Christmas Treasures

BEN HEARD THE PIECE—BEETHOVEN’S PIANO CONCERTO no. 5, he thought—end in a flourish and was not surprised when Carolyn appeared in the bedroom doorway a few moments later. She’d been downstairs practicing while he took a nap. His round of physical therapy and then the phone call with Reverend Isabel had worn him out.

Carolyn seemed full of energy today. She had gone for her morning power walk, cleaned the house, and done the laundry. She had also given lessons that afternoon, started dinner, and then practiced the piano . . . all while he was resting.

“Did you sleep at all?” she asked, sitting on the side of the bed. “I’m sorry if I was playing too loudly. I should practice later, after dinner.”

That was true, not just a pleasing compliment. Waking up to her playing, Ben realized how he had taken Carolyn’s music for granted so much of the time. Now he appreciated every note.

“I did sleep, for nearly two hours,” he said, looking at the clock. “I really didn’t do very much in that rehab place this morning—just walked around a tiny indoor track. I don’t know why I should feel so tired. I thought the doctor said I was going to feel a lot more energetic now.”

Ben caught himself. He shouldn’t have worried Carolyn. He was just venting. “I do, honestly. I’m not short of breath anymore or light-headed—”

“I know. I was an idiot. I was so lucky that . . . Well, we’ve covered that ground. Let’s not go back there again. I’m resolved now to do better,” he promised her. “I’ve learned my lesson. As for feeling tired now, it’s a different kind of tired. It will just take time, and I’m impatient,” he admitted.

“Yes, you can be,” she agreed with a smile. “Are you worried about the church? That call this morning was troublesome. I hope you aren’t worried.”

“No, not at all. Of course, it was disturbing. The sanctuary has never been vandalized in all these years. We just started locking up the church recently,” he reminded her. “But it sounds as if it’s all reparable and under control.” He sighed. “To tell you the truth, Carolyn, after I spoke to Reverend Isabel this afternoon, I felt relieved that I wasn’t there and didn’t have to deal with it. Maybe it’s just the post-op fatigue, but I’ve been thinking more and more—and praying about it, too. I’m wondering if I’m really up to returning to the church, even after I’ve recovered.”

“Well . . . yes. I guess that’s what I’m saying. I’m thinking of retiring. It’s starting to look as if that would be the right thing for me to do. As much as I never expected to be knocked out of the saddle this way and thought I’d just brush myself off and jump back on . . . Well, I’m starting to think that’s not what I should do.”

“Oh . . . well . . . my goodness.” Carolyn was shocked. Though they had talked this question over several times since his heart attack, he always maintained that he would go back to the church once he felt better. There was no reason to think he couldn’t do it. “I’m just surprised,” she said at last. “You kept saying you would at least try to go back and decide from there.”

“I know I did. But maybe there’s no reason to test myself that way. Maybe it’s best to just step aside and let someone younger, stronger, and fresher take over. Maybe that’s best for me . . . and best for the church, too.”

He did know how much Carolyn wanted him to start a new stage of their life together, a stage that she had perhaps started already without him. But she’d been very good about keeping her opinion to herself and not lobbying for that decision.

“I’ve tried not to nag,” she said. “But now that you’ve gotten sick and I’ve been worried about you, I’m not sure I’ve been all that patient and quiet about it.”

“This is my own decision entirely,” he promised her. “And I haven’t really made up my mind yet. Though I think I’m getting there. I know it seems very soon after the heart attack, but I’ve really been thinking about it for a while. I just haven’t talked about it,” he admitted. “This heart business has been a good thing in a way. It’s made me face this question squarely. Am I even fit enough to go back to the church? If someone asked me that right now, I’d have to say no, I am not.”

He had seen many people in his situation, recovering from heart surgery, bypassed arteries, valve replacements, even an entire heart transplant. He had visited them before operations, after surgeries, and during recu-perations, and practically all of them had survived and gone on to lead full lives, and yes, some had become even stronger. He didn’t know why he couldn’t remember that and hold on to that idea when he was feeling low or tired—or felt a painful, ominous twinge in his chest.

