Читать книгу The Cord - Stephen W. Robbins - Страница 7

Pastor Donovan shut the door to his office immediately upon arriving at church. Standing directly in front of his bookshelf, he scanned the books collected from his seminary days. Some he had read, and many he intended to someday. He selected a few from his “eschatology” section. Spreading them out on his desk, he began to research and reacquaint himself with prophesies and timetables. It felt good to turn the pastor’s office back into a pastor’s study.

George knocked on the door precisely at two o’clock. Having stared relentlessly at the clock on the wall as the time drew near, Pastor Donovan greeted him with praise for his punctuality. “Right on time. Not too many people serve up this common courtesy anymore. Thank you for valuing my time. Please, have a seat.”

“I’m sure you have questions from last night.”

“It was a lot to take in. How do you know this is what God wants? How do you know this is the right thing to do? It almost seems like an Abraham and Sarah moment.”

“Abraham and Sarah?”

“Yes, when Sarah told Abraham to take Hagar as his concubine because Sarah was too old to have the child of the promise.”

“Ah—I can see how you might think that—that we are using manmade strategies to try to bring about a supernatural event. But you really don’t have the whole story. From SarkiSystems’ launch twelve years ago, God has been the One moving things forward. All of the advances in our research and technology have been a result of prayer and listening to God’s leading and direction. This is simply the next step in a plan that God set in motion years ago.”

“I want to believe you, but it seems too incredible. Besides, what does this specifically have to do with my ministry?”

“Last night I mentioned that we would implant the embryo. For this to occur, we need a womb. Of course, the young girl must be a godly virgin. Our ‘Mary’ must be one in whom Christ dwells and delights in.” George looked right in Pastor Donovan’s eyes and announced, “That’s why I’m here today. Anne, your daughter, is that girl.”

“What?” exclaimed Pastor Donovan. “I don’t understand. Are you saying that you want to impregnate Anne? That she would carry your baby?”

“Not mine. God’s! Nobody enters her. She remains a virgin. As with Mary, people will count her blessed.”

Pastor Donovan stared at him in disbelief. “She’s only eighteen. We’ve got plans. She’s got plans. How can she graduate from high school and go to college if she’s pregnant?”

“I understand your concerns. But know that the momentary, light affliction that she must endure cannot compare to the eternal weight of glory that awaits her. Yes, her future will change. It will change the world. And hasn’t that been your prayer for her ever since she was born, that she would be dedicated unto God and make a difference in this world?”

Pastor Donovan didn’t know what to say. How did George know that that was exactly their prayer for Anne? Pastor Donovan pondered for a moment the fact that George always seemed to know precisely what he thought and desired. How does he know so much about me?

Moving the conversation forward, George suggested, “Last night I promised that you could ask me questions when we met. So, I assume you have a few more questions. I also assume, based on the pile of books there on your desk, that you may even have a few answers.”

Though stupefied by George’s revelation, Pastor Donovan did smile at the suggestion that he might have answers. He had anything but answers. He wasn’t even sure what the questions were to ask. Following an awkward moment of silence, he simply blurted out the first thought that came to mind. “Jesus ascended bodily into heaven. Right? So, because we are told that He will return in the same way, this means that He will return bodily. Visibly, right? However this is to happen, I know that I want to be alive to witness it. Sometimes on our evening walks, especially after I sound off my ‘heretic of the week’ frustrations for the first few blocks, my wife will look up into the sky and say, ‘O, please come, Lord Jesus.’”

“You are not only going to be alive to witness His coming. You are going to help make it happen. You, and especially your daughter, will make a significant contribution to it.”

Unsure how to respond or what to ask, Pastor Donovan voiced, “This whole plan of yours is based on a relic. I admit I don’t know much about relics, but my impression is that they are ‘Catholic.’ Once used long ago to generate money, power, and relevance for monasteries and cathedrals, these spectacular treasures from the past now sit tucked away, catalogued and shelved under the Vatican.”

