GREET THE WORSHIPPERS
THE MOMENT OF TRUTH
Pastor Fred Livingood pronounces the benediction. He slowly makes his way to the main door of the sanctuary of Fourth Presbyterian Church in the small Philadelphia suburb. He can hear the murmurs and the rustle of people as they prepare to leave the sanctuary.
How do you greet people, many of whom were made to feel uncomfortable by his sermon, and not become defensive by their brief responses at the door? He hungers for acceptance but not at the price of integrity.
What does the Gospel say to a people living in a society that is experiencing protests and racial incidents that are raising the temperature of social intercourse? He had struggled with this sermon and rewritten it several times this past week.
He hated conflict and worked hard to build good relationships within the church. Sometimes he worried that maintaining peace became more critical than his integrity.
He loved the Scripture, but it often made him feel guilty. Sometimes some of Jesus’ commands sounded unrealistic in today’s society. Jesus kept hanging around the wrong type of people. He didn’t seem to care if it offended people or not. He talked about it being easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. It’s clear Jesus never managed a church and tried to meet the yearly budget.
Ariel Johnson approached him and held out her hand. At 87, she was still bouncy and cheerful. “Thanks for that challenging sermon today, Reverend. That took a lot of courage, but it held a lot of truth.”
“Thank you, Ariel. I hope you’ve been feeling alright this week.”
“Waiting for some medical tests to come back, but otherwise I’m doing fine.”
Several other people greeted him, some with smiles and some with frowns and head shakes as they move quickly out the door. He glances down the line, and something inside him stiffens. It feels like a storm cloud gathering, and he can almost hear the rumble of thunder.
Victor Bellinger advances towards him like a bull having spotted the red flag and preparing to charge. The little boy inside him tells him to run and hide, but he knows that isn’t an option. He stands up straight, extends his hand, and says, “Victor, how are you today?”
“I sure felt better before I came here and had to listen to your political nonsense. If I wanted to get the news, I’d have stayed home and read the Wall Street Journal. I come here for some good news and find hope in this crazy world. I don’t come to be accused of being a racist and whatever else you spouted off in that poor excuse for a sermon.”
He was breathing hard and getting more red in the face with each word he spoke.
“Now dear,” his wife Marsha, an attractive blond of about 50 years of age, patted his arm. “Don’t get so upset. It’s not for your blood pressure.”
“I’m sorry your upset, Víctor. Can you wait until after I’ve finished talking to the others who are in line.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed, and his chin stuck forward. “Why wait. Maybe they’ll find out what a wuss you are. Why not put your money where your mouth is, Reverend? In fact, I might talk to a few of the elders and see if they will agree to hold up your pay until you return to preaching the Gospel. How does that sound, Reverend?
“It sounds like to me that you think you can blackmail the pastor.”
Fred looked towards the new speaker. It was Fran Smith, an African American teenager who recently became part of the church youth group. This was one of the few times he’d seen her in worship. She had a fierce look on her face. Her stance suggested she was ready to take on the world.
All eyes turned towards her and back to Victor, wondering how he would respond.
Victor got even redder in the face. “You watch your mouth, young lady. You’re not part of this conversation. If your people would just behave, we wouldn’t have all these problems.”
Fred would always remember that moment, frozen in time. An audible gasp issued from several people standing nearby. Even Victor knew that he’d gone too far, but his words hung there in the air.
