Late autumn was beautiful in Rock Pier, to Carla at least. This particular Saturday morning she had plans for coffee with her best friend, Mrs. Michael Chadwell. Because the morning air was crisp and the oak and maple leaves, though somewhat faded, were still colorful, she had decided to walk to Corners. The sidewalk itself held much of the muted color, fresh damp leaves almost covering it.
Carla wanted to whistle but settled for softly humming a song that had been her dad’s favorite. She stopped suddenly about a hundred feet from the entrance, however, as she saw Nancy enter the door of the coffee shop, with Patrice right behind.
Carla felt a crushing sense of betrayal with more than a tinge of jealousy. If Nancy had told her Patrice was coming, she would have declined. She felt awkward around Patrice, not only because of her relationship with Marc, but because she and Patrice were opposites in so many ways. Had Carla driven to Corner’s, she surely would have turned back and telephoned Nancy with an apologetic excuse. As it was, because she’d walked almost a mile and a half, she decided to keep going and make the best of things.
“God,” she prayed. “You know the situation. Please work it out beautifully in Your eyes, and help us all to enjoy this time. I ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.”
“Hey, Girl!” Nancy greeted her. “Guess who decided to have coffee at the same time as you and I?”
“Hi, Patrice,” Carla said, smiling as warmly as she could.
“I’ve almost convinced her to join us.”
Patrice glanced at Carla. “No, really… I just wanted some coffee before I head off to work. I wasn’t planning to stay.”
“What time do you have to be at work?” Carla asked, relieved that her presumptions were false. She no longer perceived Patrice’s presence as an intrusion, and she cast aside the offense she had momentarily felt towards Nancy.
“Pretty much whenever I get there,” Patrice answered.
“Join us for a little while at least,” Carla said, choosing to ignore the proud manner she saw in Patrice but also remorseful of her own wrong presumption.
Patrice agreed, and the three girls were soon sharing a table.
“Where do you work, Patrice?” Carla asked.
Before Patrice could answer, Nancy spoke for her. “She works as a medical assistant in a doctor’s office.”
Patrice looked at Nancy, took a sip of coffee, and said deliberately to Carla, with a smile void of any warmth. “What Nancy’s not wanting to tell you is that I work for a doctor who performs abortions.”
Carla’s eyes opened widely. “You do?” was all that came out of her mouth.
“Yes, I do,” Patrice stated simply, but her manner was defiant. She looked down at the table, cocked her head to one side and said, looking up, with a mocking sweetness, “What do you think of that?”
“Ah. Well…” Carla was at a loss for words.
“What she thinks of that, Pat, is exactly what I think, and you already know.” Nancy’s words were firm but empty of any argumentative tone.
Thankful for a detour, Carla looked at Patrice. “‘Pat?’ I didn’t know you went by ‘Pat.’”
“I don’t,” Patrice said, coolly. “But Nancy calls me that, anyway. She’s the only one.”
“So that’s clear,” Carla thought, but said simply, “Oh. All right. It’s gorgeous out today, isn’t it?” She was determined not to let her own attitude stand in the way of God’s ability to work out this encounter beautifully as she had prayed.
“It is!” Nancy exclaimed. “And I’m so glad we all came at the same time. I have a great idea: let’s start a monthly supper meeting—like on the third Tuesday or something.” She looked at the other two, expectantly.
Carla waited for Patrice, but when she seemed hesitant, she blurted out, “I’m in. That sounds fun.”
Patrice’s natural reserve wasn’t enough to hide her surprise at Carla’s exuberance. “Well…”
“Come on, Pat. You name the week,” Nancy chimed in.
“I’m not sure. Do you mean at a restaurant or our apartments?”
“Either way,” Nancy said, shrugging amiably.
“Let me think about it. But right now I’d better get going.”
“All right. You choose the week, though.” Nancy turned to Carla. “Is that OK with you?”
“Sure,” Carla replied. She stood up. “I need to get going, too.”
Nancy shot her a look of surprise, but Carla returned it with a wink that said, “Later,” and Nancy got up from her chair as well.
“Did you walk, Carla?”
“Mmhmm.”
“I’ll give you a ride home.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I want to.”
“OK.”
Once in the car, Nancy turned to Carla and smiled broadly. “A supper club with all three of us would be so fun!” She whispered excitedly, “It’s just a matter of time, Carla. I know she’s wanting friends, and do we have a Friend for her!”
