Chapter 27
“What have you got there?” Anson slowed his steps beside Shirley Aaldenberg’s ancient sedan in the church parking lot. Through the windows, he saw her wrinkled hands tugging on a box that must weigh as much as the senior saint did.
The woman’s poof of white hair lifted, and her face appeared over the roof of the vehicle. “They’re candles for the Christmas Eve service. That warehouse store in Delft is closing. I got us a great deal.”
He grinned. “I bet you did.”
He circled the back of the car and hauled it out. He was already a few minutes late to the leadership board meeting, but letting Shirley deal with the candles alone would be the greater offense. He started for the building, and she scurried ahead to open the church door.
“Where are these going?” he asked.
“Wherever you think there’s space for them, as long as one of us remembers where they are come December.” She lifted a penciled eyebrow.
“How about the storage closet by the youth room? I use that closet all the time, so I’ll remember. And it’s a logical place to check, since we keep other decorations in there.”
“Perfect. Need me to get any more doors?”
“I’ve got it from here.” He made his way across the building.
He’d found no signs of the youth room visitor since installing the camera. Maybe the person had noticed the device and switched to using the closet again? That was where he’d first found the sleeping bag.
He flipped on the closet light with his elbow. No food, wrappers, clothing, or sleeping bags stood out. He stowed the candles and jogged across the building to the conference room.
The board had already moved through the opening prayer, approved the agenda, and was discussing the first line item—which keynote speaker to invite for a conference in spring. Anson took a seat at the foot of the table, drawing glances from the six others in the room.
As the last item was resolved an hour and a half later, Anson folded his agenda and waited for Pastor Greg to begin the closing prayer.
Instead, Eric sat forward in his seat. “I’d like to hear an update about the youth group initiative.
When we first discussed this, the youth groups were expecting eight to ten students.
My understanding is the groups haven’t even seen a fifty percent increase over that, let alone doubling. You’re averaging maybe eleven? Twelve?”
Anson unfolded his agenda and reread the line items.
George Pelle, a retired businessman, spoke up. “We voted to add this topic at the start of the meeting.”
Frustration at the ambush simmered, but at least he had a success to report. “I’m glad you asked about the youth groups. A Rooted student accepted Christ last night.”
Smiles lit up faces around the room.
Eric’s faded first. “I’m glad to hear that. But let’s not change the subject. A single student’s decision is separate from the attendance goal. There hasn’t been headway. It almost seems you’ve dismissed the idea altogether.”
“I’ve geared everything this semester toward helping the kids talk about their faith more and invite friends.
One or two new kids show up each week.” Every regular attender to Rooted had earned a hoodie.
One of the new students had too. Branching Out students were more hit and miss with bringing guests.
“Last year, we had a lot fewer friends dropping in.”
“If that many new students come, why are the groups barely bigger than they were?”
Six serious expressions awaited his answer. Greg’s held a tinge of apology. Same with Ed Larsen, a fifty-something social worker. Paul Beck, a retired lawyer, must have mastered his poker face during his days in court. Mike Kaysen, the youngest of the group at forty, narrowed his eyes.
“Most kids who are committed to church life already have a youth group, and my goal has never been to steal students from other churches to come here. The students and I are focused on friends who aren’t involved in a church yet and don’t believe, in a lot of cases because they haven’t even heard the gospel.
We’re reaching the lost in a way we haven’t before, and I’m grateful for the initiative because it inspired that.
I think all the kids are benefiting. Hence Hadley’s decision yesterday. ”
Ed nodded as Anson spoke.
Eric’s lips settled into a pale line. “My understanding is that Hadley has been attending since the start of the semester, before any changes were implemented.”
“True.” Although the observation raised the question of who was sharing details about attendance with Eric. Perhaps his wife, who worked with the younger kids on Wednesdays.
“The kids who visit would benefit more if they kept coming,” Eric said, “and you’re not doing what it takes to make that happen.”
Anson eased a breath out. If he stayed calm, Eric might show his true colors for all to see. “What do you suggest?”
“Youth group needs to be more fun. Relevant. Don’t spend so much time on dry material. Just give them a safe, fun place to hang out and they’ll flock to youth group.”
