trusted Pastor Don. Grandma said it was because he trusted in Jesus. Since Grandma did, and Pastor Don did, and my big sister did, I did, too.
It seemed like the adults were always going places. My sister and I wanted to go to church camp but Mom and Grandma couldn’t afford it. Grandma didn’t get to go to retreats either.
Still, there were always old ladies hugging and saying hello. I got used to that. One man that was a lot older than Grandma always shook my hand. He treated me like a man.
A year later, Mom got a job in Ft. Lauderdale. By winter, Grandma had moved in with us.
The jarring rumble over the railroad tracks interrupted my reminiscing. I turned left on Third Street before turning right and pulling into the parking lot. It held only five cars. I checked my watch. Maybe they’d changed the time of worship?
I straightened my tie and slid on my sport jacket while admiring the fiery red and yellow autumn leaves. I saw the red ‘Thou Shalt Not Skateboard Here’ sign. It reminded me of a block party sponsored by our Church. It’d been boring, with mostly adult games like bingo and checkers. Grandma got some chalk and a neighbor’s ball and showed us how to play foursquare.
After she and Pastor went to get a drink, Ricky, an older kid from school showed up on his skateboard. He started to ask my sister what we were doing when one of the men who always ushered pointed to the sign and yelled, “No skateboarding, young man.”
I was really embarrassed because Ricky flipped him off and skated away.
A second inspection of the sign revealed it was a newer, larger one. I strode up the front steps and tugged on the heavy wooden door. Locked.
“Hey, mister,” called a voice. “The bus left a while ago.”
I turned to see a boy in a blue windbreaker struggling to untangle himself from a long leash. His beagle pup continued to bound around, wagging its tail. I waited until he’d extracted himself before asking, “Bus? Something special going on today?”
The boy shrugged. “Don’t think so. My brother’s scout troop moved their stuff to that church down the street.” He tried to point, but the puppy wouldn’t cooperate. “I got to carry the flag.”
“Why did they move?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know, mister. They’re building something inside. A bunch of guys with ladders and drills were here all week.”
Just then a cat darted from the bushes, exciting the puppy. The boy waved while being towed down the street.
I walked down the steps toward the Church’s message board on the corner. At that moment I discovered the stained-glass was missing from two of the south wall windows. A mesh grating backed by thin bars had replaced the majestic windows that years ago I gazed at when things got boring during church. I stared at the defaced windows until I made it to the corner. A posted message read, ‘Last Trustee Meeting, 7:00. Monday, October 9.’
In the car, I checked and verified Monday’s last meeting was scheduled to end by 5:00. I considered asking at the gas station about changes at the Church. Maybe the window removal was due to crime or vandalism. Maybe the congregation had grown and built a new church outside of town. Though, in my heart, I doubted those possibilities. I drove past the gas station, having already decided that I’d attend the last meeting.
The vision of barred windows disturbed my thoughts all evening and the following day. My morning prayers focused on concern for the Church and its congregation. Luckily I managed to slip out of Monday’s business meeting early. Still, slow traffic and farm equipment hindered my progress, and I arrived a few minutes after 7:00.
A small moving truck was parked out front and four cars sat in the parking lot next to a small bus. I hurried up the front stairs, just as I had years ago. I recalled a Sunday, wearing one of the yellow children’s choir robes. Yellow was a girl’s color, but one of the men in the big choir gave me his black folder to hold while I sang. He understood.
The interior walls bore the same teal paint. The fact that the coat rack in the hall was missing, along with every picture and certificate, distracted me. I forced myself to slow when I heard a deep voice leading a prayer.
Four people sat huddled around a table. An open laptop rested next to the graying man who led the prayer. Another computer sat in front of a younger brunette, probably the secretary. Numerous files and papers lay scattered in front of each attendee. Everyone stood except for an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair.
A man, who I thought I recognized, introduced himself as the Chairman of the Trustees. “Are you a representative from the district?” he asked.
“No,” I said, “just a visitor.” The oppressive atmosphere drowned my voice.
The chairman pulled out a folding chair. “You’re welcome to sit in.” His sincerity managed to slice through the heavy moment.
I needed to gather my thoughts. “Thank you,” I said. “I’ve had a long drive. May I use the restroom?”
“Certainly,” said the chairman, pointing the way.
“Please, don’t hold up business on my account.” Their smiles dimmed as I walked past. Through the closed door I heard muffled discussion, as well as a power drill’s sporadic whine.
I washed up, checked my tie and turned toward the meeting when the power drill’s activity again drew my attention. I bypassed the meeting and slipped into the sanctuary.
Most of the pews were gone. Those that remained sat against the north wall. Up front two men were busy disassembling the pipe organ. The magnificent instrument still plays in my mind when I sing hymns. The two workmen finished packing the largest copper pipe in a padded crate and looked up as I approached.