George interrupted, “Pastor Donovan, with all due respect, the umbilical cord of Jesus is not some relic, a medieval piece of magic. We’re not talking about one of the countless chalices from the Last Supper or splinters from the cross that sustain legends. The Sisters of Saint Mary-Salome vigilantly preserved the authentic cord, the one piece of Jesus’ body that did not ascend into heaven. We do not have a relic. We have the only true link to the flesh that now sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty.”

Both men sat still for a moment, as if trying to fathom that last sentence. Pastor Donovan broke the silence. “I need time to think about all this.”

“Of course,” affirmed George. “And you will need to talk with Ashley and Anne.” Before Pastor Donovan had a chance to protest or panic, George stood up, leaned across the desk to shake hands, and then said while leaving, “I’ll be praying for you.”

As George closed the door behind him, Pastor Donovan leaned back in his chair, his hands folded behind his head. I’ll be praying for you. Pastor Donovan knows that he himself has said this a thousand times to his parishioners. He also knows that many times it has only served as a convenient way to end a conversation. Even as he pondered this flawed spirituality, a flashback from Sunday morning arose. As he walked from the parking lot toward the sanctuary, he saw Brother Bob walking right toward him. Recalling that he had promised to pray for him, he threw up a quick “Lord, help him” just before he greeted Brother Bob with “How are you? I’ve been praying for you.” His pastoral voice of concern surely guaranteed another “homerun.”

* * * * *

Regardless of whether George was really going to pray for him, or whether those parting words were an empty promise, an exit plan well played, Pastor Donovan found himself yet again hopeless and lost inside his office, his chamber of desperation. For the past year, haunting episodes of “What’s the use?” had invaded his mind. The past week’s “When are you going to get more young people coming to church?” comment by his board chairman reverberated through his mind, making him want to lash out with “Well, when are you going to do something?” The stacks of conference and seminar notebooks on his bookshelf strangled any leftover hope. Like the slick brochures littering his inbox, they promised the key to leadership and growth, the central but missing program for success. And yet they drove him further into failure and confusion because he couldn’t get any “key” to fit. For the past year Pastor Donovan’s heart had skipped beats and pounded blood as he sat at his desk and listened to a voice saying over and over again, “Nothing you do will ever matter.” Hidden under a pile of thoughts accusing him of being powerless, unworthy, forsaken, and condemned lay a dark wish for God to just take him home. Though carrying this burden, Payne had learned to just keep moving. He managed to pray throughout the rest of the day at church, and especially as he drove home for dinner.

He had already called home to inform Ashley and the kids that they were going to have a “family powwow” that night. So, after dinner, while the kids finished up their homework, Payne invited his wife into their bedroom to have a meeting before the meeting. Behind closed doors, he cautiously broached the subject. “Honey, you more than anyone know that I have been dissatisfied. I’ve shared about how tired I am of the constant shifting, the endless redefining of success. I’m tired of being inadequate to navigate through the ministry maze.”

“Are you giving up?” asked Ashley, the wrinkles between her eyes pronounced with worry.

“No, not at all. In fact, I feel like I’m finally in the game. That low-grade fear of being lost and left on the outside is gone. I feel ready, even ambitious to be in on what God is up to.” Payne gazed into his wife’s eyes, and said, “What I’m about to tell you is confidential. Only those involved are to know. But, there will come a day soon when everybody will know.”

“Okay, I’m listening,” said Ashley as she leaned back onto the bed, using her hands as support.

But, as was often the case when they were in the bedroom, Doug, their son, knocked on their door at the most inopportune time.

“Are we going to have the meeting now?” yelled Doug from the other side of the door. It only took that one time of not knocking before entering for him to be well trained to never do that again.

“In a minute, son. Do us a favor; find your sister and we will meet you in the living room.” Payne looked at his wife and said, “We really do have terrific kids.” He paused, then continued with a smile, “You know what they say: fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“And neither do the nuts!” grinned Ashley, but not just for her witty comeback. Her countenance conveyed a confidence in her husband.

