Just Past Oysterville: Shoalwater Book One (22 page)

Chapter
Fourteen

A week later, as the two men met for
breakfast at The Loose Caboose Café, an old train-car turned
restaurant, Jack raised the question he had been mulling over since
returning to his hometown.

“
Okay boss," he said,
setting down his fork and taking a long sip from a heavy cup of
coffee, "what do you think the chances of a revival in Long Beach
are?” Karl snorted, choking on a mouthful of egg before wiping his
mouth with his napkin and eyeing his young assistant.

"Bored, are we?" he asked.

"Seriously," Jack replied, "what do you
think?"

"Well, first off," Karl said, "let me say
that if God wants a revival in Long Beach, I'm all for it. I don't
think it's beyond Christ's ability to sweep this town."

"But?" Jack asked.

Karl sighed. "Let me tell you a story, Jack.
You grew up around here, so stop me if you've heard it."

Jack nodded.

"The first church in the area," Karl began,
"out in Oysterville, opened its doors back in the middle eighteen
hundreds. It's still there in fact." Jack nodded.

"Oysterville was a boomtown back then,
oysters being almost worth their weight in gold. It was the second
richest city on the west coast, besides San Francisco, and most of
the doors on the waterfront opened into alehouses.

The oystermen were a crusty group of
sailors, here to make their fortunes on the bay. Working and
drinking were their life."

Karl paused to nod at a passing waitress,
who smiled and refilled his cup.

"The story goes that the day the church
opened its doors for business, the whole kit and caboodle of tavern
patrons got up and walked down Weather Beach Road and into the
sanctuary. They each placed a single gold coin in the collection
box. Then, without a word, they all walked back to the waterfront
and got back to drinking. They never darkened the door of the
church again."

Jack chuckled, nodding his head, "And the point?"

"The point," Karl replied, shaking his spoon
in Jack's direction, "is that a lot of that attitude has hung on
here over the years. They were making a statement. Organized
religion was fine by them, as long as no one expected them to
participate. A lot of folks still feel that way."

"So we just give in to that?"

"Not a matter of giving in or standing up,"
Karl said, picking up his fork again, "it's a fight we don't want
to be a part of. Folks around here, especially non-church folks,
are a stubborn and loyal lot. If they feel like you're gunning for
them as a group, they're going to lock arms."

"Really?" Jack asked, sounding dubious.

"Really." Karl said, "Besides, revivals are
overrated. I've seen my share of them and, often as not, they're
all powder and no lead, a lot of emotion bandied around, under the
big top. A night or two of that and then everyone goes back to the
same old, same old."

"So what do we do?"

"Well, again," Karl said,
"if God
wants
a revival in Long Beach, we're going to do as we're told.
However, until he makes that clear, I think that personal
relationship is the key. One heart at a time, saved, fed,
discipled, and then turned loose. That one heart goes out and
reproduces itself, and so on, and there's your
real
revival!"

"And we don't even have to rent a tent,"
Jack smirked.

"Exactly!" Karl said, laughing as he dug
back into his breakfast.

*

That first month was a blur, meeting the
elders and the congregation, answering the same questions over, and
over. Some of the older members of the church had known Jack's
parents, and insisted that he come over for dinner. He didn’t buy
many groceries those first few weeks, spending most evenings seated
around a table full of strangers, talking about Bible College, the
war, the mission field, and what God wanted done in Long Beach.

It seemed to Jack that just about everyone
in the church had a firm grasp on what God wanted done in Long
Beach, and there were as many different destinies for the little
town as there were dinner tables in the congregation. Jack learned
to smile and nod, and then quickly reinforce the importance of
prayer, and listening, and waiting on the Lord. Some of the
families were happy with this answer, or if not happy, at least
appeased; some were not.

Regardless of their response to his
response, Jack felt sure that Pastor Ferguson got a full report
from each.

