three

“Camellia had to cancel our plans for this evening. How about having dinner with me at that swanky restaurant you told me about? The one with all the cars in the parking lot. To celebrate the official removal of your cast tomorrow.”

Jane’s knees threatened to bend of their own accord. If she had not been hanging on to the desk, they probably would have. “No… no, I’m sorry. I–I can’t.”

“Why not? You have to eat supper. We can order a take-out dinner for your mother, if that’s what’s stopping you.”

“It’s not that! Mom is able to get herself something to eat when I can’t make it home.”

“Then why?”

Her gaze immediately went to her simple tank dress and chiffon cover-up blouse. “I’m… I’m not…”

He must have caught her concern. “Okay, we’ll go somewhere else. Maybe have a steak at one of Providence’s famous steakhouses. Would that be better?”

Seeing that he wasn’t going to give up easily, she glanced at her watch. “I have choir practice at seven thirty.”

His smile was devastating. “No problem. It’s nearly five. If we head out now, you should have time to do both.” He stepped toward her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

Ripples of joy coursed through her at his touch. To think that he—Keene Moray—would invite her—Jane Delaney— to have dinner with him was nothing short of incredible.

“Come on, Jane. Say yes. I get tired of eating alone. You’ll be doing me a big favor.”

“Well… I guess…”

“Is that a yes?”

She nodded. “I–I guess. If you’re sure…”

His hand went from her shoulder to cup her chin as he lifted her face to his. “I’m sure. Now put that walker in gear, and let’s go have a steak.”

A few minutes past seven thirty, when Jane arrived at the church, choir practice had already begun. She slipped into the seat next to Karen as quietly as she could, opened the folder lying on her chair, and pulled out a piece of sheet music, frantically searching for a word or phrase that would give her a hint as to which page they were on.

Karen leaned toward her and whispered with a grin, “You’re late. Page four, at the bottom.”

“Thanks.” Although Jane loved singing in the choir and learning new music with which to praise her Lord, she found her mind wandering back to the wonderful time she’d had at the restaurant with Keene. He was gorgeous, with such a striking presence it had seemed all eyes turned toward him when they entered. Something about him and his appearance commanded attention. He exuded confidence and an assurance about himself that few men did. She found herself still in awe of him. Apparently, others did, too. Several people came to their table seeking his autograph.

When the last note had been sung, choir director Ben Kennard smiled and held up a folder. “Okay, folks, you’ve got that one down pat. We’ll be doing it a week from Sunday. We’ll go over it one more time next week.”

Karen slipped the music back into her folder and leaned toward Jane. “You’re never late. What happened?”

“You’ll never believe it. I’ll tell you later.”

“Take out the music for Down from the Cross,” Ben told them, holding up a fairly good-sized book. “We’re coming along quite nicely with this. I am proud of all of you, but remember, we not only have to know how to sing the music, we have to sing it with feeling. Why?” He paused for effect, his eyes scanning the faces of the 150 members of Randlewood Community Choir. “Because we’re singing it for our Lord. Yes, there will be those in the audience each of the eight nights we perform Down from the Cross as a citywide Easter pageant whom we hope and pray will be touched by what we sing, but touching those hearts is God’s job. If we give Him the best we can, He will do the rest.”

“I–I have a hard time singing this cantata without crying,” Emily Stokes, one of the altos, said as she opened her folder. “The words really speak to my heart.”

“Me, too,” Gene Reynolds, the lead bass singer, boomed out. “God had to have inspired the man who wrote this music.”

Winnie Martin touched her handkerchief to her eyes. “Just thinking how Jesus suffered and died for us—well, I praise Him for… for…” Halting, she began to weep.

“It’s okay, Winnie. I think this cantata touches each of us in a special way.” Ben bowed his head and said softly, “Lord, each of us comes to You this night with our own special load of baggage. We ask You to take it from us, lift it from our backs. Cleanse our minds of all thoughts except those of You. May we praise You with each word we sing, that Your name may be glorified. We ask these things in Jesus’ name.”

“Amen,” the entire group said in unison.

Ben motioned toward an empty seat in the baritone section. “As most of you know, Jim Carter has been having some physical problems lately, and he’s asked for our prayers. I’m… I’m sorry to have to tell you, but they have determined he has throat cancer. He has an appointment with a specialist tomorrow to see how best to proceed. We need to continue to pray for him. The prognosis does not look good.”

