The Godsend of River Grove Page 14

Chapter 12 The Golden Goats

  Hila did little on Friday and Saturday for she had little to do. She felt as if the flu might be coming on and berated herself for not having gotten her shot. Newspaper headlines seemed to describe her own situation as she looked for some explanation of what had happened at River Grove, for concerning the still undecided, super-close presidential election, Friday’s headline was “The Waiting Continues,” and Saturday’s “How Long Will This Go On?” She began to reread Paradise Lost very slowly while she worried about herself. Of course, the Bible or John of the Cross would have been more edifying in her circumstances, but she wanted escape. She liked reading about someone—Satan—who had behaved worse than she had. While lying in bed eating an apple, she looked down her nose at his ‘study of revenge, immortal hate.’ Robert August’s sonnet she had put away after nearly memorizing it, having decided that, though not as bad as Satan, she might be nearly as bad as Judas. If so, she saw no honest way out of it. By choosing a path of deceit at River Grove, she had betrayed her Lord with a cool self-confidence, and now she felt that her relationship with Him was tenuous at best. She still prayed but in wild bursts, almost afraid to approach Him, and always following up with accusations against Him. She had no such hope as Milton had of justifying the ways of God to men. Events had gone too far for that. She now knew from Crystal that on Sunday morning Ollie would preach a sort of inaugural sermon by permission of the elder board and would introduce his three-year plan for consideration. Since she was still on the membership list, she had received a copy of this plan in the mail (prepared by she knew not what temporary secretary—probably Betty Fulborne). She had written on her copy under several of the points what each meant in more detail, like so:

  Return to the classic RGCC service.

  (return to using offering plates)

  Reassessment of leadership team.

  (get rid of Steve Wurz and possibly Evan)

  Recruit volunteer teams for neighborhood door-to-door visits.

  (waste time and lower morale with an evangelism method statistically shown to bring very poor results)

  Elder participation as pulpit supply.

  (Ollie preaches whenever he wants)

  A Kick Off Week of Revival, November 27 through December 1.

  (divide off a week from the year and tell God to jump through the hoop)

  The timing for the revival was particularly bad. Churches almost never scheduled revivals after Thanksgiving because of conflicts with holiday activities. But Ollie was yearning for a week of hearts broken and knees on the altar, such as he had fussed over in years past, and could not wait till January. Hila felt sure that he would get what he wanted.

  ‘Each One, Reach One’ - distribution by the congregation of flyers/invitations to friends, relatives, and acquaintances.

  (bother everyone you know)

  ‘Pray in Revival’ Prayer Night Thursdays for as long as the Lord leads.

  (for serious members, one more night out of the week gone)

  Other points stretched into matters months or years ahead, focusing on increased giving to cover a building addition. Since the present building was only half full and the church far from debtless, these paragraphs qualified as the building of castles on the air. But such building is pleasant building, and even Hila smiled to discover that Ollie had already been reviewing a catalog that offered custom-built steeples.

  At River Grove Church the legalistic rot was setting in, or at any rate getting worse than it had already been. Help fill the pews or you, dear member, are not a good Christian. Get to work.

  “So you got what You wanted, God,” she said aloud and threw the apple core into a waste basket. Then she laughed, realizing that she resembled Eve.

  On Sunday morning she went with Eddie to the Word Fellowship at Dan and Jamie Kozak’s house. Cheery, heavyset Jamie guessed right away that Hila was Cora Pelham’s cousin and knew she was the one taking care of Eddie while Cora was in Venezuela. After introducing herself and attempting an abortive hug, she steered Hila to a spacious living room where folding chairs had been set up facing a skinny pulpit. An overhead projector was already turned on, throwing a blank square of light upon a screen hanging behind the pulpit. Some twenty or twenty-five people of all ages were gathered.

  Hila had dawdled so as to arrive late on purpose, partly because she did not feel well, but mainly because she was suspicious of Charismatics and did not much want to talk with anybody. But the service—or whatever these people did—showed no sign of beginning. Jamie held her in light conversation, telling her again and again how glad she was that she had come. When she introduced her all around, Hila made no attempt to remember the names except for a Myra Hofrider who was in a wheelchair and who she thought might be Kathy’s grandmother. She had hoped in a city the size of Viola to avoid anyone remotely connected with River Grove, so if this was a relative of Kathy’s, it was yet another vexation. She had wanted just to come, enjoy the songs, and go home having kept her promise to Eddie.

