Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [27]
Instructed? “Oh, not word for word, but—”
“But you said yourself it was an old chestnut you’ve delivered lots of times. I got to tell you, Tom, it has a little age on it. You refer to lots of commentary writers, when people want to hear your own thoughts.”
“Well, that’s how most preachers form their thoughts, Paul. We read, we study, we compare passages, we compare and contrast commentators and decide which we agree with, then share that with—”
“I’m just sayin’, okay? Work at being original and tighten up your delivery. We don’t want people’s eyes glazing over, now do we?”
“I know I’m no great orator, Paul. . . .”
“Now there’s an understatement! Ha! I’m glad you have a sense of humor about it, Tom. It’ll work out as you settle in and get to know us.”
Thomas stopped and rubbed his eyes. “Paul, we really need to talk about the oversight of the other congregations.”
“I know we do. Come on in and I’ll show you my plans.”
Forest View High School
Just before rehearsal that afternoon, Alex North finally locked eyes with Brady. “Don’t worry,” Alex said, “I’ll be ready when you crash and burn.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that besides playing the lead, I’m understudying for you. Mr. N. says you’re flunking out of the play, so I’ll be ready. Who knows? I may have to play both parts.”
Flunking out? Nabertowitz actually told him that?
“What’re you, nuts? Most of your scenes are with Birdie, you idiot.”
“I’m just saying I could do both, and it’s unlikely you can do one.”
“How about we go outside so I can kick—”
“Gentlemen!” Mr. Nabertowitz said, breezing in. “I’m not even praying for chemistry, but you two are going to have to work together, so . . .”
Brady approached the director and whispered, “You told him I was flunking out?”
“I said no such thing, Brady. I merely told him you had some academic issues and that we had to be prepared for any eventuality. Now, I’ll talk to him about what he thinks he heard. You just concentrate on what you need to do. And by the way, his parents are in the front row.”
11
Oldenburg Rural Chapel
Thomas had not expected his discussion with Paul Pierce to go smoothly, but this was absurd. The man was still sitting there, in the pastor’s office, arguing point by point why his plan to supervise the other churches made more sense than Thomas’s doing it himself.
“I’ll explain myself one more time, Paul, if I must. I’ll be at each location every week. They don’t want to feel like sister churches or daughter churches of this one, and frankly, I’m sensing you have personally alienated some of them.”
“I have? Me? Tell me one person who’s said that, and I’ll tell you why.”
Thomas shook his head. “Now, Paul, I’m going to have to ask that you defer to me as your pastor on this. I deeply appreciate all your help, and Grace and I cannot deny that you and Patricia have gone the extra mile in getting us settled in and making us feel welcome. . . .”
“But you don’t need me anymore.”
Oh, for the love . . .
Thomas had run into this type before—perhaps not as stage-mom brash as Paul Pierce, but the kind that resorted to cheap tactics when not getting his way. Paul sat there looking and sounding like a big baby. He had summarized Thomas’s position by exaggerating it to the ridiculous. And he wasn’t finished.
“If you’d rather Patricia and I just show up for services and sit in the back and don’t even attempt to come alongside and help, fine.”
Thomas almost fell for the trick, nearly jumping in to reassure Paul that that wasn’t what he wished at all. But fortunately, perhaps because of Grace’s praying, he kept his senses.
“Here’s what I want, Paul, if you really want to help. I want you to not take this personally—”
“How can I not?”
“—and I want you to be willing to agree to disagree but defer to me as your shepherd.”
“I’ve been here for decades, Tom! I—”
“And I want you to continue in your leadership role