Chapter 31
Anson parked on the shoulder and walked up the Newsomes’ driveway past the rest of the leadership board’s vehicles. As he waited on the wraparound porch for someone to respond to the doorbell, he studied the distressed welcome sign beside the door.
Seemed fitting, since Eric’s welcome was bound to be reluctant.
Carter swung the door open, dressed in joggers and a hoodie, his hair one big cow lick. “Everybody else let themselves in.”
Everybody else had been invited. Anson didn’t regret ringing the bell, since it gave him this moment with Carter. “I’ve been sending you messages. You didn’t go out for the team.”
“What’s the point? You predicted this would happen. No college wants me.”
“What I said was fewer than one percent of high school athletes end up on a Division I team their freshman year. There are plenty of other options.”
“I haven’t heard from any of those places either.” The teen retreated inside.
“That’s no reason to give up.” Anson shut the door and started down the hall after Carter.
“God can make some pretty awesome things happen, even when we think it’s too late.
And even if He doesn’t miraculously open up a D1 spot for you, there are so many alternatives that could turn out to be blessings in disguise. ”
They reached the kitchen. Warmth and the savory aroma of an egg bake met them. Samantha Newsome scrubbed dishes. Her smile of greeting was so fleeting, she wasn’t even looking anymore by the time Anson tried to return it.
Carter grabbed a plate. “I’m still on my club team. More people get recruited that way than through high school teams anyway.”
The basketball club offered a level of visibility, but not all clubs were created equal. “Your club doesn’t practice. If you do make it onto a college team, you’ll need the skills you could’ve honed on the Many Oaks team.”
“Too late for that now.” Carter scooped a square of the egg bake onto his plate and headed for the hallway that led to the stairs.
“Besides, I could take any of the guys in my club—including the one who got an offer.” He disappeared around a corner, and pounding footsteps ascended to the second floor.
“Help yourself to some breakfast.” Hands buried in suds, Samantha pointed with her elbow toward the dish.
“I already ate.” Normally, it took more than a pancake and butter to fill him up, but his disappointment and concern were heavier than a nine-course meal. “They’re in the family room?”
She nodded.
With a prayer for help, he headed to the back of the house. A massive TV dominated one wall of the family room. Windows on another wall provided generous views of the backyard. The leadership team had spread out over the semi-circle of couches and chairs.
Eric perched at the edge of an armchair.
“It could be months before the investigation concludes and we can rebuild. In the meantime, we have hard decisions to make regarding how to keep things going. I’ve brainstormed meeting places that are large enough for our church body.
” He lifted a slip from the coffee table that resembled the grocery list paper Anson’s mom used to use.
Decorative script at the top said, Be still and know.
Anson took a deep breath and attempted to apply the words. Whatever happened, God was still on His throne.
Mike and Greg moved down to make space on the couch, and Anson took a seat.
“The schools won’t rent to a religious organization.” Eric looked at the paper and pinched the margin as he read down the possibilities. “We can contact the performing arts theater, the movie theater, and the hotel.”
Greg folded his hands and leaned forward on his elbows. “We could also ask if another church would allow us to host a service before or after their own.”
“There’s only one other church in town with a building big enough and beliefs that mostly line up with ours.” Ed slid his empty plate on the coffee table, where there was already a collection of others. “Grace Evangelical.”
The crease between George’s gray eyebrows deepened. “If we meet there, what’s to stop our people from deciding they like them better?”
“Relationships.” Greg lifted his hands in a motion to calm down. “Those have always been the core of the church.”
“To maintain our distinct identity, we’d do best to stay away from sharing a building with another church.
” Eric shook his sparse list of options.
“Hence the venues I suggested. The trouble is, any of these will charge to use their space at a time when I suspect we’ll see a drop in attendance, due to being displaced from our building and routine. ”
As murmurs went up, Anson mentally ran through other options in town, places that could host a crowd and might be inexpensive.
He’d been spending time in one every week for years.
“We could ask The Depot. If we set up rows in the event space without the tables, the congregation would fit. The owner is a believer. He might give us a deal on the price.”
Eric lowered his list and looked at Anson like he’d suggested meeting on Neptune. “We won’t be worshiping in a bar.”
“It’s a full-service restaurant with an event hall.
They serve alcohol, but so does the hotel on your list. As a bonus, Many Oaks residents are already familiar with The Depot.
People who’ve been interested but intimidated by the church building might give us a try.
” He scanned the room, praying his enthusiasm would catch.
“This could turn into a chance to build more of a presence in the community.”
Greg nodded. “It’s worth considering.”
“All in favor of The Depot?” Eric surveyed the others.
Anson, Greg, and Ed raised their hands. One shy of a majority.