  Finally, Jamie’s husband Dan placed a transparency of scripture-song lyrics on the projector, adjusted his acoustic guitar’s strap around his neck, asked all to stand, and led them in singing. Though she had always kept her own off-key voice to a whisper, in the past Hila had liked this sort of thing in Christian college groups and at woodsy retreats: lively songs of praise in an informal setting. Here people raised their hands during the singing, closed their eyes, or clapped along as their mood or the song’s beat suggested. They were uninhibited, relaxed, drinking in the Holy Spirit, or something remarkably like Him, like a drug. High on worship.

  Eddie, she observed, had found a place here. He sang beside her with closed eyes and one hand raised with open palm as if to catch loving rays in his fingers.

  She herself enjoyed it, being quite willing in the daylight to sing beautiful words about a beautiful Savior. How it would be between her and Him that night she tried not to consider. The God she so easily worshipped now was somehow divided from Him whom she would worship in the evening, worship against her best judgment and only with agonizing effort. She wished the real God of night would change into this happy God of the morning and so cease to trouble her or anyone else. Or she wished that she would change so as to forget the grimy, bloody Christ who, in the evenings, seemed to stand near her, looking imploringly at her as if in need of help; and see instead only the smiling, winsome Jesus of these songs.

  The meeting segued into group prayer, which in this case meant everyone talking at once—gesturing, weeping, speaking in tongues. She unexpectedly found a few tears on her cheeks, but that did not last long, and anyway, in this group no one noticed. A man not far from her raised his voice above the general babble in a prophecy: that is, a mishmash of scripture quotations, expressions of praise, and vague predictions about how God was about to bless his children, or vice versa. Soon an old man in the corner took off along the same lines. It was getting loud. In a few minutes things calmed down again, as if by mutual unspoken agreement, and Dan launched them into a song which closed this portion of the meeting.

  There followed a few announcements. Hila learned that the group had a building fund and that a volunteer was needed to watch the smaller children in another room during the meetings. Then Dan delivered a refreshingly brief sermon that was apparently impromptu. True, he meandered somewhat in the points he was making—chiefly about trusting God for the Big Miracle—but given sufficient brevity, Hila could forgive anything.

  Later, Jamie introduced Hila and asked her to say a few words about herself; and she obliged with so very few that they knew little more about her when she sat down than when she had stood. But she was thanked warmly anyway.

  One more song and we’re out, thought Hila, but she had not counted on the differences of this sort of service from that of River Grove. A few scripture songs did follow, but then Jamie rose and announced that she had a word from the Lord that some of those present
needed special prayer for healing. She invited those in need to come forward and be prayed for by the elders (who in this case, along with a few men, included herself and another woman) with laying on of hands; and she started them singing “I Shall Not Be Moved” with clapping. This was a lengthy process, Hila discovered. Over the next few minutes, several members were coaxed into admitting they had some physical needs, and coming forward, they sank to their knees to be prayed over. Hila was still feeling a little feverish and would have gone forward if she had thought it would work. She wondered what old Mrs. Hofrider thought of this as she sat in a wheelchair. For that matter, how could Dan and Jamie go on praising the Lord for His promised healings while Mrs. Hofrider was among them unhealed?

  Before long, however, Jamie went to Mrs. Hofrider, spoke to her, and wheeled her forward while most of the group continued to sing. Jamie, Dan, and the other elders gathered around the wheelchair to pray.

  Now how are they going to get out of this one? Hila wondered. What do they do when the cripple does not walk? But no embarrassment was apparently felt. When the prayer was over, Jamie wheeled Myra back again, both smiling; and the group was at last allowed to stop singing and sit down. Dan said a few closing words. Hila’s stomach growled. A late lunch at her mother’s beckoned.

  But Jamie approached her again and told her Myra had asked to speak to her. Hila stepped over and shook hands with her.

  “My granddaughter knows you,” said the old lady. They discussed that Kathy did know Hila and that the two had eaten a few lunches together. “It’s just wonderful how Kathy was willing to move down here and take care of me. Her Aunt Garla was living with me but I had to make her leave when her drinking problem got worse. You know, there’s my daughter Garla and Kathy’s mother Em, and neither of them knows the Lord, but I keep praying.”