“Mmhmm,” Carla acknowledged pensively. “It might take a little effort.”
“That’s all right. Oh!” she exclaimed, a small smile exploding into a big grin. “I almost forgot. I’m carrying around a wee little friend myself.”
“A wee little friend?” Carla repeated in an incredulous tone, her eyebrows raised.
“Yes!” Nancy’s excitement was completely infectious as she blurted out, “but I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl.”
“You’re pregnant!” Carla exclaimed.
“Yes!”
“You two don’t waste any time, do you?” Carla smiled mischievously, leaning over and squeezing Nancy’s arm. “That’s wonderful! What does Michael say?”
Nancy beamed. “I think he’s even more excited than I am.”
Carla’s expression changed suddenly. “What’s Patrice going to say?”
“Mmm… I don’t know. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I’m not going to tell her just yet.”
……….
“Gene, what are you doing?” Sal asked. It wasn’t like her husband to have showered and dressed and be shaving at 7:30 on a Sunday morning.
“Sorry I woke you up, hon. I didn’t feel like sleeping away such a beautiful morning. I think I’ll get some coffee and go for a drive.” He put down his shaver and came over to the bed.
“You’re beautiful, Sal. Do you know that?”
Sal smiled sleepily. “I guess you think so.”
“I know so!” Chemosh said, kissing her. “Do you mind if I leave you and Andy by yourselves this morning? I really feel like I could use a little time alone.”
“You OK, Gene?” Sal pushed herself to sit up, rubbing her eyes. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“You don’t have to worry, Sal. I’m fine. I just need…” His voice drifted off as he sat down next to her on the bed.
“You just need what, honey?” She put both arms around him and looked at him questioningly.
“I need… some space. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. I need to get off by myself and do a little soul searching.”
“Maybe I should come along.”
“I’ll be OK.” He took her face in his hands. “I think I’m having a mid-life crisis or something. Can you love me through it?”
Sal looked at him and smiled good-humouredly. “Yeah, if you’ll promise to stick with me through menopause.”
“It’s a deal.” Chemosh rose and went back into the bathroom. “Go back to sleep, Hon. I should be back around noon and we’ll go to lunch wherever you and Andy want.”
Sal lay back down and closed her eyes. “Give me a goodbye kiss before you leave.”
Chemosh finished getting ready, put on his jacket, and walked over to Sal. He leaned over and gently kissed her, then quietly went out to his car.
Sally Chemosh stayed in bed, but she was wide awake. She found herself these days increasingly worried about Gene. Her husband, always to be counted on for a raw joke or a light-hearted comment in any social situation, had become so much more quiet—almost pensive, lately; and his sentences were no longer punctuated with the kind of casual vulgarity she’d grown used to early on in their relationship together.
At least the ugly, recurring nightmare seemed to be gone. Sally lay there thinking about that. Yes, the last time it had occurred was when she’d come out to the family room one morning and found Gene lying on the floor, his head resting on his folded arms.
And there was another thing. Whereas Gene used to come home every day from work, and sink into his big brown leather chair with a martini, he now hardly ever drank one. Sally’s eyebrows knit into a frown as she pondered. “He doesn’t even sit in that chair anymore.” She’d not realized this fact until just now. “What’s up with that?” Maybe she just hadn’t noticed when he sat in it, but she was having a hard time remembering his sitting in it any at all within the last week.
“Interesting,” she said aloud to herself, determined to take note specifically when he came home at lunchtime this very day. She’d never been around a mid-life crisis. Was this what it was like? Puzzled, she rolled over, eventually falling back to sleep to the distant sound of Andy’s TV.
……….
Gene Chemosh had to find a place where he could connect with people who knew the Rule Maker. He was a people-person and needed company. Noticing a church off Largo Avenue, he turned left and then into the large parking lot. It was full, but he managed to find a spot. He glanced at the time—8:50, and the signboard said the first service was at 8:30. That was good. He figured if the program had started, he could quietly slip in and just as quietly slip out again whenever he wanted. He knew nothing of what to expect; after all, he’d only been in churches for weddings and funerals. As he cut across the parking lot, he wondered what this particular church would be like—it being his first shot. Well, if he didn’t like it, he’d leave and find another.
