Based on Genesis 4:2-8
By Stephen McCutchan
“Thank you for calling. I appreciate your honesty. May God bless you. Good by.” Allen Felkner, pastor of Garden Presbyterian Church, placed the phone carefully in its cradle.
As the phone disconnected, a spontaneous, piercing scream erupted from his throat. “DAMN IT ALL TO HELL,” he screamed. His fist rose and slammed down on the desk three times as he shouted, “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
He was grateful to be the only one in the building at the time. His language shocked even him. I haven’t cursed since the day I accepted the call to ministry eight years ago, he thought. It was like the doors of politeness and respectability could no longer contain his anger.
It had all started three days ago. As many good pastors in small churches do, he had developed a system to alert him when normally active members began to lag in their attendance. In a society of loneliness, he had learned, people need to know that they are missed. When he became aware that the Dickerson’s had not been present the past three Sundays, he called and asked if he could come for a visit.
He recalled the small sense of foreboding as he rang the doorbell. Mrs. Dickerson smiled a little nervously as she greeted him. “Thank you for coming, Allen. We had meant to call you earlier for a little talk. We appreciate you taking the initiative.”
A little talk, Allen thought. This is going to be trouble. He smiled and extended his hand warmly. “Well, I’ve been missing you. I wanted to come by and see if there was a problem.”
As they chatted, she led him into the living room where Roger Dickerson rose to greet him. Ellen offered them some ice tea as they made uncomfortable small talk. When they were all settled, Roger cleared his throat and began to speak. “Allen, I want you to know that what we are about to tell you has absolutely nothing to do with you. In fact what makes this so hard is that Ellen and I have so much respect and admiration for you.”
Allen’s stomach tightened. “If there is something wrong, I certainly want to hear about it. I really care about your whole family and have appreciated your participation at Garden Church.”
“It’s not that there is something wrong,” Ellen said sweetly. “It’s just that, well, some friends of ours invited us to go with them to Living Waters Community Church and we, uh, and we just found their program so inviting for our whole family.”
Allen had been in seminary with Harry Harp, the pastor of Living Waters. As a student, Harp was very engaging, always quick with the humorous story. His tall handsome stature and deep voice always made Allen, a slight man with a high pitched voice, feel inadequate. Also, in Allen’s mind, Harp was very skilled at self promotion. Not long after finishing seminary, Harp announced that he was leaving the Presbyterian denomination because it was too confining. With a couple of wealthy families providing the initial backing, he formed the Living Waters Community Church. It grew rapidly into a major church within the community.
The Dickerson’s described the “fun service” in which the pastor was just an amazing and rather hilarious speaker. They spoke of how their children were almost dancing in the aisles to the lively music of the band and absolutely fascinated by the images projected on the screens throughout the auditorium. Allen couldn’t remember the rest of the conversation. He was concentrating on containing his anger at the mention of the Living Waters Community Church.
He said, “This is a big decision. I hope that you will at least pray about it for two or three days and then give me a call.” Now he had received that phone call. They had not changed their minds. It was a major blow to the Garden church not only because of their generous financial gifts but also because they had been strong participants in the life of the church. Also, from a pastoral level, Allen was concerned that a good family was being seduced by a superficial version of Christianity that would not serve them well in the end.
The Dickerson’s were just one of several families who had switched from Garden church to Living Waters over the past several years. In frustration he again began pounding his fists on the desk, but this time it was not with a curse but with a prayer. “Why, God? Why are you letting this happen? I’ve tried to be a faithful pastor and then you let that little weasel, Henry Harp, have all the success.”
He recalled a passage from Genesis where Cain and his brother, Abel, were both making an offering to the Lord and God accepted Abel’s offering but not Cain’s. I think I know what Cain felt like, he mused. Cain went on to kill his brother Abel, and, Allen thought, if I had my hands around Henry Harp’s scrawny little neck right now, I am not sure I could restrain myself.