  Hila said she was sorry that Garla had a drinking problem.

  “Well, she told me that she’d quit, you know, but what she did right after that was she baked an angel food cake and soaked it with whiskey like a sponge before she put the icing on. I’m not supposed to eat sugar so she thought she was safe, but I had a bite and sort of felt my hair stand up. She thought she was being clever, you know, because she could answer truthfully that she wasn’t drinking. Now, Em, Kathy’s mother, isn’t like that, but she and I don’t get along so well either. She goes to one of those liberal churches where nobody is saved and you might as well be going to a hamburger stand for all the good it will do you when the Lord comes. Well, she hardly speaks to me anymore.”

  Hila said she was sorry Em was not speaking to her.

  “Well, she got upset with me after I asked her to take care of my cats after the rapture. Still, she doesn’t seem to mind Kathy coming down, and Kathy, she’s a good Christian.” She took Hila’s hand and pressed it. “She tells me about your troubles. I’ve prayed all about it, dear. The Lord knows I don’t have much else to do but think and pray. He told me He’s going to come to you with weapons of glory and power to give you.” She tapped a corner of her metal rimmed glasses. “You can’t look at things with earthly sight, you have to see the heavenly. Don’t you know?”

  Hila thanked her—and escaped.

  It was while at lunch at her parents that afternoon that Hila’s flu finally claimed her. She was suddenly too ill to sit at the table, certainly too ill to drive, and was quickly helped to her old bedroom by her father and brother. Anna Ellen settled her in, providing a convenient plastic bucket for vomiting, and Hila lay back in a haze of misery. Who said things could not get worse? she thought. And a moment later: I’ve got to get well by Thursday.

  When Anna Ellen looked into the sick room about six the next morning, the bedside lamp was on and Hila awake.

  “Come in, Mom. I’m better.”

  She felt Hila’s forehead and agreed. “Now don’t you start thinking you’re going to get up today.”

  “No, Mom. How’s Eddie? Did you keep him here?”

  “Of course. He’s in a sleeping bag in Bill’s room.”

  “And the dog?”

  “Your father went over and took care of him. We’ll keep an eye on him.”

  “Good, thanks.”

  “Here, drink some of this.”

  Hila dutifully drank some 7-Up. “You’re really good to me. You always were. When I was sick you even used to read to me although you disliked it.”

  “It’s just hard for me to sit still,” her mother said.

  “No fake.” Hila’s smile faded as she changed the subject. “You and Dad haven’t said a word about what I did with the church minutes and Ollie’s diary page, even though I deceived you and talked like I didn’t know who mailed them. I haven’t apologized to you, either.”

  “We can talk about that when you’re well.” Anna Ellen looked away and smoothed a corner of the blanket.

  “But you know we won’t. We don’t talk about things. You must think I’ve gone off the deep end. I guess Jen is your only child that you feel very good about.”

  “That’s not true. I love all three of you. And Jen’s no angel.”

  “I know, but she’s the only one who made good. I’m not even a secretary anymore.”

  Anna Ellen seemed to have trouble responding to this. She got up and straightened some things on top of the dresser, standing in shadow. “Hila,” she said from across the room, and her voice was strained, “we’ve been thinking, your Dad and I, whether you might want to talk to someone about anything that’s troubling you. I talked to Dr. Stiles and he said he has time to—”

  “Oh, Mom,” Hila said in a low tone and Anna Ellen stopped. Dr. Stiles was Bill’s psychiatrist.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of to seek a little help,” her mother went on almost pleadingly. “Your Dad says we can cover the expense.”

  Hila sat up. “Oh, Mom, what you must be going through! First Bill and now you think me too? You must wonder if I’ll land here as a permanent boarder like him. You must be scared.” Anna Ellen remained where she was, standing still. “Mom, I love you so much. You’ve got to believe that nothing like that is going to happen. I’m upset but I’m not—disturbed.”

  “Cora called us,” her mother said.

  “Did she?”