The choir was just finishing its performance as Gene walked in, finding a place at the end of one of the back pews. He watched them sit down in their blue robes and then he stood up with everyone else and listened as a woman read aloud from a Bible from the smaller pulpit. Then the man who must have been the preacher left his seat on the platform and walked to the larger pulpit. He gave a talk about a person stranded on an interstate needing help and how a preacher and a Bible professor had ignored him, but a tourist had stopped to help. “As individuals, as a church, and as a nation, we must come to the aid of those who are hurting in our own country. It is unconscionable for us not to provide food, shelter and medical help to people not blessed with the means to obtain these basic needs. Let us remember the story of the Good Samaritan as we pray for our leaders.”
Gene Chemosh listened. It was a reasonable message. He picked up the flyer on the church pew next to him to find the name of the speaker. Reverend James Helgessen. He glanced through the information on the flyer, noting the bolded letters. “Next Sunday we will hold a special ceremony for the Blessing of the Animals. Bring your pets for a noisy, fun service. All pets are welcome, but please keep in cages or on leashes as appropriate.”
As Chemosh absorbed the surprise and curiosity the announcement generated for him, the people around him rose to sing a song. He reached for a songbook, but before he could open it, a woman gave him one already opened to the correct place, warmly smiling as she did so. Gene returned the smile in thanks and followed the words without singing, but his mind was focused on executing a smooth escape from the church: he didn’t feel like talking with anyone. Besides, he wanted to hit one more church, if possible, before driving home again.
Just as the first words of the last verse were being sung, he put down the songbook, slipped out the door, and walked briskly to his car. Heading back onto Largo and then onto Main, he drove almost two miles before seeing another church sign. The building wasn’t very fancy, but Chemosh didn’t care. He just wanted to satisfy his own curiosity and obey the nudge he’d felt from the Rule Maker to “seek out My people who live by My rules.”
This billboard said 10:00 a.m., and Chemosh, not wanting to make conversation with anyone, was hesitant to walk in until after the service had started. He stopped at a donut shop to kill some time, then drove back to the church and into the small parking lot.
He took his time getting out of the car and as slowly as possible walked toward the open doorway. When he was halfway across the lot, someone closed the double entry door, and Chemosh smiled. “Right on cue,” he whispered to himself.
As he gingerly opened the door he heard the congregation singing—loudly singing. By now it was 10:14, he noticed, and it was easy enough to slip into an end seat of one of the back rows unnoticed, since everyone was standing up, seemingly engrossed in the song. Many people had their arms raised in the air. Chemosh felt a certain satisfaction in his overall first impression. The atmosphere was much less formal than the first church. He looked around to see where the words to the song had been posted: no one was using books. Seeing people with eyes closed, he decided to join them. This action would certainly deter anyone from approaching him.
Feeling secure that he could remain anonymous, he allowed his mind to absorb the words:
We celebrate Jesus Christ
We celebrate Jesus Christ
His blood has covered every sin,
As we lift thankful hearts to Him
And… we… won’t
Stumble on the Stumbling Stone
No, we… won’t
Stumble on the Stumbling Stone.
We celebrate Jesus Christ
We celebrate Jesus Christ
His blood for every sin atones
And it brings life to our dead bones
And… we… won’t
Stumble on the Stumbling Stone
No, we… won’t
Stumble on the Stumbling Stone.
And… we… won’t
Stumble on the Stumbling Stone.
No, we… won’t
Stumble on the Stumbling Stone.
The melody was catchy, and so were the simple words. By the time the crowd of people had sung it through twice, Chemosh found himself joining in, albeit under his breath and despite his pre-determined reserve. Everyone was clapping to the music, and there was a sense of joyous abandon that was very appealing. It was a welcome feeling to Chemosh. Could there be laughter and joy from a source different from what he’d drawn from most of his life? He had missed laughter lately, and the happy crowd of people around him was giving him hope that buoyancy might be possible in this new adventure with the Rule Maker.
After three more songs, the people sat down and the preacher came from somewhere in the audience to the pulpit. He prayed briefly, then began by saying, “I like that song ‘Stumbling Stone.’ It’s taken right out of the Bible—Romans 9. Would you turn to that scripture, please?”
Chemosh hoped no one would notice he had no Bible. He was intrigued with the service, but he really did not want to interact with anyone. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice.