Winnie stood to her feet, her eyes round with concern. “But he always sings the part of Jesus! What if—”

“If he can’t sing,” Sarah Miles interrupted, tears evident through her thick glasses, “will… will we have to cancel the cantata?”

Everyone waited for Ben’s answer.

Ben frowned, gripping the edges of his music stand. “At this point, Sarah, I would have to say yes, that’s a distinct possibility, but it’s in God’s hands. Easter is only eight weeks away. It would be very difficult for someone else to step in and learn the music at this late date. I know you are all disappointed to hear it, but Down from the Cross may have to be canceled. The church board will be making the final decision within the next day or so. Until then, I guess we’ll carry on as usual.”

“But—” Sarah began.

“Let’s not discuss this any further tonight. We need to get on with our practice. The best thing we can do at this point is pray for a miracle for Jim when he goes to the specialist tomorrow. We all know God is able to perform miracles.”

Karen leaned toward Jane. “We simply can’t do the cantata without Jim.”

Jane gave her a weak smile. The news had upset her as much as everyone else. Jim Carter, a professional performer who traveled most of the year with a Southern gospel quartet, had sung the lead baritone part in their cantatas for as long as she could remember. Although she had heard him many times over the years, his rich voice still sent chills down her spine, even in rehearsals. “I know. We’d better pray hard.”

After another hour of practice, Ben dismissed the group.

“Jane, can you stay?” he asked as she moved out of the choir loft. “I’d like to go over your solos again.”

“Sure, Ben. I’ve been working on them at home, and I could really use your help. But if Down from the Cross has to be canceled—”

“It hasn’t been canceled—yet.” He motioned her toward the microphone. “I’m wondering about the part on page fifty, Jane. Even if we have to cancel the cantata, I still want you to sing this part on Easter Sunday at all three morning services.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I do.” He adjusted the microphone for her and then stepped aside. “Remember, you’re playing the part of Jesus’ mother. Before you begin to sing, think how Mary would feel. Put yourself in her place. Try to experience the same emotions she would have felt. Elation when she witnessed the miracles He performed. Sorrow when He was mistreated and falsely accused. An overwhelming grief as He was led to the cross.”

Ben’s words tore at Jane’s heart, and she found herself unable to speak.

“For these few minutes, you are Mary, the mother of Jesus. Be her. Respond the way she would respond. Weep as she would weep. Cry out the way she cried out. Forget about the audience. Do this for Him, Jane. Your Lord. Your God. The One who took your sins upon Himself and died on the cross for you. Think of His pain, His agony as He hung there on the cross, as Mary would have thought of it. Take on her personality. Her demeanor. And yes—her burden. If you cry— so be it! If you have to stop and compose yourself before you can go on—so be it! Become Mary, Jane! Forget who you are, and be who God wants you to be at that moment: Mary—the mother of Jesus—and sing it from the depths of your heart.”

Without picking up her book, Jane lifted the walker and moved one step closer to the microphone. She knew her part by heart. She had memorized it weeks ago. With a quick prayer to God, she nodded toward the pianist and began to sing. It was as if it were not her voice she heard but the voice of Mary, singing the way Mary would have sung it, and her heart rejoiced. This is for You, God; I’m singing it for You!

“That’s it!” Ben rushed to her side when she finished. “That’s exactly what I wanted. Oh, Jane, that is the best you have ever done it. Surely God has touched both your voice and your heart.”

Tears of joy flowed down Jane’s cheeks later when she thought over the evening’s events while hobbling her way across the nearly empty parking lot to her car. “Thank You, Lord, for giving us Ben Kennard as a choir director. Surely, You sent him to us. Help me to sing the part of Mary as I did tonight, so souls in the audience may see their need of a Savior and turn to You. And please, God, be with Jim Carter. He needs your touch.”

“Well, did you make it to choir practice on time last night?” Keene asked when Jane entered his office at ten the next morning, fresh from a trip to the doctor’s office.

Jane smiled at him, holding out her leg, minus the cast. “Not exactly on time, but close.”

“You finally got that thing off. Congratulations!” He knelt and wrapped his hand around her slim ankle. “How does it feel?”

“Nude!” She laughed, shocked at the word she had used to describe the weird sensation of having her ankle exposed to air once again. Hoping to make him forget her ridiculous remark, she hurriedly added, “It seems a bit strange to walk on it, but it feels marvelous—absolutely marvelous—to finally be rid of that cast.”

“I’m sure it does. I’m amazed you’ve done so well with it.”