He knew this, in fact,
because many of the urgently phoned in reports became the highlight
of Karl and Jack's morning doughnut break at the
Coffee Clutch,
the
tiny coffee shop across the street from the church, or the
Caboose
, if the two
were feeling peckish. Over tea and coffee, respectively, they would
chuckle at Jack's observations of his hosts and theirs of
him.

Mrs. Feldman, a matronly
widow from the front pew, was horrified that Jack would eat Tom
Pritchner's deviled eggs, everyone knowing that no
TRUE
Christian would
touch deviled eggs, deviled ham, or devil's food cake, and that Tom
Pritchner, if not actually in cahoots with Satan himself, was most
assuredly well down the path to becoming so. The Mack family,
retired missionaries in their seventies, thought that Jack was
wonderful but were quite upset with the rumor that he was often
seen in the church building wearing jeans. Mr. and Mrs. Peterson
were concerned that their seventeen-year-old daughter, Aimee, had
asked every night this week as to when the Assistant Pastor would
be invited back. Jack, admittedly, found this last tidbit a little
less humorous than did his Pastor.

Karl had laughed until tears rolled down his
ruddy cheeks, his Santa-esque frame quaking with mirth as he told
Jack the story over his apple fritter one morning in September.

Still, most of the sixty-one members of the
church had found the young pastor to be, if not ideal, at least
acceptable and soon Jack’s schedule began to settle down and he
found himself cooking his own dinners once more.

One of the first lessons that he learned was
how his new Pastor and mentor viewed the ministry. Besides the
doe-eyed Aimee Peterson, there were almost a dozen youth in their
mid to late teens who attended LBCC regularly.

Jack had gone to his boss, concerned that it
was time to find a youth leader for a weekly Bible study with the
teens. Pastor Ferguson had thought this was a wonderful idea,
clapping a heavy hand warmly on Jack’s shoulder and asking him what
night he would want to use the church for his new ministry. Jack
had tried to backpedal, but it was too late.

Karl Ferguson was a firm
believer that preachers
preached
and
God
raised up ministers, if
ministries were required.

"I'll ask you what I've asked every ministry leader here since
the day I signed on as Pastor." Karl laughed, "As it sounds like
you have a heart for this ministry, when are you going to start
it?"

The Long Beach Community Church youth group
held its first study night on Wednesday, September 17th, Assistant
Pastor Jack Leland presiding.

That first meeting took place in the
basement of the church, Jack having spent the last week begging
funds from the stewardship council for two dozen folding chairs and
enough carpet scraps from the local hardware store to cover the
cracked concrete floor. He was pleased with the turn out, eight
young people, ranging from the thirteen year old Randy Brooks with
his flaming red hair and braying, donkey laugh, to the ever-present
Aimee Peterson who, at seventeen, was the oldest teen present.
After an hour of teaching and discussion (Jack had chosen Paul's
encouragements to Timothy as his subject for the evening), they had
hiked the six blocks to the beach for a marshmallow roast that Bill
and Kathy had set up.

The Beckmans, at Jack's request, made sure
that they were seated to his left and right as they all sat around
the fire telling corny jokes and singing camp songs. Jack, casting
an occasional nervous eye towards young Miss Peterson, was relieved
to have a buffer between him and his admirer. He was even more
relieved when the Peterson's station wagon pulled up to the church
an hour later to take Aimee home.

"Don't get me wrong," Jack had said, as he,
Bill, and Kathy folded chairs and swept the new youth room. "She’s
a nice kid, and I think she's fairly serious about her relationship
with God, it's…it's just…"

"It's just," Bill smirked, dropping the last
of the chairs on the pile, "that she's like one of those paintings
where the eyes follow you wherever you go."

"That's it exactly!" Jack cried, pointing a
finger at Bill.

"You two are terrible," Kathy admonished,
shaking her head, “Aimee Peterson is a sweet, intelligent girl, who
loves the Lord and just so happens, for reasons I can't imagine, to
have a hopeless crush on her skinny new youth pastor!"

"Ouch," Jack laughed, clutching his chest as
though shot. "I think I have offended!"

