15

The end of Sam Gardner’s ministry at Harmony Friends Meeting came with startling swiftness. Miriam Hodge delivered the news in Sam’s office the next morning. She was seated on the couch when he arrived, a wad of soggy Kleenex in her hand.

“They’ve started a petition asking for your removal,” she said.

“Who is they?” asked Sam.

“Dale, Fern, Bea, and Opal. All the elders but me. They’ve got a dozen signatures so far. Ordinarily I wouldn’t worry about it, but they got Asa Peacock to sign it.”

“Asa Peacock? Why would he want me gone? Asa and I are friends.”

Not three years before, Sam had come back from vacation two days early to conduct the funeral for Asa’s mother, who wasn’t even a member of the meeting, and Asa repaid him by signing a petition to boot him out. Sam felt as if he’d been punched in the gut.

“I asked him why he signed it and he told me it was none of my business. He seemed very upset.”

Sam sighed, sad breath leaking out of him.

“What are we going to do?” Miriam asked.

Sam sat quietly, collecting his thoughts.

“We’re not going to do anything,” he said, finally. “If after fourteen years I have to fight to keep my job, it’s not worth it. I’m giving my notice.”

“Oh, Sam, don’t make any rash decisions. Go home and talk with Barbara before doing anything you might regret. You don’t need to leave, and we don’t want you to leave.”

“Apparently a dozen people want me to leave,” Sam said. He leaned back in his chair. “Miriam, I’ve grown cynical. All I do is complain about my job. I’m angry and negative all the time. I don’t know if it’s time for me to stop being a minister, but I think it’s maybe time for me to stop being a minister here.”

He drew a piece of paper from his desk and scrawled, I, Sam Gardner, am resigning as the pastor of Harmony Friends Meeting, effective January 1st. He slid the paper across the desk to Miriam. “Consider this my notice.”

“Oh, Sam, don’t do this. We can beat this.”

“I don’t think that would be good for me or the meeting,” Sam said. “It’s time.”

“Please pray about it, Sam. We have time. When word gets out about this petition, people will be furious, and rightly so. You’ve been a wonderful pastor to us.”

“Miriam, please don’t tell anyone about this petition. Let it drop. I don’t want the meeting fighting over me. Besides, they’re probably right and I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction by admitting it. It’s time I went. I don’t have the energy for it anymore. And with Addison wrapping up high school this year, he’ll be gone. It’s a good time for me to make a change, too.”

Miriam left, still in tears. Sam began working on his sermon, but was too distracted, wondering what he would do. They had no savings to speak of. The year before they’d taken out a second mortgage to replace the roof. He wished his college degree had been in business, something that might actually generate an income. No, he’d majored in theology, the most useless degree ever devised. Theories about an ethereal being no one has seen for three thousand years. What had he been thinking? Maybe he could manage a dwindling enterprise on the brink of insolvency. He’d had plenty of experience with that.

At noon, he left the meetinghouse and walked home for lunch. The closer he drew to home, the more his resolve weakened. He waited until after lunch to tell Barbara he would soon be unemployed.

“I’m not surprised,” she said. “I can tell your heart hasn’t been in it.”

“I’m tired,” he said. “They deserve to have a pastor with some enthusiasm for the work.”

“What were you thinking of doing?”

“I thought I might take some time off to catch my breath,” Sam said.

Barbara had many fine traits, one of which was candor. “Have you seen our bank account? We have about two days for you to catch your breath, then you’ll have to get a job.”

“I was hoping I could take some time off for reflection,” Sam said. “Maybe be a bit more intentional about what I should be doing for the second half of my life.”

Barbara opened the most recent edition of the Harmony Herald and turned to the classifieds. “Hmm, let’s see. Harvey Muldock needs a salesman at his Chevy dealership. You might go see Harvey. Here’s a job where you can make two thousand dollars a week from your home. That’s got to be a scam.” She turned the page. “Eddy Plumbing over in Cartersburg is looking for an assistant. How do you feel about plumbing?”

“Not interested.” Sam had never cared for physical labor of any sort.

“Are there any ads for a psychiatrist?” he asked. “I always thought that would be an interesting job.”

“You don’t know the first thing about psychiatry.”

“I could learn.”

“Not soon enough to do us any good.”

Barbara returned to the paper. “They need a night clerk at the Speedway gas station in Cartersburg. It says benefits available.”

“Sure, I’ll take that job, and get shot my second night there and have to spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair eating Jell-O. That’s a fine idea.”

“Then I suggest you call Miriam and tell her you’ve reconsidered,” Barbara said.

Sam was starting to wish he hadn’t acted so hastily. He walked into the kitchen to phone Miriam, but her line was busy. He tried again in a few minutes, and Miriam picked up the phone. “Just calling to see how you’re doing,” Sam said.

“Better, thank you. I’ve phoned the elders and told them you’ve resigned. We’ve scheduled an emergency meeting for tonight to form a pastoral search committee.”

That didn’t take long, Sam thought. It had never been like the elders to move quickly any other time, but now they had the gas pedal pushed to the floor.

“And I’ve phoned the superintendent, and he’s agreed to meet with us tonight,” Miriam added.

“Sounds like things are moving right along,” he said, increasingly alarmed. “Of course, if things don’t work out, I guess I could stay if the meeting needed me to.”