  “She said Eddie had e-mailed her and that he’s concerned about you—some kind of poem you’ve been reading. Cora wanted to know from us how we thought you were doing. I’m sorry, Hila.” She suddenly began to move. “I shouldn’t talk about such things while you’re sick. Here, I’ll refill your glass.”

  “No, Mom, it’s all right to talk now. I know how hard it is for you to—Mom, wait a minute.” Anna Ellen was already at the door, glass in hand, but paused and looked back. Hila tried to think of something to say. “Look, I’m depressed but not—not crushed. I’m going to get another job after Cora comes back. Tell Dad I’m OK.”

  Anna Ellen said she would, took a deep breath, and went out.

  In the afternoon Hila was passing from the bathroom to her bedroom when she heard faintly from downstairs the sound of Ollie Fulborne’s voice. She went to the head of the stair and stood listening. It seemed to be coming from the kitchen and it sounded like preaching. She concluded that her mother was playing a tape of the previous morning’s sermon, Ollie’s ‘inaugural.’ Sermon cassette tapes were routinely made available to the congregation and were usually ready by Monday morning. Some lady friend of Anna Ellen’s had probably dropped hers off.

  Hila slipped down the stairs and seated herself near the bottom.

  “…does not want His people to drift,” Ollie’s recording was saying. He forced a laugh. “Some people seem to think that the army of the Lord can win battles sitting still. Some think battles are won by playing on a playground—on the swingset, the slide, or the monkey bars.” Ollie really punched the word ‘monkey.’ “But if you look in the Bible, they drilled and they sweated and then they marched out with a plan.
” Hila could not recall any such passage from the Bible. “That’s why the theme of this sermon is: Recess is Over. Recess is over, folks. It’s time to come in off the playground and get to work. You know that River Grove can do better than this; you know that we can make a greater impact on our community; that we can be the means for God to reach Viola, Indiana. But it’s going to take real commitment from every one of you. I don’t want to hurt any tender feelings, but I’m here to tell you that I’ve got contempt for a Christian without commitment. Christian, without commitment you’re just a freeloader in the army of the Lord.”

  Hila sat with pale cheeks, one arm hooked through the uprights of the stair rail, and stared at two ceramic goats on the mantel, leaping goats, golden goats.

  “Are you ready to knock on doors?” Ollie was asking. “Some of you think that’s not dignified. Some of you want to tell me, ‘Ollie, that’s not how we do it nowadays. Nowadays we stay in our church and announce that we’ve changed the music, or that we’ve got new hymnbooks, or that we’ve changed the—well, now even the offering. And that’ll bring ’em in, Ollie. Oh yeah.’ Well, I guess I’m just old fashioned, but I never saw a soul won to Christ by a change in the offering. You’ve got to go out and get ’em; you’ve got to look a man in the eye, shake his hand, visit his home. That’s what’s missing from these modern church planners’ books and their tape series and their charts and their graphs. It’s something about the heart, something about character.”

  Hila looked at the golden goats on the mantel and detested them. They were so very shiny and so very energetic. They looked like idols, the representations of some busy and dazzling gods placed in this home to be attended, dusted, and venerated. She felt a desire to break them.

  “But you’re saying you’re doing enough,” Ollie was saying in a slightly mocking tone. “I guess you’re tired. Don’t want to put forth the extra effort, give up the extra time you spend with your family. Huh, or was that in front of the television? Oh, I didn’t say that, did I? No, no. Well, sir, if that’s really what you want your time for, then God bless you; but remember, every single second of your day belongs to the Lord and, you better believe it, He’s gonna hold you accountable for how you use it. ‘Oh, Ollie,’ (here Ollie affected a whining, teary voice) ‘I’m working ten hours a day, and I—I guess I just don’t have time to serve the Lord.’ Well, brother, in my time I’ve worked twelve hours a day and sometimes even fourteen and I’m here to tell you, we found time. We made time. No one came along in those days and talked about stress or burnout. We just did it and didn’t think there was anything unusual about it. If you were tired before you went out to witness, then you just prayed a little harder. There, that’s a secret of how to overcome stress, and I’m giving it to you for free. Anybody here feel stressed? Sure, good, put up some hands. You try prayer. Works every time.”

