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Esther
Esther sat in the back pew and admired the backs of the congregants’ heads.
Roderick Puddy was a man they needed to keep around. Not only did he have a lovely wife and five awesome children—he knew how to fix things. They’d thanked him profusely, and it had been revealed that they’d learned about New Beginnings from one of Rachel’s social media posts. Apparently, Lauren was some distant cousin of Rachel’s.
Amazing.
Across the aisle from the Puddys sat their lawyer, Walter Rainwater. And he was still handsome.
All seven founding ladies were in attendance, and all seemed pleased as punch—especially Vicky who was somehow making announcements last for fifteen minutes. Esther cleared her throat and glared at her. Vicky avoided her eyes but did wrap things up.
Then Rachel stepped forward to lead the music. “We don’t have a musician yet, but one is coming,” she said confidently. “For now, would you please find ‘How Great Thou Art’ in your hymnals? I’m sorry, I can’t give you a page number, because we’ve got a mishmash of hymnals, but I checked, and they all have ‘How Great Thou Art.’”
The page rustling faded out, and Rachel, looking very nervous beneath her giant red hat, began to sing the old song in a strong, unflashy alto. Others soon joined in and drowned her out, and she looked relieved. Esther sang as loudly as she could. She’d never seen Rachel look nervous before. So they were all out of their comfort zones. Except maybe Vicky. “God,” Esther prayed as she sang, “send Vicky a little something. Get her out there on the edge with the rest of us.”
They sang two more songs, and it seemed no one missed the piano. Then Cathy stepped up behind the ancient pulpit. She cleared her throat. She too looked nervous. “First things first. I am not a pastor! I am not a biblical scholar. I am not a preacher. I am not even a teacher. And I am not going to pretend to be any of those things. I’ve never worked anywhere but the paper mill, and I raised three awesome children. But neither of those things qualifies me to stand up before you here today.
“I am here now because I am a God-fearing woman who has spent years in the Word. God is sending us a piano player, and he’s sending us a pastor. Until then, we’ll have laypeople up here sharing what God has put on their hearts. Today, God has put on my heart a vision for this church, and I’m going to share it with you.
“First, let’s read what Jesus had to say in the twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew.” She put on her reading glasses with a shaking hand. Then she read, “Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, ‘Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.’” Without raising her head, she looked out over the top of her glasses and gave everyone a delighted, almost mischievous smile. “Doesn’t that sound delightful?” It took her several seconds to find her place again, but everyone waited quietly and patiently. “So then Jesus said, ‘For I was hungry, and ye gave me to eat. I was thirsty, and ye gave me to drink. I was a stranger, and ye took me in. Naked, and ye clothed me. I was sick, and ye visited me. I was in prison, and ye came unto me.’ Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when saw we thee hungry, and fed thee? Or athirst, and gave thee drink? And when saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? Or naked, and clothed thee? And when saw we sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?’” She paused, and when she continued, her voice was thick with emotion. “And the King shall answer and say unto them, ‘Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye did it unto one of these my brethren, even these least, ye did it unto me.’”
Cathy took off her glasses and gazed out at her small audience. “This church is being started by seven old broads.”
A few of the women tee-heed.
“We all came from the same church, which shut down. I have no criticisms of that church. I really don’t. We had good lives there. Most of us raised our families there. But when I was presented with this opportunity, I had a thought. What if this is our chance to do something better? Something more than just church.” She put air quotes around the word church. “Nobody is expecting anything of us here. We don’t have any expectations to live up to. We can just do whatever God wants us to do, and I think he wants us to feed people, to give people water, to take people in, to give people clothes, to help sick people, and to visit people in prison.” She let that sink in for a moment and then added, “I’m not volunteering for the prison run, but I think it’s a great idea for someone else.”
Everyone laughed. Even the kids. Even Vicky.
“I don’t know what it’s going to look like yet, but we’ve got this building and we’ve got the Gospel. So I say we start collecting food and clothing and bringing it in. We start inviting people. You know”—she leaned on the pulpit—“I’ve read that there is some debate over the interpretation of the Scripture we just read. Does the least of these mean the least of everyone or the least of the believers? I don’t speak or read the original Greek, so I have no idea, but I do know that it doesn’t matter. God’s not going to get angry at us if we give food to someone who will never be his child. And if we give whatever we have to whoever is in need, we’re bound to cover all the people he does want us to cover. And I’m not going to dismiss anyone as not being his child, because even if they’re not, they might be tomorrow or the next day, and it might be our water that brings them to Jesus! Who knows? Stranger things have happened!” She was getting herself increasingly wound up. “I taught Sunday school for two decades, and I’m happy to teach Sunday school again. But let’s not only glue cotton balls on paper lambs. Let’s also teach our children to get out and minister to people, to help people! Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
At first no one answered her, and Esther wondered if the question had been rhetorical.
Then Roderick Puddy shot one fist into the air and yelled, “Amen!”
