Lily (Part forty-eight)

Thomas McDavid sat near the end of the pew. Nathanael was next. Lily sat farthest in. It struck her as strange to see Thomas without his coffee cup. Moreover, Lily did not think Thomas attended Beulah or any other church.

Lily mused. She stared at the pew on which she had laid her iPhone when Nathanael and Thomas McDavid had approached. A small brown crack in the pew caught her eye. She ran her right index finger over it and a splinter of the wood lifted out of the pew’s bottom–a tiny wooden skiff between her index finger and thumb. A splinter for a ship, she thought.

Lily considered whether to speak to Nathanael and Thomas more while already seated in the sanctuary, but chose to remain silent. Singers and instrumentalists found their places behind the pulpit and chords familiar to Lily sounded.

So, remember your people

Remember your children

Remember your promise, oh God

The congregation joined in singing this and another song. Towards the end of a hymn, the pastor approached. Lily watched him place his Bible down and wrap his fingers over the sides of the rostrum.

“Our Father and God,” the pastor said, “we confess today that you and your gospel are the reasons we sing. You and your gospel are the reasons we pray. You and your gospel are the reasons we hope. Move upon us, Lord; show us yourself. We pray in Jesus’s name. Amen.”

The pastor made several announcements about information in Beulah’s church bulletin, about classes and outreach, and finally about the text from which he would speak: Mark 4:35-41.

When the pastor mentioned the text, Lily scrolled to it on her app and began reading. When she raised her eyes again, she looked at Nathanael. Almost motionless he sat, balanced. Thomas sat next to him, half-smiling, it seemed to Lily. She fidgeted some on the pew, trying not to finger the splintered ship at her fingers. She lowered her eyes again to the text as the pastor read:

On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.” And leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. And other boats were with him. And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. And they woke him and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. He said to them, ‘Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith? And they were filled with great fear and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”

The pastor paused after reading and looked up from his Bible.

“We have some questions to answer, Beulah. First, who was in the boat? The Lord Jesus, right? And his disciples—his followers, those whom he called, right?” The congregation nodded. Lily dabbed at her brow.

“And when they were in the boat on the Sea of Galilee, what occurs? A storm, right? So tempestuous in fact that waves were flowing into the boat.” Again the congregation nodded.

“And where is the Lord Jesus?” the pastor asked. Several voices were heard in the sanctuary.

“Asleep,” they said.

“Who is asleep?” the pastor asked.

“The Lord Jesus,” many in the sanctuary replied.

“Was he Lord then, when he was asleep? Or was he just human?” the pastor asked. Fewer responses came. “Let me pose it this way, then. Was Jesus any less than God when he was asleep in the boat while his disciples were panicking?”

“No,” came the tentative response.

“Are we listening to our own answers?” the pastor asked. “Is Jesus still Lord—when the winds toss, when the waters come in our boat, when we say we’re followers, but he appears unconscious—asleep, as it were? When this same Lord Jesus does not seem to us to respond when we want, is he still the Lord?” Lily dabbed at her face.

“Yes,” sounded voices through the sanctuary. “Yes,” she heard herself say. Nathanael glanced over at her, but she did not look up. She set the tiny splinter-skiff back into the pew’s bottom with her wet index finger.

(To be continued)

 

 

 

 

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