  She was standing at the mantel now, examining the goats more closely. She had had to pass the open door to the kitchen, but Anna Ellen, intent on mixing shortening, sugar, and eggs into a bowl, had not noticed. She took one of the goats in her hand. It had spent its whole life reared up on its hind legs, leaping for something. She wished she had a statuette of a goat resting.

  “We’re going to move forward in unity,” Ollie was saying. “The elders are unified. The deacons are unified. The congregation is going to be unified too. When an army is going somewhere they march in step.” Lock step, thought Hila. “The Lord doesn’t want anyone too far out ahead or anyone lagging behind. He doesn’t want any backbiting or name calling, either—and no sneaky Pete anonymous mailings.” Anna Ellen seemed to have stopped moving, for there was no more sound of spoon against bowl. “If anyone has a beef with the pastor or an elder, you talk to him. We’re here to listen. You’ll notice, by the way, that the kind who want to pull tricks and behind-the-back stunts, they stop coming.” He forced another laugh. “I guess some people want freedom—that is, freedom from the Body of Christ and from the Word of God. Well, let her peddle her lies and insinuations elsewhere.”

  Hila heard her mother sob.

  “Don’t any of you worry about me,” Ollie said, and in her mind’s eye Hila could see him waving a careless hand high above his head. “Don’t you worry about me. Huh-uh. The Lord and me, we’ve been together for fifty-nine years, since I went forward at a camp meeting when I was nine years old, and I figure He’ll keep me for a few more till He gathers me to Himself. So you just think about this church and what we need to do. You saw those sign-up sheets as you came through the foyer. I checked on those sheets just before I started this sermon and there was a lot of empty white space on them. We’re going to give you another chance to do something about that. The ushers are handing those sheets around, right down your pew to you. Don’t let it go by without signing your name somewhere, either for door-to-door, or the flyers, or prayer warrior; unless you want to miss being a part of the blessing that God is about to bring down on this church. That’s right, you didn’t think you could stand off to the side and still get blessed?”

  The tape played only background sounds for a while, and Hila heard her mother crying quietly. If it was this hard on Anna Ellen now, then what had it been like for her to sit through the sermon on Sunday? And why was she listening to the tape?

  Still carrying the goat, Hila went to the door, and her mother turned to her with red eyes.

  Ollie spoke again. “While those sheets are being passed, don’t forget that revival week starts in two weeks with my friend Brother Alan Borden preaching every weekday evening of November twenty-seventh through December first. Many of you have heard him before and—”

  Hila turned off the tape player. “Mom, why do you torture yourself?” she said in a raspy voice. “That’s some uplifting sermon! I mean, if you want to feel bad, why don’t you just listen to some of Bill’s hard rock?”

  Anna Ellen avoided her eye. “You know I can’t concentrate in church. I always listen to the tape so I’ll get my sermon.”

  “But you knew you’d have to hear again what he said about me.”

  Her mother nodded vaguely. “You get back to bed. Here, give me that. What are you carrying it around for?” She tried to take the goat from Hila, but Hila resisted slightly and it fell to the floor between them and shattered.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Hila lied. “That wasn’t far for it to fall; you wouldn’t think it would break like that. Good grief, it was brittle. Look at all the pieces.” She bent down and reached toward them, but her mother prevented her with a hand on her shoulder.

  “Stop it, you’ll cut yourself. No, I’ll clean it up. You get back in bed before you have a relapse.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I know you liked those goats.”

  “Yes, I liked them, but there’s nothing going to outlast this world. Let it be a lesson to us. I’m going to get a broom and dustpan.”

  “Wait, Mom. You know, it was really cruel of Ollie to say those things about me, with you and Dad in the congregation.”

  “That’s as it may be. I guess he didn’t say it to satisfy us. He preaches what God wants him to.”

  “Oh, knock it off. He said it to make himself look good, you know that.” Anna Ellen folded her arms and firmed her mouth but said nothing. “Great, call him a godly man, why don’t you? You make me so mad, I’m going to—break your other goat!”

  But she did not. She went upstairs and back to bed.

  Her fever was almost gone by the time Pastor Wurz called that evening. Her mother brought her the phone and left the bedroom as Hila began speaking.

  “Hi, Steve.”

  “Hi, how are you?”

  She explained that she was almost well, and he congratulated her. He asked about the Word Fellowship house church and she described it for him. The conversation faltered.