“Safety and fun are part of it, but if you limit our responsibility to those, we’re running a daycare, not a youth group. We’re called to so much more.”
Mike leaned forward. “What I think Eric’s trying to say—or maybe forgetting to mention—is that we set this goal because the congregation here is aging, giving is down, and the youth groups are shrinking. If we want to survive, we need to make changes to attract a younger demographic.”
Anson scanned the room. Only Ed and Greg looked troubled. “We have made changes. But attendance can’t be the priority over the gospel.”
Paul interlaced his fingers and tapped his thumbs together. “I think we’re all together in hoping that improving the numbers will mean even more students hear the gospel.”
“How would they if we’re not preaching it?”
“Maybe what Eric’s suggesting is a different way of living out the faith,” Ed said. “It’s like what I do as a social worker. Live out of love and be ready to answer for my hope if someone asks.”
Anson nodded. “I respect that as a way to live out your faith in a secular workplace, but the church exists to point people to Jesus.”
“A message they’ll get on Sunday mornings, when they come with their families.” Mike creased his agenda in half and motioned with it as he spoke. “And can you imagine what a difference eighteen new families would make?”
Anson’s muscles tensed. “For the budget or eternity?”
“Both.” Heat crept into Eric’s voice. “God cares about the practical as well as the eternal, as should we. As a board, we’ve determined a course we believe honors God to grow the church, and we asked you to join us.
I added this to the agenda because I’m saddened by the lack of response to what we’ve asked you to do.
Your spirit of contention won’t be tolerated. ”
“Because I haven’t quit teaching the kids?” Anson leaned back in his seat. He struggled to breathe as a deluge of insults rushed to mind. He should quit.
Responses trump reactions.
Quitting would sacrifice his last opportunity to reach Carter. He couldn’t do that, no matter how angry he was.
“Let’s step back for the time being.” Greg’s words reached him like a voice from another room.
“We are all interested in honoring God here. With that to unify us, we will find a solution, but we won’t find it tonight.
Let’s all pray about it and reflect on this over the next week, then bring suggestions to our next meeting.
Between us, surely we can discern how the Lord would have us grow the youth group—and attendance in general—while maintaining our mission of being a source of light and hope. ”
Finding a solution after a week’s reflection would take a miracle, and Anson had seen far too few of those. Still, Eric didn’t object to Pastor Greg’s suggestion, so Anson held his tongue.
“I was hoping you’d come.” Blaze slipped into the seat beside Anson’s at The Depot and bumped his arm with her shoulder.
His smile was lackluster as he slid her an envelope. “This is for the specialist. Do you want to know what it says?”
She gulped and shook her head. If the notes she’d collected only sang her praises, the doctor wouldn’t get a true picture of her to aid in the diagnosis.
But she was already too well aware of her flaws.
Reading the exact feedback wouldn’t help her any more than eating that apple had helped Eve.
She fit Anson’s envelope in her purse next to Philip’s.
Before she put the purse back on the floor, she pulled out a folded stack of lined paper. As she set it on the table, Anson ran a hand over his face.
She brushed his forearm with the back of her fingers. “What’s wrong?”
“The leadership board. I knew Eric wanted me fired, but tonight was the first time I realized he might actually get his way.”
“What?” At her loud question, he glanced around. She lowered her voice, despite the sense of injustice ringing in her core. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve never seen a better youth pastor.”
The corner of his mouth lifted ruefully. “Have you seen any other youth pastor?”
A nervous chuckle caught in her throat. “Like, in person?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Anyway. Why were you hoping I’d come?”
She hesitated. With his job in jeopardy, her own concerns were far less pressing. Yet he seemed to want a distraction. She nudged her papers toward him.
“Look at us, passing notes.” As he unfolded her pages, insecurity shivered through her.
“After hearing your talk last night, I went home and all of that poured out. It’s my story. I know I’ll cut things like you did to make it relevant and shorter and less … personal. But I thought you could help me decide what to cut and what to keep?”
His gaze swung up from the pages. “This is your unedited story?”
He might as well ask if he was holding her soft, beating heart.