He followed her down the hall to his office. “So how did choir practice go?”

“Wonderfully well.” She wanted to tell him all about the things Ben had said to her, about becoming Mary when she sang the part, and how, because of his words and guidance, she had sung better than she’d ever sung before, but she knew he wouldn’t understand and kept it to herself. “We’ve been working on our Easter cantata for weeks now. It’s beautiful.”

“Easter cantata, eh?”

“Yes, it’s called Down from the Cross. The writer had to have been truly inspired by God.”

He waited until she was settled in the desk chair where she planned to work on his fan mail and then seated himself in the chair opposite her, resting his elbows on the desktop. “I don’t know about that. Think of all the wonderful works of music that haven’t been inspired by God. Many of them have survived the test of time quite nicely.”

She could not hold back a grin. Chalk one up for God! Keene trapped himself by that admittance and did not even realize it. “Haven’t been inspired by God? Does that mean you acknowledge His existence?”

He reared back in the chair with a hearty laugh. “Oh, you thought you caught me, didn’t you? That is not what I meant at all. I meant, you thought they had been inspired by God.

Not me!”

Somehow, singing the part of Mary in the strong way she had the night before gave her a new boldness. “What about Handel’s Messiah? Was it not inspired by God? Do you think that man came up with it all by himself? We’ve all heard the story of how that miraculous piece of music came to be written. Handel himself declared it had been inspired by God.”

“I think you and I could argue this point until doomsday and never come to a resolution.” He stretched his arms first one way and then the other. “Too heavy a topic for this early in the morning. Besides, I’ve got practicing to do, and you’ve got mail to work on.” With that, he stood and headed for the door. “I’ll call for pizza for lunch. That okay with you?”

She nodded, forcing a smile, fully aware he was dodging the issue. How could he be so blind?

Thursday and Friday went along routinely, with Keene practicing in his room and Jane working in the office. Occasionally, she would open the door a crack, listening to the voice she loved to hear, amazed at the way the two of them had been brought together. However, in her heart she felt like she was failing God. She had promised to be a witness to Keene. Now, all these weeks later, he’d come no closer to believing in God’s reality than the day they first met. “Lord,” she prayed in a whisper, “this is the most wonderful man I’ve ever met. He has been kind, considerate, and gentle with me, yet each time Your name is mentioned, it’s like a wall goes up between us. I don’t know how to reach him. I need Your help, Your guidance. I don’t know what to do. Help me, please.”

Everyone sat in the chairs, waiting. The choir director was late to choir practice.

“Maybe we’d better go on without him,” one of the men suggested impatiently.

“Maybe he’s had an accident,” one of the female choir members said with concern.

All eyes turned as Ben entered the side door and moved up to his place in front of them. From the downcast look on his face, everyone could see something was troubling him. A hush fell over the choir, creating an awkward silence in the big sanctuary.

“I’m—” He stopped and cleared his throat noisily. “I’m afraid I have bad news. After a number of tests and a biopsy, the doctor has determined Jim does indeed have throat cancer and cannot sing with us. He’ll be seeing another specialist tomorrow to decide how best to proceed.”

Jane and the others turned toward one another, audibly voicing their sorrow and concern that something this terrible could happen to such a wonderful, dedicated man. One who used all his talents for his Lord.

Ben raised a hand to silence them. “The church board called an emergency meeting. They’ve asked me to tell you we are definitely canceling the Easter pageant.”

Women began to cry, and men shook their heads, many of them blinking back tears as well.

“Without Jim Carter to play the part of Jesus—” He didn’t have to finish his sentence. Everyone knew, without Jim, the pageant would not happen.

“We’re all disappointed, Ben,” one of the tenors volunteered, standing to his feet. “I’m sure we’ll all be holding Jim up in prayer.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“I’ll tell him. I know he’s counting on your prayers.” Ben swallowed hard and then continued. “I honestly thought this year would be our best year yet, with more souls saved than ever. Down from the Cross has such a message to it. Like all of you, I’m… I’m sorry and disappointed, but without Jim, we have no alternative. Believe me, Jim is more disappointed than any of us. He’d really looked forward to this year’s Easter pageant.”

Josh Steward rose slowly. “I really praise the Lord for Jim. Some of you who have been here as long as I have will remember the first time we talked about doing an Easter pageant here at Randlewood Community Church. A number of us—including me—were very much opposed to even having an Easter pageant, especially with an earthly man playing and singing the part of Jesus. Somehow it seemed irreverent. A group of us on the church board attended the pageant another church was performing, just to get a firsthand look at the performance and the audience reaction. I sure wasn’t prepared for what we saw that night, and I don’t think most of the other board members were either.”