As Payne watched his wife walk out into the hallway, he wondered for the umpteenth time that day if he was indeed nuts to even consider George’s proposal. He knew that, whichever way he turned, fruit would fall. He hoped for good, not forbidden, fruit as he followed Ashley out of the bedroom.

The four met in the living room. Bundt, their chocolate Labrador, laid down next to Anne on the couch with his head resting on her lap—almost as if he sensed what was about to be shared and that she would need comfort.

Payne forewarned, “I want to begin our family powwow by saying that this will not be like any other powwow.”

“Does this mean it will be interesting and short?” quipped Doug.

“I guarantee it will be interesting!” How short the meeting will be was not just a good question, it was the question. Just how much should be shared? How much should be revealed? Once something was said, it could never be taken back. It would forever change and shape the family trust.

“What I’m about to tell you is confidential. And what I’m about to tell you will, I’m sure, confuse and trouble you. It may even offend you. However, I believe, once you understand and hear me out, it will revive you, or at least intrigue you.”

“Dad, just tell us. We can take it.” Anne said this in hopes of moving the meeting along. She wanted to return to her original plan for the evening: study for the college admission exam that she was taking on Saturday.

“Actually, Anne, what I’m about to share affects you the most.” With this said, and with a deep breath, Payne invited his family to join him as he prayed. They all instinctively bowed their heads. Even Bundt closed his eyes.

“Father, You who loves us with an everlasting love, help us now to wait upon You with reverent and believing hearts. Grant us wisdom and clarity to do Your will completely, cheerfully, and without hesitation. We are so aware that this world is lost, and that You plan to call it to account. We believe that Jesus—the One that was crucified, dead, and buried; the One that rose from the dead, ascended into heaven, and now sits at Your right hand—shall come again to judge the living and the dead. Father, we believe this, and we believe that He could come at any time. Father, more than anything, we ask that You prepare us for His return. May we not be distracted, nor cause any delay to our blessed hope. To Your glory and our joy, we pray this in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

Immediately following the collective “Amen,” before the revelation, Doug interjected (Anne rolled her eyes), “Dad, you quoted some of the Apostles’ Creed in your prayer. It reminded me of a conversation I had at lunch today at school. One of my friends, who just found out that I am a preacher’s kid, asked me if I really believed that Mary was a virgin when she had Jesus. I told him flat out, ‘I believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ His only Son our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary.’ My friend laughed at me, called me crazy, and then shouted so all at the table could hear, ‘And he believes in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.’ Everybody laughed.”

Ashley chimed in, “Why are people so mean? Why don’t people believe anymore?”

“Because they saw their mom and dad put the presents under the tree and the candy in the baskets,” chuckled Anne.

“You know what I mean,” said Ashley in a tone only a mother could voice. “Why don’t people, especially young people, believe in the virgin birth?”

“I don’t believe in the virgin birth,” announced Anne. Deafening silence filled the room and raised Bundt’s ears. She explained, “I believe in the virgin conception, not the virgin birth. The conception was supernatural, but not the birth. The birth involved pain, blood, and pushing. There was no heavenly epidural. It was a natural birth. Isn’t that right, Dad? Just like with my birth, there was a birth canal, a placenta, and an umbilical cord. Isn’t that what you said in your sermon last Christmas?”

What Pastor Donovan said last Christmas was nothing compared to what he was about to say. How do you tell your daughter that she was about to become Mary? How do you convince your wife that this unplanned pregnancy is part of God’s plan? How will Doug handle his friends’ jeering when he defends his sister? Once again, Payne found himself with no answers, just a growing set of questions that soon would be mute, he hoped.

“You are right. That is what I said.” He choked up, paused to catch his breath, and then muttered, “There was an umbilical cord.” The family flashed puzzlement, either because they couldn’t hear him or because they could. Irreversibly, he candidly addressed his family. “There was an umbilical cord. And that is actually what I want to talk to you about at this powwow. On Monday night, I saw the actual umbilical cord of Jesus.”

“Cool,” said Doug with excitement. “What did it look like? Did you touch it?”

