Remember Who You Are

Ch 14-15

Chapters 11-13 are under construction and are not relevant to the plot(at this point).





Chapter Fourteen


Wesley was ready for church. His arm was nearly healed, and it was time to return to work. The past week had been uneventful. Since returning Monday evening from celebrating with Cameron on her birthday, Wesley had rested, read, and rested some more. Multiple trips to see Simon had progressed from, initially, Simon ignoring and rejecting him to, finally, some friendly banter. He was slowly recovering from his stroke, learning to walk again, and his speech was returning. There were no miracles here – just hard word from Simon and his medical team. Mamie was, Mamie, simultaneously cranky and loving. Long walks with Lucky gave Wesley a better feel for his new hometown.


Wesley had a good feeling. This was going to be a special day. A new beginning. He was finally going to deliver his “Hi! I’m Wesley” sermon and he and the congregation would be able to start fresh. Walking into the kitchen, with Lucky at his side, Wesley could hardly contain his excitement and happiness. Bending over, he scooped up Lucky and started dancing with his dog. “I got sunshine,” Wesley sang off-key. “On a cloudy day, When it’s cold outside, I got the month of May,” Wesley twirled. Dropping to his knees, he placed Lucky on the floor and grabbed his two front paws, “I…guess…you’d…say, What can make me feel this way? My church, my church, my church, Talkin ‘bout my church,” switching from his regular off-key singing to falsetto off-key singing, he sang “My church! OOH!” Lucky threw his head back and howled – matching Wesley’s note perfectly.


*****


“Any other announcements?” Wesley waited. The routine aspects of the service had been performed without incident. The sanctuary was full, Wesley assumed they were there to see if there would be any fireworks with the new guy back. He smiled inwardly, not today, he thought. He was going to deliver the best “Hi, I’m Wesley!” sermon ever delivered.


Just as he was set to announce the next hymn, Ruth Cabaniss stood. The congregation rustled and Wesley, following their lead, turned and looked at Ruth, standing in her normal position at the head of the choir. “Ruth, you have an announcement?” asked Wesley, smiling.


“I cannot be a member of this church anymore. Not as long as Wesley Aames is the pastor.” At that moment, every member of the choir rose, removed their choir robes in an obviously rehearsed move, and followed Ruth down the aisle and out the front door. A few members stood and joined at the end of the line.


Wesley stood in disbelief and watched the procession. Emotions warred within him. A cold sweat chilled him and the sinking feeling in his stomach nauseated him. Knowing that the congregation waited on his response, and the wrong response would doom this church forever, Wesley did what felt natural. He knelt in prayer.


Head bowed, hands clasped in front of him, and kneeling in the middle of the floor, both knees on the same carpet where he lay bleeding only weeks earlier, Wesley prayed. Silently. He used this time as a stalling technique. Wesley knew that no one would leave during his prayer; he hoped no one else would leave regardless. Wesley knew he had to respond in a way that showed strength, hope, humor, and forgiveness. He could not suppress his anger though.


Struggling to rise, still trying to protect his arm, he shook his head ruefully, and said, “Getting old.” There were a few chuckles. Wesley stood a moment and let his gaze connect with every person sitting in the congregation. “Anyone else? Anyone else ready to quit this church? Ready to quit on this church? Now is the time.” Wesley spread his hands and offered them in supplication. “Make your grand exit. Pick your reason. Preacher cusses. He has an occasional beer. Well, here’s a newsflash. I am not going to stop. Okay, maybe I am working on my occasional profanity.” There was general laughter. Wesley continued, “But you know, when I see starving children, abused animals, or suicide videos on facebook, sometimes all I can say is ‘Damn.’” Wesley was only inches from where Rosa Lee died. And he knew everyone realized that. Playing that to his advantage he said, “Anyone else gonna leave? Because, let me tell you once and for all, we don’t need quitters in this church. We need fighters. We need Christian soldiers. We need people who will fight for a space – this space – where community spirituality can be fostered, nurtured, and refined.” Wesley saw Mamie Black nodding in agreement. “We need people who will fight for a space – this space,” Wesley spread his arms as if to embrace the building, “where community - a community of loving people can gather and grow and care for one another. We need fighters who will fight for a space – this space – where the gospel of Jesus can be experienced and shared. We need fighters.” Wesley noticed Doc and Hilda Kirby grinning like idiots.


“Take out your cell phones.” Everyone laughed. “Seriously, take out your cell phones. If you want to join me in the fight for this space, your space, then text me. My number is, are you ready? 704-555-4139. Text me. Tell me your name so I will know who the fighters are in the church. 704-555-4139.” Wesley pulled his cell phone from beneath his robes and turned it on. Everyone waited. Text message signals started coming in. Then, the signals flooded in. After a few minutes, Wesley started grinning and tearing up. Most of the congregation was grinning. Wesley saw Squeaky wipe a tear from her eye. Wesley motioned for the congregation to rise. He moved to the front row and started hugging and fist bumping every person in the sanctuary. Bill Hastings, one of the firefighters that started attending after Wesley performed the funeral service for Bradley Oliver, started a thunderous slow clap that crescendoed into tumultuous and thunderous applause, and the occasional hoot.


 


Chapter Fifteen


Wesley sat in the sanctuary. He had been unable to sleep. After his emotional rollercoaster ride during the service, the service where Wesley was sure that life at Covenant United Methodist Church would return to some sort of normalcy – not that any type of normalcy had existed since his hiring – Wesley had been too stressed to lie in bed and try to sleep. He had read, played Wagner too loud, and paced the confines of the parsonage. Now, at four a.m., he sat on the fourth row, his feet on the same carpet where a heartbroken teenager had taken his own life, and he wondered. He doubted. He tried to pray. And failed. The service had ended in a triumph; perhaps a triumph that Wesley could build upon. But the fact remained, there was no choir. And every Sunday, until there was a choir, the congregation would be reminded of that fact. And these choir members had friends and all of them would surely be undermining Wesley’s efforts to revive the church. Wesley doubted himself. He doubted the conviction of the collective congregation. He doubted God.


“What do you want?” He pleaded. Leaning back and looking at the ceiling, he asked again, softly, “What do you want? What have I done wrong? My whole life. You’ve taken. My parents. Grandparents. My wife. My unborn child. Can I never be happy? I thought maybe if I sacrificed my only child, you would leave me alone. What the Hell did I do?!?!” By the time he finished he was yelling and standing. Stomping like a petulant child, Wesley raged up and down the center aisle, the same aisle Susie said he was to come down in procession Sunday mornings. “What. The. Hell. Did. I. Do?” every word was louder than the previous one. As he stormed the heavens and the church, he pounded the back of the church pews with his left hand – punctuating his words with hard slaps on the wood. “Why am I not worthy of love? Why can I not have some peace? Will I always be alone? DAMMIT!! Answer me. Answer Me!!!” Wesley stood defiantly, facing the altar and the pulpit and scream, “WHAT. DID. I. DO???”