“That’s awfully nice of you, Sam. But I thought about it some more on my way home, and I think you’re right. A change might be a healthy thing for all of us.”

From his counseling classes, Sam knew there were five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. It had taken Miriam roughly four hours to navigate all five stages. That had to be a record.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Miriam.”

“Yes, much better, thank you. One thing we’re already starting to realize is that what we’ve been paying you isn’t sufficient. Whoever we bring on board will need considerably more in terms of pay and benefits.”

Sam wondered why that hadn’t occurred to them before.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Bills have a way of adding up.”

“Don’t want to give you the bum’s rush, Sam, but I’ve got a few more calls to make.”

“Of course, Miriam. Glad you’re okay.”

Being intentional about the second half of his life would have to wait. He phoned Harvey Muldock.

Harvey answered the phone. “Muldock Motors.”

“Hi, Harvey. Sam here. Say, I read in the Herald that you were needing a new salesman. I might be interested.”

Harvey laughed. “Don’t be silly. You have a job. Hey, Sam, wish I had time to joke with you, but I’m busier than a one-eyed man at a go-go girl convention. Gotta go. See you Sunday.”

Sam was thinking it would have been wise to have a new job lined up before quitting his old one.

He went upstairs to talk with Barbara. She was changing the sheets on their bed. He pulled on the fitted sheet, tugging it into place.

“Say, they wouldn’t happen to have another opening at the library, would they?” he asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just thought it would be nice to work with you. We don’t get to spend much time together what with me gone all the time.”

“You can’t get your job back, can you?”

“I think God might be telling me to take up a new line of work,” Sam said.

“Oh, Sam. Don’t get me wrong, I believe in you. But pastoring is the only thing you know.”

“That’s not true. Remember when the boys were in Cub Scouts and I helped them build their pinewood derby cars? I could do that. Or last summer when our car wouldn’t start and I figured out what was wrong and fixed it. Remember that?”

“Sam, you left the lights on all night and the battery died. It wasn’t rocket science.”

“I was just pointing out that I’m good at other things besides pastoring.”

“You’re good at many things, Sam. You’re a wonderful husband, a loving father and son. You’re very creative. People respect you. But the only job you’ve ever had is pastoring. I know it drives you crazy sometimes, but I also know that most days you like being a pastor.”

“It’s all I know,” he said.

“That is precisely my point,” Barbara said. “Now, let’s think. When did you tell them you’d leave.”

“January first,” he said, glumly. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Barbara said. “You did what you thought was right. Now let’s move forward, not look back.”

Sam flopped down on the freshly made bed and began thinking aloud. “I heard the pastor at First Friends is retiring this July. I could always apply for that meeting.”

“You’d want to live in the city?”

“Why not? It might be fun.”

“I’m not sure you could live in the city. You break out in hives every time we go there. Besides, you always said you didn’t want to pastor a large meeting where you couldn’t get to know people.”

“Hey, how about Salem Meeting? It’s open,” Sam said.

“Salem Meeting is always open. No one in their right mind wants to pastor there. We’re not that desperate.”

The phone rang, interrupting their speculations. Barbara answered, then passed the phone to Sam, mouthing the words “It’s the superintendent.”

As if the day weren’t bad enough.

“Hello.”

“Sam, this is your superintendent.”

“Yes.”

“I spoke with Miriam Hodge and she told me you’ve resigned.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I knew you were going to call me to see about a job…”

“Actually, I wasn’t planning on calling you,” Sam interrupted. “Miriam told me she had informed you, so I thought that was sufficient.”

“Well, if you had phoned me, I was going to tell you not to apply for another church in this yearly meeting. I’ve sent an e-mail to all the congregations announcing your resignation, explaining the circumstances, that you had, in direct violation of Faith and Practice, willfully conducted a same-gender marriage. I’ve asked them not to hire you.”

“Thank you,” Sam said. “That was very kind of you. You’ve saved me the trouble of applying to meetings for whom such a thing would matter.”

“I hope you’ve learned a lesson from all of this,” the superintendent said.

“Yes, the whole experience has been quite instructive. I’ve learned that some people are so small-minded they wouldn’t extend even a crumb of grace to gays and lesbians. I don’t know if that was the lesson you wanted me to learn, but that is the conclusion I have drawn. I have to go now; Barbara and I were discussing our future.”

He hung up the phone, turned to Barbara, and said, “On the bright side, I will no longer have to deal with the superintendent.”

“Things are looking up already, aren’t they,” Barbara said laughing.

Sam laughed with her, but inside he was broken. Though life as a pastor in his hometown sometimes frustrated him, this wasn’t how he’d wanted his ministry here to end. He’d wanted to welcome infants into the world, see them through their school years, wave them off to college, join them in matrimony, then celebrate the birth of their babies. One full cycle. That had been his dream. He wanted people to talk about him with fondness and respect, the way they spoke about Pastor Taylor. He’d wanted a retirement party, with letters thanking him for his service, and a quilt given to him, hand-sewn by the Friendly Women’s Circle. He’d wanted the superintendent to attend the party and shake his hand and thank him for all he had done. Instead, Dale and Fern had hounded him out, wearing him and everyone else down until the only hope for peace was for him to leave.

He stared at the ceiling. “What in the world am I going to do?”