J.T. Fortner rose, nodding. “I went that night, and like Josh, I was one of those who did not want our church to do an Easter pageant. Although I knew the man hanging on the cross was only another man, a sinner just like me, I can’t tell you the emotions that rushed through me as I sat in that audience. I’d never attended anything like it, and for the first time—seeing an actual scene of what it must have been like for my Jesus to suffer and bleed…” He paused, covering his face with his hands. “I–I think that’s when, for the first time, I really came to grips with what He has done for me. I remember turning to the chairman of our board and telling him I’d changed my mind. I wanted our church to do an Easter pageant.”

Wiping his eyes with his handkerchief, Elmer Bones stood, too. “That night will be embedded in my memory forever. Oh, I know some folks think it’s wrong to portray Christ’s life and death in a dramatic way, with mere mortals acting out the scenes, but since our church started having annual Easter and Christmas pageants, I dare say we’ve seen hundreds of lost souls flock to the front when our pastor gave an altar call. My… my…” He stopped, weeping openly, and gestured toward a lovely white-haired lady in the alto section. “My… my dear wife was one of them, praise God.” He sniffled and rubbed a tear from his cheek with his thumb before going on.

“I have to wonder how many of those people would have accepted Christ as their Savior if they hadn’t been in that audience that particular night. I, for one, am glad our church board had the foresight to vote unanimously to do these pageants. I have seen God’s hand at work not only on those who attend the pageants, but in the lives of us choir members. I say—if there is any way possible—we keep doing them.”

A rousing “Amen” sounded from all persons sitting in the choir loft.

“Isn’t there someone else who could sing Jim’s part?” one of the sopranos asked, blotting her eyes with her hanky.

“The board thought of that, but we only have about eight weeks left before Easter. For someone to step in at this late date, even if we could find a suitable substitute, would be nearly impossible. They’d not only have to learn the singing part but the stage part, too, with all its movements and locations. No, with the little amount of time we have left, that would never work, and we cannot risk doing a shoddy performance. Not for our Lord. He deserves only our best.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry I mentioned it.” The soprano lowered her head and sat down.

Ben brightened and smiled. “We still have this Sunday’s specials to practice.” He turned to the group of six sitting on a long pew in front of the choir. “On your feet, gang.” The six immediately moved into position, picking up their guitars and strapping them on while the pianist took her place.

Karen leaned toward Jane and whispered, “How could God allow something like this to happen?”

Though she had not voiced it, Jane wondered the same thing. The news about Jim’s illness hit her hard. For the fourth year in a row, she had been asked to sing the part of Mary. Though she had nearly turned Ben down the first year he asked her, the other members of the choir had encouraged her to do it, many saying her lovely alto voice would be perfect for the part. Even now, she could remember how terrified she had been at the idea of singing the solos before the many thousands of people who came to hear their Easter cantata each year. Nearly every one of the tickets for the eight performances were given out weeks ahead of Easter. Their church never charged those who attended, but you had to have an advance ticket to get in. Many nights, people were waiting in line as early as six o’clock, hoping folks wouldn’t show up and they’d be given their seats at the last minute.

There had been talk of moving the performance to another place, like the city’s convention center, but the board had always voted it down. They feared moving it to a location outside the church would make the cantata lose some of its warmth and atmosphere. Besides, over the years, the behind-the-scenes production committee had learned to handle things quite well in their familiar surroundings.

As their practice ended, Ben clapped his hands loudly. “Attention, everyone. Since we won’t be needing the music for Down from the Cross any longer, leave your books on your chair, and I’ll gather them up and take them to my office later.” He offered a sympathetic smile. “Maybe next year Jim will be back, and we’ll be able to sing it.”

Jane rose slowly, giving the precious book one last look. Though she had bought her own personal copy so she could practice at home, she never brought it with her for fear she would leave it at the church. She had also bought the accompaniment tape. She allowed her fingers to trail lovingly across its cover of deep royal blue. Below the title was an empty wooden cross with a long diagonal blast of sunlight reflecting from behind it, shedding light on the otherwise dark cover. The symbolism touched her heart deeply. Christ came to a dark world to take on my sin and die a tragic death for me! But His life didn’t end there. He arose. Praise You, Father.

“I’m just sick about this.” Karen Doyle placed her book on the seat with a shake of her head.