“Then I’ll make calls to the theaters and hotel for price quotes and availability.” Eric put the list back on the table. “Perhaps someone can even make space for us as soon as tomorrow.”
Greg shifted in his seat. “I finished the sermon on Thursday, but have you considered the other logistics? The worship team, especially, would have their work cut out for them. I’m not sure how many of their instruments were in the church. The sound system certainly was.”
“The Depot has a piano.” Anson spoke without thinking. Eric bristled, but Anson had already opened his mouth, so he might as well finish. “Philip must own a couple of guitars, and they have a sound system that’s already up and running.”
Eric took a deep breath. “For once, could you accept something this board has voted into place?”
Heat flashed over Anson’s face, but he held still, waiting for Eric to backpedal.
Instead, he leaned over the coffee table and jabbed his finger as close to Anson’s face as he could get without rising.
“If you’d done your job, this wouldn’t even be an issue.
You failed to prevent a student from accessing the building.
You failed to notify the police of a break-in.
And, by your own admission, you were in the building shortly before the fire broke out. ”
Anson pushed his sleeves up and prayed for self-control. “I was in the building looking for a student—assuming it was one—but I didn’t see, smell, or start a fire.”
“Maybe not, but it’s time Many Oaks Bible Church asks more of its youth pastor than not starting fires.
I’m incredibly sorry I let things get this far before calling for this vote.
” Eric straightened his shirt cuffs. “It’s time we face reality.
Attendance and giving are bound to go down more than they have already, and we’re facing extra expenses.
Having a youth pastor on staff hasn’t strengthened our church as a whole or our floundering youth groups.
As small as our youth ministries are, we don’t need the expense of another salary when those funds could be used toward more pressing needs.
I move that we eliminate the position of youth pastor and allow volunteers to run the programs.”
Mike lifted two fingers. “Second.”
Ironic that now they’d follow the rules of order.
“Hold on now.” Greg’s normally reserved voice was gruff. “I deeply appreciate Anson as a partner in pastoring the church. Volunteers cannot preach every third and fifth Sunday. They cannot counsel parents and students in difficult situations the way he does.”
“I work forty-five hours each week,” Anson said. “Sometimes more. I’m always on call. Pastoring is an entire lifestyle, and volunteers don’t have the capacity, training, or experience to do it.”
“They don’t have to,” Eric said. “If the volunteers follow our suggestion of less teaching and more time hanging out with the kids, not only will it increase attendance, it’ll cut down on preparation time.”
“Even fun events take planning,” Anson said.
Eric held up a hand. “You’re not an unbiased observer. This will be the board’s decision. However, since you’re here, go ahead and make a statement before you leave us to deliberate.” He waved his hand, as if giving him the opportunity to beg for his job was a favor.
Anson had known this was a possibility, but he’d underestimated how painful it’d be to have his life’s work on the chopping block. What was God doing?
His hands shook as faces flashed through his mind—Coach Voss, Gury, Carter, Dylan, Mercy, Hadley. He gripped his knees. How was he supposed to persuade the board on no sleep, with the deck stacked against him?
His own words to Carter just minutes before came back to him.
God could come through when it seemed too late.
Anson believed God had more for him to do in Many Oaks, so he chose to trust that the Lord would control the outcome.
“My belief in the importance of youth ministry started before I moved to Many Oaks, when a high school student died.”
He hesitated. Blaze had encouraged him to share the story of Gury.
He’d appreciated knowing her full story, and perhaps the fact that he’d lost a brother was meant to be shared as well.
But if he broke his silence now, they’d question why he’d kept the secret so long.
At best, it’d look like a play for sympathy.
“Once I got here, I watched Coach Voss help a lot of hurting kids, myself included. If the student who’d died …”
The words sliced like a betrayal, demoting his brother from his rightful title.
Anson tried again. “If Gury had had someone like Coach in his life, he might’ve made different choices.
He might still be alive. Losing Coach showed me again that none of us know how long we have before we face eternity.
I felt very clearly called to pick up where he’d left off as best I could.
“I sacrificed a promising basketball career, got a degree, and came back to continue his legacy. My work at Many Oaks Bible Church isn’t done.
Being faithful might not mean the numbers we’d all like to see, but Greg said it—church is about relationships.
God will provide for our needs. He’ll provide a place to meet.
He’ll provide the funding. It’s our job to value and pursue the things He values. ”
Greg nodded.
Anson wanted to circle back, to expand on some of the points he’d made, but lobbying to persuade them would be as useless as trying to win an Internet debate.
Either God already had enough board members on Anson’s side, He’d change their hearts during the debate that would follow, or Anson had seriously misunderstood his calling.