I found myself walking down the center aisle even though it wasn’t necessary. Bars had replaced another stained-glass window since yesterday. Even the altar was gone.
“What can I do for you?” asked the older of the two workmen.
“Nothing,” I said. “I just came to see what you were doing.”
The workman looked over his shoulder. “We’re packing up the pipes of this old organ. The boss’ll be in tomorrow to supervise the rest of the job.”
“Yep,” the younger workman nodded. “Didn’t take’em long to find a home for this old thing.”
“Where?” I asked.
“Church in Cincinnati,” said the older workman.
“Why?” I asked, too stunned to inquire anything else.
The older worker shrugged, “Closing up shop here, I guess.”
The younger man added, “Boss says the new owners are big-time excited.” He stared at the north wall. “This place had an awesome sound system.”
“Maybe in the sanctuary,” laughed the older worker. “Came here once, four years ago with my grandson. When I told my wife how good the sermon was, she said she missed it. The speaker in the nursery sputtered so much static she turned it off.”
I looked where the altar once stood. “Well, I’d better let you get back to work.” Both nodded as I turned. I flinched when the power drill growled to life. I’d seen businesses fail, and it was always sad. Could a church fail? I’d heard of it, but never my Church. Although I hadn’t set foot in this Church for almost twenty-five years, I still considered it mine and a part of me. What would I tell my sister? What would my grandmother have said?
I reentered the fellowship hall only to see that business had been interrupted. The chairman and the secretary stood along the bank of windows, talking to a young, bearded man.
I tried to conjure the memory of a Sunday with the pipe organ, the stained-glass windows, the altar, and lit candles, but the conversation foiled my attempt.
The visitor asked, “What am I going to do?” He looked down, sliding his hands into his jacket’s pockets.
“I’m sorry,” said the secretary. “There’s no longer a food pantry.”
Sadness and frustration spread across the young man’s face. “A guy I know said to come here. Said when he lost his job, he got help here. He’s got kids, like me.”
“Where are you staying?” asked the secretary.
The chairman patted the visitor on the shoulder as the secretary copied the address down. After she double checked the information she said, “I’ll be over tomorrow morning at 9:00 and drive you wherever you need.”
The chairman handed the man several bills from his wallet. “The grocery’s still open.”
The young man took a step back and raised his hand in refusal. “It’s okay,” said the chairman. “You came to our Church looking for help.” He smiled and nodded while maintaining eye contact. “For your wife and children.”
At the mention of his children, the man slowly took the money. “Thank you,” he said.
“Any time.” The chairman shook the young man’s hand. “Could you spare one more moment for a short prayer?”
The young man almost declined, but the secretary’s warm smile brought a nod and reflecting smile. Everyone bowed their head and the chairman prayed for support to the young husband and his family, and thanked the Lord for allowing the congregation an opportunity to assist. That was how I remembered the Church.
A seat had been left open for me at the end of the table as the meeting continued. The chairman shuffled through a few more papers, marking off with a red pen as he went. “Okay, we’ve found homes for all of the memorials and donations including the crosses, baptismal basin, altar, pictures, Bibles, and hymnals.”
Everyone at the table nodded solemnly.
From his wheelchair, the treasurer spoke up as he handed several papers to the secretary. “These are from the bank. The CD interest has been set up to pay into the missionary fund.”
The chairman nodded and said, “Divided equally between the Native American and the Russian ministries?” It wasn’t really a question. “We’re permitted to park the bus in the lot and they agreed not to cut down the memorial trees for ten years.” Then he asked a quiet woman to his left, “The antique dealer?”
The quiet woman struggled to hold back a tear. “He said the rest of the windows would be removed by Friday.” She slid a check to the treasurer. “To be deposited. Insurance and upkeep of the bus.”
“The basement remodeling is nearly complete,” said the chairman. “Security doors and reinforced windows are being installed.” The chairman noted the expression on my face. “Do you have a question, or concern?”
“Yes,” I said. “The bars, the windows. Who purchased the Church?”
“The county,” said the treasurer. “It’s to be an activity center for troubled youth.”
“Minimum security,” said the chairman. “They’ll bus them in for counseling and day programs. The sanctuary is to become a gymnasium.” He looked to the secretary. “Have our visitation permits been approved?”
She nodded with an expression of sorrow. “Yes, but we’re limited to three hours a week. And we’re not allowed to directly minister to the children. Strictly secular, unless they ask.”
The chairman shook his head and muttered, “Finally, our Church will be filled with children. But now,” he sighed, “we’re barred from introducing the single thing they need most.”
“The Last Meeting” first appeared in joyful!,
August 2008
