A Small Voice

Chapter Four

"If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves,and the truth is not in us."1 John 1:8

What was I going to tell my dad? The question ran through my mind over and over during the Sunday morning church service. Pastor John did that thing where he looked around the congregation, and then stared directly into someone's eyes for a few moments. I kept expecting him to lock eyes on me as he spoke about how God places his Ministers on Earth to lead by example. He quoted from the book of Romans in the New Testament: "Paul said, follow me as I follow Christ." I could challenge the best of them when it came to knowing the source of quoted scripture.

Today, I needed to lie. But I couldn't remember telling a significant lie in my entire life, and it certainly did not align with the message of following Paul's example! Would I be able to pull it off? I'd figure how to attempt it later. It made me uncomfortable to try to fabricate my story in the house of God.

The service finally ended, and I was glad to get out of there. My stomach was in knots. The guilt was getting to me in the church. Regardless, it was time to put some sort of plan into action.

Our traditional Sunday dinner was roast beef rubbed in rosemary and thyme, served with golden Yorkshire pudding and creamy mashed potatoes—comfort food. The blend of fragrances and the sounds of my parents working in the kitchen together were to become a nostalgic memory for me as the years passed. One of the few.

Some of my parents' friends from church had come over, and chatter floated through the house while we waited for the meal to be served. I kept an eye on my dad, and when I spotted him heading for the kitchen, I quietly followed.

I tried to sound casual. "Hey, Dad."

My father was an intimidating man. He had come from Germany as a young boy, and his parents had upheld a very strict Protestant morality. And although our family was on the fringes of Evangelicalism, part of a religion that was unconventional enough to possibly be considered a sect, he was still as traditional in his basic sense of right and wrong as he was growing up.

The fact that our congregation played contemporary worship music and believers raised hands and sometimes even danced to some upbeat songs in no way diluted the stringent discipline. We were a proud congregation. We weren't like the more moderate, nominal churches, and we felt superior in our unconventionality. For example, if someone didn't raise their hands in worship, if they were too shy or found it odd, they would quietly be judged by most members.

The measure of one's faith was connected to their participation in church activities, as odd as some of those activities might seem. Believers who attended only one of the Sunday services, or missed a midweek meeting, were considered backsliders, and perceived as lackadaisical about their spiritual growth.

"Dad, I actually got called into work tonight," I lied.

"Tell them you're unavailable," he responded. He didn't seem in the mood to exercise empathy for a coffee shop full of sinners.

"Well, that's just it. Sandy is in a real jam. You know how flexible she's been with me, and honestly, she gives me way more leeway than she gives the other workers. Plus, she knows how serious I am about the Lord, the church, and she's always supported me."

There was silence as he carved the meat and arranged it on the serving platter. Realizing he was thinking it over was a good sign, and I practically held my breath as I waited for him to talk.

"I don't know. You do this once, and it'll be expected again and again. We need you to play guitar tonight. It's not the same when you're not there. Plus, what will Pastor John think, you skipping church for a part time job, serving coffee to kids who listen to secular music and do drugs? It's such a bad crowd at Charlie's."