Chapter 15 #3
“I’ll tell you why,” Zeke went on, and his audience leaned forward as one. “Because God does not do ‘sensible.’ He is not limited by what we believe is smart. God does not do ‘reasonable,’ he does not do ‘recommended,’ he does not do ‘safe.’ God does miracles!”
This last was shouted, and someone actually cheered.
Zeke paced the stage, his footsteps booming, his forehead glistening under the lights.
“When the disciples said, ‘Send these people away, we don’t have enough food for them,’ what did Jesus do?
He fed four thousand people with five loaves and two fish! Isn’t that right?”
There was a murmur of assent.
“And if he can do that, surely he can take two pews full of people and fill this church!” He jabbed his finger at the screen, then waved his arms over the assembled crowd. “It’s already happening! We’ve already overflowed this church—we’re standing room only in here!”
Everyone cheered that time. The energy in the place bordered on frenzy.
The woman on my left turned to me, and I reeled back at the wild gape of her mouth, the swollen tubers of her eyes.
The place was so full of eyes, made of eyes, eyes that saw I did not rejoice with them, eyes that knew I was powerless.
“God did not call us to be limited by these four walls, did he?” Zeke shouted, and the crowd settled slightly, anxious to hear what else he had for them.
“He did not tell us to stay within our boundaries. He doesn’t tell us to think small and do small works.
He said, ‘You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden.’ ”
With those words, the rendering on the screen zoomed out, changed angles, and the knot of dread inside me tightened until I couldn’t breathe.
The pastor’s city was on my hill, overlooking a Burrsville that had spilled its boundaries, crept up the sides of the valley like mold.
The church sat where my house was now, the meadow buried beneath the parking lot, the outbuildings and playground and golf course where the forest now stood.
Every tree on the opposite hill had been razed too—new roads cut into the hillside, farms sprung up where there were none, houses spreading unchecked from the actual village, which was almost unrecognizable with its four-lane Main Street.
But I had seen this before, of course, and not in the flat pixelation of a digital rendering but in living, hellish detail.
The bones I’d cast in the thicket had not lied, and that future was upon me far sooner than I’d anticipated.
I knew now why Zeke hadn’t played his hand before, why he never sent a letter telling me to vacate his property; he’d held back until he had the full weight of the town behind him.
He wanted me to know there was no one on my side.
Which meant the only thing standing in his way was the gate across my driveway, and my single biggest weapon was now a collection of bone fragments and twigs at the front of the church. It had only inflamed him against me, and now I had nothing.
“This will be our city on a hill,” the pastor said. “The church will look over the community, as it was meant to be. God provides through the church—should we not give him a bigger vehicle through which to bless us? Should we not make ourselves ready to accept every gift he has to offer?”
Whatever inhibitions or doubts the crowd had had were gone; they responded with the vigor of a trained congregation.
Every second that passed, I became more paranoid that someone would notice my stillness and call it out, that this feverish energy would turn into a mob. My mother’s fear had become mine.
“As I said, it will not be easy,” Zeke called over the fray. “This is no small undertaking. But the power of God is no small power, and he will move in ways you cannot even imagine!”
“Amen!” someone shouted. The whole church rose with the sound, the space filling with the sound of stamping feet and creaking benches.
The allure of his promise was strong, and they surged like a wave toward him, even the people at the back—especially them, desperate not to be left behind.
My restraint broke and I fled, clawing through the press of bodies until I reached the door.
I slipped out, desperately hoping not to be noticed in the rush.
I was almost to the truck when someone called my name. I whirled around, my stained hands closing into fists. It was David, and he came up short when he saw my face.
“Tess, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know. I would’ve told you in a second. I really didn’t know.”
I barely registered what he was saying. All I could think was that someone must’ve seen him run out after me, and how they would talk, and what Evelyn would say. I wondered if his mother had watched him go, if his father had seen him run after my retreating back.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, turning away. “You couldn’t have stopped him.”
“But you could’ve. Tess, please—”
The slam of the truck’s door cut off the rest of what he said. I roared away, leaving him standing alone on the sidewalk.