“So am I, Karen, but God is sovereign and promises to work all things for good to those who are called according to His purpose.” Jane carefully placed her book on the seat, slung her purse strap over her shoulder, and moved toward the aisle.

Karen followed. “A lot of people are going to be disappointed. I’ve really been talking it up at the office where I work. I’d planned to get at least twenty tickets to pass out to my coworkers, and I think most of them would’ve come. I’ve been trying to tell them about their need of God in their lives, but it’s so hard. I’d so hoped Down from the Cross would touch their hearts and make them want to accept God.”

Jane allowed a sigh to escape as she trudged toward the door, her heart heavy with disappointment. “I was hoping my boss would come, too.”

Karen’s face brightened. “You really think he would have?”

Pausing, Jane turned to her friend. “Maybe. I haven’t asked him yet, but I’d planned to.”

Karen harrumphed. “You needn’t worry about that now.”

“Yeah, I know.”

The two friends hugged and went their separate ways, promising to have lunch together soon.

“What’s wrong, Jane? You have been quiet all morning. Aren’t you feeling well?”

Jane had not been able to get the church’s Easter pageant off her mind since choir practice the night before. She almost hated to tell Keene about it, sure he would gloat and remind her that God wasn’t real, that if He had been real, He never would have let their main soloist become ill.

“Jane? I asked if you weren’t feeling well. Did you hear me?”

She looked up at him, blinking back tears. She hated getting emotional on him, but that’s the way she was, and she couldn’t do anything about it. This had really upset her. Jim Carter was a Christian brother and she felt for him and his family in this time of crisis. She felt bad for all the choir members who had worked so hard learning Down from the Cross, and all those who were helping with costumes, makeup, scenery, tickets, and the hundreds of other things that supported a production of this size and magnitude.

Keene circled his arm about her shoulders and looked down into her face. “What is it? You can tell me, you know that, don’t you?”

“It… it’s nothing you’d be interested in.”

Using his free hand, he pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket and blotted her tears. “I’ve never seen you so upset.” A tiny smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “Except when I crashed my BMW into your little car.”

“I’m just disappointed, that’s all.”

He frowned, and in his eyes she could see a genuine concern. “Oh? At someone or something?”

She gave him a wistful look. “The man who always sings the part of Jesus in our Easter pageant has throat cancer, and his prognosis doesn’t look good. Without him, we’ve had to call it off, and I was so looking forward to singing the part of Mary. We’re all praying for him, but even if he has surgery, there’s no way he’ll be able to sing by Easter. Maybe never!”

Keene pondered her comment for a moment then asked, “Isn’t there someone else who could sing his part?”

Jane checked the coffeemaker and, finding Keene had already made their morning coffee, poured each of them a cup. “No, not the way he sings it. He has sung the lead part in our cantatas for as long as I can remember. Besides having a great voice, he really puts his heart into it.”

“Thanks.” He took the cup from her hand and stared into the rich brown liquid. “Well, learning an entirely new score in such a short time would be quite difficult, but learning the stage moves and timing that quickly, too, would be nearly impossible. It’d be difficult for me to do it, and I’m a pro.”

“Enough of this kind of talk.” She picked up her own cup, forcing a smile. “I’ve got work that needs to be done today, and you’ve got practicing to do. See you at noon.”

He gave her a mock salute with his free hand. “Yes, ma’am.”

The phone was ringing when she entered the office. Another one of Keene’s many girlfriends, this one calling from London, wanting to know why he had not returned her calls.

“I’m sorry. I’ve given him all your messages,” she explained to the impatient woman. “However, I can tell you he is in the midst of learning new music for his next season and is quite busy.” She took the woman’s name and number again. How many times has that woman called?

At noon, she gave him the call slip, along with several others—most of them from women who had called before. “You’re a popular man,” she said, smiling at him over a carton of sweet and sour chicken. “It seems most of the calls I take for you are from women.”

He grinned. “What can I say? I admit I enjoy the company of beautiful women.”

She eyed him with a frown. “But you’ve never married?”

“With my schedule and all my traveling?”

It is none of my business, but I am going to ask you anyway. “Don’t you want a wife and children?”

He stared off into space thoughtfully, and she knew he was weighing his answer before stating it. “Sure, I’d like to have a wife and family. However, with my lifestyle, it just would not work. Besides, there’s an even greater problem than my schedule and traveling that keeps me from getting married.”