  “Mainly I just want you to know you have an open door here at River Grove anytime,” he said after a paus
e. “You don’t have to feel like you’re shut off from us.”

  She sighed. “Steve I heard some of Mom’s tape of Ollie’s sermon.”

  He did not answer for a moment. “Yes, that was interesting. A lot to think about.”

  “Oh, come off it, Steve, it was the return to egotistical, makes-you-gag dictatorship.”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”

  “And why the bloody hell not?” she exploded, and then glanced toward the open door, hoping her mother had not remained near enough to hear her swearing to the preacher. “Why not?” she said more quietly. “Why does everyone in the church have to tiptoe around Fulborne, pretending he’s OK when he isn’t? Even I was pretending for a few months. Well, when daddy is a sick bully and no one talks about it, that’s called dysfunctionality in a family, and it’s dysfunctional in a church too. I was really stupid and sinful and wrong not to just tell the truth about him from the start, and from now on I’m going to say it right out, no matter how many people try to shush me.”

  “Whoa there,” Steve said. “I think Hila has a little ego problem herself.”

  “Nice try,” she said, “but I know that trick. “It’s only an ego problem if you know ahead of time that I’m wrong. But isn’t it possible that I see something you don’t? Is there no possibility that I could be right?” He didn’t answer. “Ollie’s going to take your offering box away, Steve. Good grief, doesn’t that make you mad?”

  “Calm down, Hila.”

  “I don’t want to calm down. I’m tired of being calm. Something really colossally awful has happened here, and somebody needs to shout about it.”

  “Colossally? Hila, aren’t you exaggerating?”

  “I tell you, Steve, those counseling ploys don’t work on me. I know them all. No, I’m not exaggerating. How many people signed up for Ollie’s new programs?” Steve did not answer. “Well, he sneered at them and browbeat them, and then they fell all over themselves to sign the paper and make it all right again, to get daddy to smile again. Didn’t they? My—my mother got the tape and listened to it. Can you believe that? After what he said about godless me? I tell you, Steve, I can’t fight it—I tried and got nowhere—but at least I’m not going to lie about it anymore. After what I did the last few months, I’m way over quota on deception for the year, and I’m sick of that.”

  “OK,” Steve said evenly. “That’s how you see it. But you need a little counseling in my opinion and I’ve had a lot of experience about these things. You could see Helen and me together.”

  “All right, that’s fine. I’ll come in for counseling the Monday after you stand up in the pulpit and tell the whole truth about Ollie and what he’s doing to your church. Deal?”

  There was a pained silence. “You know I can’t do that. I have to consider people’s feelings and expectations. Just telling the unguarded truth can be callous, can be disruptive and harmful. A certain amount of discretion and tact—”

  “OK, all right.” She felt this should be brought to a close. “You think I’m crazy and I think you’re in denial. Maybe we should just get off the phone.”

  “Maybe so. Look, those offering plates are going to be back soon, maybe on Sunday, and you’re right, I don’t like it. It’s like a symbol that I’m not accomplishing things here, and I don’t like it. But I’m not going to let that sour me on my fellow Christians.”

  “But offering plates are not the issue for me. I just mentioned them hoping to get a rise out of you, actually. The real issue is that yesterday morning Ollie stood up and preached works, not grace, and nobody—as far as I know—objected. No one even seemed to notice. When poison tastes good to them, you have to wonder about the congregation, yourself included. When did you all stop objecting to a false gospel of works?”

  “These are my fellow Christians,” Steve said, ignoring her question and apparently the whole point, “and if they—don’t want to change, well, I still have to love them. I may not be the right pastor for this congregation. Someone else maybe would make some changes here.” He seemed to be breathing irregularly.

  “Will you get that miserable offering box off your mind? I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

  “I’d like to but I—” he was clearly near tears “—I can’t help but see it as the test case that, uh, determined my future.”

  “But it’s just a box, it’s just how we collect the offering. Frankly, you’re crazier than I am.”

  He laughed quietly. “Yeah, I am. Maybe I need a reality check.”

  The conversation closed after a few pleasantries. Putting down the phone, Hila marveled at how little he seemed to have heard her. I told him that Ollie preached a false gospel and he just let it go by, didn’t even argue with it. What kind of zombies am I dealing with?