Winter Season

Pastor Randall

About three o’clock the doorbell rang. Oscar opened the door to find the pastor standing on the other side.

“Did my mother send you?”

“Mr. Patterson.” He shuffled his feet. “No, I’m sure I don’t know your mother. Sister Sharon told me where I could find you.” He forced a smile. “I knocked at your door. She also told me that the lady that left abruptly was your fiancée.” He cleared his throat. “I couldn’t help but notice.”

“How astute of you.”

“Well,” He looked back down at the porch, “I would like to talk to her.”

“Come in.” Oscar let the young man in.

Esther was standing behind the couch.

The young man walked over to Esther and extended his hand in a handshake, “James Randall.”

She accepted, “Esther Morrison. Have a seat.” She pointed to the couch. Oscar went into the kitchen and got 2 chairs.

“Thank you.”

He cleared his throat as everyone sat down. “I couldn’t help but notice that you got up and left.”

“Very astute.”

He smiled. “Yeah, I feel like I need to talk to you.”

“Where are my manners? Would you like something to drink?” She looked at Oscar, “we have Coke, water, tea, coffee, and I think some apple cider.”

He looked at Oscar, who was staring lovingly at Esther. “A Coke would be fine.”

Oscar got up bringing back three Coke Zeros. The young man rolled his around in his hands. He used it as more of a distraction than a drink.

Esther finally started the conversation, “are you a called to preacher or educated?”

“Both.” He smiled. “When I was 16, I had a pastor reach down to me. I was on a road headed for destruction. He reached out and saved me. From that moment on, I wanted to be just like him; full of passion and fire. When I graduated from high school, I went to seminary.”

“Have you ever had anyone in your life commit suicide?” Esther asked.

“No.”

“What compelled you to preach on the subject this morning?”

He shook his head, “I can’t answer that. One thing led to another and there it was.”

“When I was six, we had a preacher come to our house and talk to my grandmother like a dog about the sin of suicide. As if her guilt wasn’t enough, he took away her hope that she might one day get to see her son again. I was playing under the sink when all of this happened. I heard every ugly word that he said to her. I have spent the better part of my adult life hating organized religion for that very reason. He is the one human on this planet that I hate, in the true since of the word. The man that was supposed to help me and my grandparents through this tragedy was in fact telling us what a monster, a devil, and an evil man my dad was. We never went to church again after that day. My grandparents went to their graves with the,” she stopped for a moment. Oscar held her hand. “They wanted to kill him.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not saying that suicide isn’t a sin. It is the murder of oneself and our bodies are temples onto God. You have just destroyed his temple.” She got up, returning with a Kleenex. “They are his house when he lives in us. I have spent years studying suicide and religion. I have read hundreds of opinions, sermons, editorials; you name it on the subject. Through those, I understand that yes, it is a sin. But in all his grace, in all his mercy, will God forgive this sin.” Tears rolled down her face as Oscar put his arm around her. “What was so broken in my dad that made him want to take his own life? Will God not take that into consideration on judgment day, that my dad had a mental illness? What conversation did he and God have before he pulled the trigger? Or even after? Was he able to ask for forgiveness? ” She wiped at her tears. “I pray that he lived long enough to ask God for forgiveness. I pray that God will show mercy for his transgression so that I will be able to hug him again someday. I pray that he will show mercy on my grandparents for falling and not being able to get back up.” There were several moments of tense silence. “The last time I had this discussion with a pastor, I just wanted to hurt him for all the hurt he caused us.” She rubbed her hands up and down her thighs as if trying to wipe dirt. “But I want you to know that you busted my bubble of hope. You took away the hope that in God’s grace and mercy he will forgive my dad. He will forgive my grandparents. And that he will forgive me.” She got up, whispering, “You took away my hope.” She turned at the kitchen door, “suicide is talked about in the bible: Judas, King Saul, and Samson being the three I can think of right off the top of my head. What made you choose that sin?”

Brother James was near to tears himself, “please come back to church.” His voice cracked, “please let me make it right.”

“I will pray about it.”

Winter Season