“In verses 31 and 32, Paul states, ‘But Israel, which followed after the law of righteousness, hath not attained to the law of righteousness. Why? Because they sought it not by faith but as it were by the works of the law. For they stumbled at that stumbling stone.’” The preacher looked up, explaining, “They were doing the right things, but their eyes were focused on the doing of them rather than on God’s heart. They had a zeal for God, as Paul states in the next chapter, but they were ignorant of God’s righteousness and established their own righteousness—which seemed good in their own eyes. They did not submit to God’s plan of righteousness, which is only through embracing the sacrifice of Jesus, the Christ—the Son of God, the stumbling stone. And so…they stumbled on the stumbling stone.”
He paused. “Verse 4 of Chapter 10 states, ‘For Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to every one that believeth.’ Now, rather than righteousness by the Law, we have righteousness by faith—in this way, verse 9: ‘If we confess with our mouth that Jesus is Lord, and believe in our hearts that God has raised Him from the dead, we shall be saved.’ Paul explains that the old covenant of having a set of rules that we are obligated to obey has been exchanged, by Jesus’ sacrifice, into a new covenant whereby we are so thankful for God’s gift of grace that we desire to please God rather than ourselves. When we are filled with that desire to know what God wants, we are given the grace to understand that our acceptance by Him only comes through Jesus Christ’s giving Himself as a final sacrifice on that cross for our sins.
“Please turn to I Corinthians 1. I’m going to read verses 21 through to the end of the chapter. I’ll read it aloud slowly for those of you who don’t have a Bible with you.” His voice took on a deliberate tone. “Now this takes concentration.”
The pastor read slowly. Chemosh stared at the back of the pew in front of him, but he was listening intently.
“‘For after that in the wisdom of God, the world by wisdom knew not God, it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that believe.’” He paused. “That’s just like today—by the foolishness of my preaching right now. Many people seek to acquire intelligence acclaimed by the world, but ‘we preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumbling block, and unto the Greeks foolishness; but unto them which are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God. Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.’”
“You’ll notice Paul says that not many of the world’s wise and mighty men are called into God’s kingdom. Nope.” The man clipped the word emphatically and paused a moment. “God has chosen what the world calls foolish to confound the world’s wise, and what the world calls weak to confound the world’s mighty.”
Chemosh glanced up, listening intently, and immediately looked down again. The preacher seemed to be looking directly at him.
“But base things and despised things God has chosen, and things that are of no seeming import, to bring to nothing things that are. Why? So that no flesh—no flesh—gets any glory. It is Jesus Christ—He alone, who by God’s design is our…” Gene, glancing up again, saw the preacher hold up four fingers, one at a time, for emphasis, “…wisdom… righteousness… sanctification… and redemption. ‘As it is written,’ Paul says, quoting Jeremiah, ‘He that glories, let him glory in the Lord.’”
“Remember what we sang today? ‘The blood brings life to our dead bones.’ What blood? Jesus’ blood. What life?” Chemosh watched the preacher again use four fingers for emphasis. “God’s wisdom… righteousness… sanctification… and redemption.
“Let’s not stumble at the stumbling stone. Yes, we obey God’s rules—but not because we have to obey them. We obey them because we reverence God and want to please Him. You see, obeying rules to please God and obeying rules because we want to please Him are not the same. We know the difference, and let me assure you: God knows the difference.
“God in His holy, absolute love has made provision for us in the Stumbling Stone of Jesus Christ. If we are too proud to acknowledge our need for the amazing gift of God’s dear Son through the crucifixion as a sacrifice to cover our sins, and we disdain this Savior, then Jesus Christ is not our Savior—he remains the eternal Stumbling Stone.
“On the other hand, if we thank God for the blood of His Son shed for our wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption, our dead bones take on an eternal dimension of life, and we no longer see ourselves as a minute speck at a finite time in a seemingly infinite universe. No. We’re connected to the beginning—to the Alpha Creator, and to the end—the Omega…far beyond our imagination. And each of us is very important to Jesus, the “Rock of Ages,” who is the Stumbling Stone for most of the world… and, indeed, even for most of the church at large.”
Chemosh stood quietly from his seat in the back of the church and slipped out the back door. “Interesting!” he said to himself. “Interesting.” Getting into his car, he followed an urge to drive straight to a superstore five blocks away, and bought a Bible.