“Oh? Dare I ask what it is?” She looked at him cautiously, wishing she could retract her words. He may have a physical problem he would prefer not to discuss with her. She would never want to embarrass him—or herself! And what business was it of hers anyway?

Quickly turning his attention toward her with a mischievous smile, he confessed, “I haven’t found the right woman.”

Her mouth gaped. That was not the answer she had expected. “You’ve got to be kidding! With all the women who call you? Keene! Surely you’re not serious!”

His expression sobered. “Oh, but I am serious. As much as I value the many female friendships I’ve made over the years, and the times I’ve enjoyed the pleasure of a beautiful woman’s company for an evening, I can honestly say I haven’t found a single one I’d want to marry and call my wife.” He dipped his head shyly. “That sounds a bit pompous, doesn’t it?”

She considered his remark. “No, I don’t think it makes you sound pompous. If you haven’t found that one perfect love— the one God…” She stopped short and bit her lip.

“The one God intended for me?” He gave her a playful wink.

“Yes, that’s what I was going to say,” she answered demurely.

He set his carton of lemon chicken on the table and reached across, cupping her hand in his. “Is that what you’re waiting for, Jane? A perfect man?”

She felt her eyes widen. “I’m not looking for a perfect man. I’m looking for the man God has intended for me. No earthly man is perfect.” She took a deep breath. I have to say this right, so he’ll understand. “Keene, God has a plan for each of us. His perfect plan. If we love Him and want to serve Him, He’ll guide us to the one with whom He would have us spend our life.”

He gave her hand a slight squeeze. “Does that mean—out there somewhere—the man of your dreams is looking for you?”

She offered a nervous snicker. “I hope so, but only if God intends that I marry. Maybe, in His perfect plan, I’ll remain single all my life.”

Keene reared his head back with a hearty laugh. “No way! You are beautiful, intelligent, and one of the most caring, considerate women I have ever met. Some man is going to come along and snatch you up. Take my word for it.”

His complimentary words caught her off guard, and she found herself speechless.

“Actually,” he said slowly, sizing her up, “those qualities are exactly what I’d like to have in a wife.”

Although she couldn’t see her own face, she knew it must be as red as a radish.

“Tell me, Jane. What qualities would you like your husband to have?”

As his thumb stroked her hand, she actually felt goose bumps rise on her arms. She hoped that he wouldn’t notice.

“Ah… I…”

“Surely, you’ve thought about that. Don’t be shy. Tell me.”

Oh, Lord—give me the words. “First and foremost, he’d have to love God as much as I do.”

Keene leaned toward her with a tender smile. “Knowing you, I expected that to be your first priority.”

Thank You, God. “Well… he’d have to be kind, caring, and considerate.”

“You haven’t said handsome or rich,” he prodded with a teasing smile.

“Neither of those things is important to me,” she confessed honestly. “I want him to be beautiful on the inside, of course. I don’t care about handsome. Nor do I care about rich. I know the man God would have me marry would want to provide adequately for his family. We’d be a team.”

“What about children?”

That subject always made her smile. She longed to be a mother someday. “Oh, yes. He’d want children. I cannot imagine God ever pairing me with a man who didn’t. Not with the love for children He’s placed in my heart. I’d like to have at least four or five.”

Keene blinked hard then stared at her. “Four or five children? Really?”

She nodded. “At least. Don’t you want children?”

He released her hand and leaned back in the chair, locking his fingers over his chest. “If I didn’t have to travel. I could not bear the idea of going off and leaving a family behind. Kids need their dad around.”

“It would be difficult. I know I couldn’t do it.”

He rose quickly. “I’ve got an appointment in half an hour. I’d better be heading out.” He reached for his empty cartons, but she got to them first.

“You go on. I’ll take care of this.”

He wadded up his paper napkin and stuffed it into one of the empty cartons before making sure his wallet was in his back pocket and heading toward the door. “Been good visiting with you. I enjoy our little talks.”

She gave him a sheepish smile. He’d never know how much she enjoyed them. “Me, too.”

Jane worked at the desk, taking care of routine things like making out checks for Keene’s bills, answering the many phone calls that came in from all over the world, getting out the mailings he’d prepared for those on his select fan list, and dozens of other chores. But something niggled at her mind all afternoon.

At four o’clock, she called her pastor.

Jane glanced nervously at the clock on the wall in Pastor Congdon’s office. Nearly eight o’clock. Without warning, a side door opened and Kevin Blair, a longtime member of Randlewood Community Church, crooked his finger at her. “You can come in, Jane. We’re ready for you now.”