"Hey, better you than me," Bill quipped, and
Jack thought he saw a look of irritation pass momentarily across
Kathy Beckman's face, before she shook her head and started up the
basement steps.

"You two goofs can finish cleaning up,” she
called back, “I'm going to make sure all the lights are off."

Bill had been as good as his word; he and
Kathy had attended every Sunday since August, though it was obvious
from the first that Kathy was much more enthusiastic about their
weekly fellowship than her husband was.

If Bill had sung aloud or
raised his hands during prayer or worship, Jack had yet to see it.
Still, he got up every week, put on his best jeans and shirt, and
warmed the pew next to his wife without fail. If his devotion
wasn't all it could be, Jack thought, at least he was being exposed
to the right stuff; seeds were being planted, to put it in
the
Christian-ese
.

Jack had mentioned to them, over a plate
full of spaghetti in the Beckman dining room, how his conversation
with Pastor Ferguson, regarding a youth group, had gone. He had
left the conversation hanging and held his breath waiting for their
response.

"Well," Kathy had said, sipping from her
water glass, "Be sure to let Bill and I know if you need any
help."

Jack had tried his best to adopt his
Pastor's philosophy as it related to ministries. Still, the
prospect of starting a youth group, along with his other duties as
assistant pastor, were daunting to say the least, and Kathy's
response was close enough to leave him guilt free.

"Great," he had replied quickly, setting
down his fork, "since you mentioned it…"

Bill groaned, having heard the clang of the
trap shutting even as his young wife had volunteered their
services.

"Lord, Katie…" he said, "you didn't see that
coming?"

"See what coming?" Kathy asked, her eyes
narrowing as she glanced back and forth between Jack and her
husband.

"Now hang on," Jack had stammered, casting a dirty look in
Bill's direction. "I was just thinking that I could use some help
setting up the activities, and it might be nice for the girls to
have someone of their own gender to talk to, since I don't have a
wife…"

"Well," Bill said with an evil chuckle, "I
hear the Peterson girl would be more that happy--"

"--Hush!" Kathy launched a wooden salad
spoon across the table, which Bill dodged.

"I think that's a smart idea," she told
Jack, "I just hope I can answer their questions."

Since that night, Kathy and, more
reluctantly, Bill, had helped him scout around for the chairs and
carpeting, make space in the dusty church basement, and finally,
set up the campfire on the beach.

Bill and his truck had been a Godsend in all
of this, but Jack had grown increasingly concerned about his friend
over last several weeks. As Kathy disappeared upstairs and Jack
heard the door close behind her, he turned to Bill.

"What was that about?" he asked.

Bill glanced up sheepishly and then returned
his gaze to the broom in his hands. "Aw, nothing," he muttered, "we
had a little tiff earlier and I guess she still ain't happy with
me."

"Anything that's any of my business?" Jack
asked.

"Nope," Bill replied, looking up and
grinning, "but I'll tell you anyway."

Jack pulled two folding chairs back off the
stack, handing one to Bill, as his friend went on. "First of all,"
he said, "it's all your fault, and I hope you feel bad!"

Jack laughed, settling himself into his own
chair, "Go ahead man, don't hold back."

"Hang on a second," Bill raised his hands
defensively, "this isn't a counseling session is it?"

"Nope." Jack said,
"Counseling sessions are done in the office only, specifically, in
Pastor Ferguson's office only. I'm just the
Assistant
Pastor. Down here,
with me, it's just yakking."

"Good," Bill replied, a little sourly,
"though Katie would be just as happy as a clam if she thought I was
getting counseling, the way she keeps jawing about it!"

Jack stayed silent, nodding for Bill to go
on.

"Well, like I said," he sighed heavily,
"it's your fault. Back when we were just going to church every
Sunday, she seemed happy enough that I was there with her, and let
it go at that."

"Now though," he muttered,
"we're in
ministry
, and everything's
different!" Bill was clenching and unclenching his fists, as his
face began to flush.