“I have to remember that. I know it’s true. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, many, many times. But I don’t think that should really be the deciding factor here. In a few months, I’ll be fit and full of energy. Better than new,” he added in a snappy tone. “But does that mean I should buzz right back to the church, like some bumblebee that’s been away from the hive on sick leave?”

“Oh, Ben, you’re far more than a sick bumblebee,” Carolyn said with a laugh. “You’re the very heart of the church. You’re the spiritual leader, the moral compass. You’re the head cook and bottle washer and—”

“I am all that . . . and more. But no one person is the church, Carolyn. Even the building is not the church, or all the committees and structures that keep it going. The congregation is the church. I know they depend on me. But they will go on and find a new minister, who will bring new talents and a fresh perspective. Someone like Reverend Isabel,” he offered. He paused and took a breath. “I think it might be time for that to happen,” he added somberly. “Not so I can hide away, reading the sports pages, or spend my days on the beach, surf casting. There are other ways I can serve. So many possibilities, including all those trips we want to take and classes at the university. And spending more time with the kids.”

“We always talk about doing those things someday,” Carolyn agreed. “When you fell to the floor at the altar, and Tucker and Sam were struggling to keep you alive, I thought that day was never going to come.”

“For a minute there, so did I.” He met her glance and sighed. “‘To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven,’” he reminded her, quoting one of their favorite passages of Scripture. “The secret of life seems to be to accept change, gracefully and gratefully. Change is the only thing we can depend on. We can’t avoid it or fight it. We have to face it head-on and try our best to make something positive of it.”

As she listened to his words, her expression was relaxed, full of acceptance and even admiration. Ben felt good inside, as if he had just jumped a hurdle. One he didn’t even realize had sprung up in his path.

Carolyn laughed and touched his stubbly cheek. Then he opened his arms and hugged her as well as he could without hurting the incision in his chest.

“It’s a big, big step. But I’m starting to think it’s the right time to make it. Are you with me on this? I can’t get through it without you.”

It was Ben’s ministry and his decision alone when to end it. Still, she couldn’t deny that she’d hoped he would decide to retire. She had made some sacrifices as a minister’s wife, not the least of which was sharing him with everyone for his round-the-clock duties. But now that he had finally said the words aloud and seemed close to making the decision, Carolyn felt a little shocked. Was it really going to end? Ben’s life in the church was her life, too, with so many responsibilities as the minister’s wife.

“I’m relieved,” she said slowly, “but also a little sad. It’s a milestone for me, too, Ben. Your leaving the church—with me along with you—will leave a great gap in my life.”

“It will. I would never minimize that,” he agreed, watching her expression. “But we won’t be leaving the church entirely. We’ll still be members . . . private citizens, though.”

“That’s right. Though we won’t be at the center anymore, we’ll still be there on the sidelines. There will be a gap in our lives, but we’ll fill it easily.” She smiled at him. “We won’t have enough time to do all the things we’ve put off. We need to get out and see the world a bit while we’re still able, don’t you think?”

Carolyn nodded and smiled. He didn’t seem one hundred percent positive, but of course it was only natural to have some doubts about leaving a position that he held for so long, one that had been the center of their lives. Ben loved the church, and the congregation loved him. It was never going to be easy, she realized. She needed time to get used to the idea, too.

THE TRUSTEE MEETING WAS NOT NEARLY AS DIFFICULT AS ISABEL HAD imagined it would be. But few things in life were, she reminded herself, thinking of one of Mark Twain’s lines: “Some of the worst things in my life never even happened.”

She knew very well that the Scripture implores us not to worry, that it’s a useless waste of time and undermines real faith. But being only human, Isabel knew that sometimes it was hard not to give in to worrying.

She said a silent little prayer before she entered the church meeting room. God, I know that whatever happens here will be all for the best. Just help me say what I believe is right.