As Jane followed Kevin into the large room adjoining the pastor’s office, she glanced around the big table at the many familiar faces of those who served on the church board.

“Gentlemen, I received an interesting phone call from Jane this afternoon. I have invited her here this evening to tell you, in person, what she told me. I think you’ll be interested.”

Jane’s heart sank into her shoes. She rarely spoke to a group, other than to the women of her Bible study, and even then she shook while she talked. She waited until Pastor Congdon had seated himself before drawing a deep breath and asking the Lord to help her state her purpose clearly and concisely.

“I–I…” Please, God. Calm me down. “I’m as upset as anyone about our Easter pageant being canceled. Those of us who sing in the choir and have had the opportunity to practice Down from the Cross were excited about its message and how both the words and music could touch hearts. It’s… it’s the most powerful testimony to God’s mercy and grace that we’ve ever heard.”

She paused, glancing around the table at each person. God, give them open minds, please. “I have an idea—a way that will allow us to go ahead with our plans to present the Easter program.”

“Without Jim Carter?” one of the older men interjected quickly, his beady eyes staring at her over funny little half-glasses perched low on his nose.

“Hear her out,” Pastor Congdon said quickly.

Jane gave him a grateful smile then continued. “I won’t go into detail, other than to say that through a series of circumstances that I feel came from the hand of God, I now work for Keene Moray. Some of you may recognize that name.”

Some nodded their heads, acknowledging that they did indeed know who he was, while others gave her a blank stare or turned to the person seated next to them in bewilderment.

“Isn’t he that famous opera singer?” one of them finally asked.

She nodded. Don’t let them close their minds before they hear me out, God. “Yes, Keene is quite famous, highly respected in the music world, and very much in demand.”

“What’s that got to do with our problem?” The man with the little glasses leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Like I said, I work for Keene. He is making his home in Providence for the next few months, learning and rehearsing the new opera he will be performing next year. We’ve… we’ve become good friends.”

Pastor Congdon cleared his throat. “Go on. Tell them your idea, Jane.”

Her heart raced. If she didn’t feel God’s guidance in this, she would run out of the room and never look back. “I–I don’t know if Mr. Moray would have any interest in what I am about to propose, or if it’s even possible with his contract, but I’d like the board’s permission to ask Keene to sing Jim Carter’s part—the part of Jesus—in Down from the Cross.”

One of the younger men leaped to his feet and glared at her. “Do you have any idea what it would cost to hire someone like him? I know the church wouldn’t be able to afford it!”

“I’m sure he has a contract of some sort that requires union fees. We sure couldn’t afford to pay him that kind of money,” another added.

Jane chose her words carefully. “I–I was hoping he’d figure out a way to do it for a minimal fee, maybe even gratis.”

“Why would he do that? He’s never even been to our church, has he?” another asked.

Pastor Congdon stood and leaned forward. “Gentlemen, if I may, I’d like to add something to what Jane has said.”

All eyes turned his way.

“When Jane called me, I was skeptical about this idea just like you are. But the more she talked, and the more I listened, I realized this could be the answer to all our prayers—prayers that, in some way, God would make it possible to provide this community with the truth of His Word through our Easter presentation.”

He paused and rested his palms on the conference table. “This man may not even consider Jane’s idea, but then again, maybe he will. She feels it is worth a try to ask him. I agree with her.”

“But is he saved? Does he know the Lord?” a man seated next to the pastor asked.

Jane felt she should answer his question since she was the only one personally acquainted with Keene. “No, he is not saved, though I have been witnessing to him nearly every day. At times he seems open, and I’m praying he’ll confess his sins and ask God’s forgiveness before he leaves Rhode Island. He’s a wonderful man and a gentleman. You’d all like him.”

“I’ve always questioned anyone playing the part of Jesus, even Jim Carter, but an unsaved man? I’m not sure that would be wise,” another man offered, concern written on his face.

“I understand what you’re saying, Milton,” Pastor Congdon said kindly. “But let’s think about this carefully. What is our goal here? Is it not to reach the people in our community with the message of God’s Word? Through music and the spoken word? Isn’t that the reason we always have an altar call at the end of each performance?”

“But an unsaved man singing the part of our Lord?”

Pastor Congdon rubbed his chin. “Tell me, Milton, do you know for sure that each member of our choir is saved? We have a big choir, some 150 people on any given Sunday. Some folks just like to sing and want an outlet for their talent.”