Tucker was a friendly face at the table, though not the only one. Warren Oakes, Grace Hegman, Julie Sawyer, and some other members she didn’t know all greeted her in a friendly and respectful manner. The sole exception was Lillian Warwick, who acknowledged her with a cool, regal nod.

All of them, however, were concerned about what had happened and wanted to understand her reasoning—and Tucker’s—in not prosecuting Max Ferguson. After the basic facts were recounted by both Isabel and Tucker, Lillian Warwick began the discussion.

“Despite the boy’s age and other circumstances, I still find it surprising that no legal action was taken. I mean, to desecrate a house of worship—”

“I wouldn’t say he desecrated it, Lillian,” Tucker cut in, his voice calm. “It wasn’t that malicious. It was just some kids with attitude acting out, egging one another on.”

The group debated, back and forth, whether the act was malicious or merely foolish. Finally, Grace cleared her throat. She was a shy woman, Isabel could see. She barely looked up at the group and kept touching the buttons on her cardigan as she spoke.

“Whether it was malicious or just a teenage prank that got out of control, what happened in the sanctuary is done. The question now is, how will we react to it? You can’t end violence with more violence. You can’t end hate with hate. You can only end hate with love,” she said quietly. “I think Martin Luther King, Jr., said that. And it’s in the Bible, too. Jesus said to turn the other cheek,” she reminded them.

“Even if they hurt us? Even if breaking in at night and damaging our property is their calling card?” Lillian demanded. She stared around the room. “Am I the only one here who still believes people should follow the law and pay the consequences when they don’t?”

Her steely gaze finally settled on Tucker. “I wasn’t sure at first if we were doing the right thing, letting the boy off the legal hook,” he admitted. “But I’ve changed my mind. There was nothing to be accomplished by dragging him down to the police station. It might have put some fear into him. Chances are, though, it would have made him feel cool in front of his friends, and made him want to go further the next time. The legal system doesn’t make most people better citizens. It makes a lot of them worse, I’ll tell you that much.”

Lillian looked about to challenge Tucker on that statement when Warren Oakes spoke up. “It seems to me, what we’re debating here is the difference between civil law and spiritual law. And as a church, we have the opportunity in this case to follow spiritual law.”

“That’s exactly it, Warren,” Tucker jumped in. “When I saw the damage those kids did, I was so angry, I almost lost it. Reverend Isabel was upset, too. But she looked at me and said, ‘Tucker, let’s remember where we are. And who we are.’ I think we all have to remember that right now.”

“I was upset,” Isabel told them, “very shocked and angry at those kids. I’ve never seen anything like that. But I had to get hold of myself and not let some knee-jerk reaction take over. How can I preach about love, patience, understanding, and charity my whole life and not put those words into action when the opportunity arises? These are the lessons our Scripture teaches us. This is what we’re told to do. To turn the other cheek. To practice compassion and understanding. To forgive easily and love unconditionally. That is who we are. Or who we should strive to be.”

“Yes, that’s the right way to look at this situation,” Julie agreed. “That’s what I’ve been thinking all along. We’re a church. If we can’t forgive this boy and try to help him, who will?”

As Isabel walked to her car, she paused on the green to look at the harbor. The meeting had been tense and she needed to unwind. She gazed out at the dark water and the sky above, nearly the same color and studded with stars tonight. It was certainly pretty here. Her descriptions in notes to her family and friends didn’t quite do it justice.

Now she had another chapter to relate. She didn’t feel as if she had won an argument or a debate. More as if they’d been heading in the wrong direction and she’d had to work hard to turn them onto the right path. As if she were a little border collie, barking and nipping at their heels.

She felt as if she finally knew what it was like to be the minister of a congregation. It wasn’t all meetings and sermons and pleasant talk at coffee hours. Sometimes you had to bark and nip at the flock to help them onto the right path.

Though I don’t think I want to do that again any time soon, Isabel thought with a small smile. This job is hard work. Harder than I ever expected.