Milton stared at him for a moment before answering. “I hate to admit it, but you may be right.”

Pastor Congdon gave the man an appreciative smile. “Let me bring up another point here. We have a fairly large orchestra to back up our choir on Sunday mornings, right?”

Everyone present nodded.

“Have you forgotten we hire about half of those people? They are not even members of our church, but we hire them because they are professionals and we need them. The other half are our own dedicated church members who do it for free because they want to serve God with their talents. Should we fire those whom we hire or think any less of the musicians and their capabilities because they may not claim to be Christians?”

Milton spoke up again. “But hire a man to play the part of Jesus? Shouldn’t the man who plays that part be a Christian?”

“That’s what we’re here to decide,” the chairman of the board said, scanning each face. “At this point, we don’t even know if Mr. Moray would consider such an invitation should we decide to offer it. He may give us a flat no, and that’ll be the end of it.” His face took on a gentle smile. “But I personally think Jane’s idea has great merit. Think about it. Each year, though we fill our sanctuary for eight straight nights, and we’ve done everything but get down on our knees and beg the newspapers, radio, and television stations for coverage, we’ve had very little publicity. And,” he went on, “I’m sorry to say, but although many people come forward for salvation or rededication, most of those in our audience are Christians.”

Pastor Congdon nodded his head. “He’s right. All you have to do is look at the attendance cards we ask everyone to sign.”

“What if—” The man’s eyes sparkled as he continued. “What if Keene Moray, a famous opera singer, were to sing the lead part in our Easter production? Think of the possibilities to reach people with the gospel, gentlemen. People from all over the state would come to hear him! What would it cost them to attend a performance at the opera? Maybe $60 or $70 a seat? And they would be attending our performance for free! I am not sure we would be able to contain the crowds! Do you think we’d have to beg the media for coverage with him singing the part of Jesus?”

Milton shook his head. “I know you’re right—Mr. Moray singing in our church’s Easter pageant would be a real drawing card—but could he do it? I mean, portraying Christ would be extremely difficult. Not many men could do it without offending those in our audience. We sure don’t want that to happen. I remember the first year we did a cantata that required someone to play the part of Jesus, we had a real uproar from a number of church members.”

“That we did,” Pastor Congdon said with a slight chuckle. “But after that first night, everyone agreed it worked out well, especially when so many people responded to the invitation. Jim Carter did a masterful job singing, and I don’t really remember anyone complaining after that first night.”

“But Jim was saved,” a member who had been silent up to that point said meekly. “He sang it from his heart.”

Jane could no longer keep her silence. “Keene Moray is a professional, just as those musicians we hire for the Sunday morning services are professionals. Granted, he doesn’t know Jesus as his Savior, but that man is able to take simple words from a music score and put feelings and emotions into them that would amaze you. I know. I hear him every day. He’s not only a singer, he’s an actor. A marvelous actor. If he were willing to do it, he could take the music to Down from the Cross and make it come alive.” God, help me to make them understand! “I–I have an audiotape at home of Elvis Presley singing ‘Amazing Grace.’ I’ve heard some say he was a Christian, but from his lifestyle, I have my doubts. Yet every time I hear him sing it, it touches my heart. Could not Keene’s voice singing the part of Jesus in Down from the Cross touch hearts in our audience?”

Pastor Congdon gave Jane a smile of agreement, and she felt herself relax.

“Thank you, Jane,” he said, motioning toward the door. “You’ve given us much to think about. The board and I will discuss this, pray about it, and get back to you. Thank you for coming.”

Jane stood to leave and felt compelled to make one last plea. “I–I want to thank you for letting me come here tonight. Please… I’d like to leave you with one final thought. Keene is a gentleman with a fine personal reputation, one of which he is very proud. If you decide to allow me to ask him to do this for our church, and if he should accept the invitation, I can assure you he will give the performance of his life. Keene never does anything halfway. He would never do anything to embarrass the church, the board, or me, and especially not himself. Please pray about this and consider it carefully before making your final decision.”

She walked out the door with a feeling of euphoria, knowing she had done the best she could. God had answered her prayers and steadied her heart and mind. She had to smile to herself. Getting the church to approve was only the first step. If they agreed, convincing Keene to do it—even if his contract and agent would allow it—might be more difficult. “But,” she said aloud with a renewed confidence, “God can do anything!”

The next morning, right at nine o’clock, the phone rang in Keene’s office.