“No, I didn’t touch it. And, well, I didn’t actually see it. I saw the reliquary that contains it.”

“How do you know the cord was in it?” asked Anne, adding yet another entry into the catalogue of questions.

“It’s a bit complicated, but I can assure you that it was. I saw with my own eyes film footage of it being captured from the order of sisters that guarded and preserved it.”

“Cool,” repeated Doug, now sitting up straight. “Can I watch it sometime? Was there pain, blood, and pushing?”

“No. Now, please, no more interruptions. I want to tell you the unbelievable news. Without going into all the technical details (because, in fact, I don’t understand all the science involved), I want to tell you what we plan to do with the cord. Let me just say that, because the blood in the cord is well preserved and well suitable and usable for advanced procedures involving DNA, we can now bring back Jesus. Think about it, for such a time as this, God has graced us with the ability and the means to generate His second coming.”

“You can’t be serious.” Ashley could not help but interrupt. “Are you telling us that you intend to clone our Lord? That you will create Him in some lab? No, better yet, you plan to stage another virgin birth. No, wait, I’m sorry, virgin conception? I bet you already have selected a Mary. Who’s your chosen virgin?” Distraught, Ashley pointed toward their daughter, and said sardonically, “Anne?”

“Yes.”

“Way cool,” roared Doug.

“What?” gasped Anne.

“Are you out of your mind?” Now livid, Ashley stood up and declared that the family powwow was over. She ordered the kids to go to their bedrooms. Bundt followed Anne.

* * * * *

Payne and his wife sat in the living room, staring at anything but each other. When he thought it was safe, he spoke. “Please, Honey, just listen to what I . . .”

“No. You listen to me. My daughter is not going to get pregnant before she is married. She is going to go to college, graduate, get a job that she likes, and then get married to a man that she loves and that loves her and shares her values.”

“Just like you. You married a man that loves you and shares your values. I know that I have had more time than you to process this whole thing. But, please, know that what we are talking about will make all things work out together for our good. You know my heart. You also know that I’ve tried to help the church grow, to move God’s mission forward. But I have nothing more to throw to see if it sticks. That is, until now.”

“So you’re going to throw an umbilical cord?” quipped Ashley. Silence stretched between them—and then Ashley said, “I just don’t understand. Is this merely your latest attempt to take the church to the next level?”

“It’s not the next level. It’s the ultimate level, the pinnacle, the . . .”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the devil tempt Jesus from the pinnacle of the temple? And didn’t Satan try to use the Scriptures to tempt Him? And didn’t Jesus resist him by counter-quoting, ‘You shall not put the Lord your God to the test’? Payne, you are not only testing the Lord your God, you are testing your wife with this absurd nonsense. Please, for your sake and mine and especially Anne’s, just forget about all this. Go back to being a regular pastor—preach, teach, and run the church—and entrust the results to God.” Ashley stood up, staged a consoling smile, and walked to the kitchen, pretending that all was back to normal.

Pastor Donovan walked toward his bedroom to lie down, but stopped when he overheard Anne praying, or at least what he thought was praying. With the door ajar, he glanced in to make sure she was all right. She was not praying. She was curled up on the floor next to her bed, talking to Bundt.

“Everybody has my life all planned out. It seems like ever since I was born I was destined to be smart and to do the right things. Always the student with an A on her report card, and never the girl with an A on her sweater. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for what I have. I have you. I remember when Dad brought you home as a surprise. You were so small. When you curled up, just like you are now, you looked just like a chocolate Bundt cake. That’s why we named you Bundt. You were a sweet surprise; but you’re not the only surprise he has graced us with. Remember when Dad surprised us with a two-week camping trip to the beach. We all thought he was crazy. We were so unprepared and so not wanting to break the family tradition of using Dad’s year-long wedding and funeral money to enjoy some mountain resort. That vacation turned out to be the best time together, and we got to take you along, too. Oh, and remember when we . . .”

Pastor Donovan stopped eavesdropping. He plopped on his bed and drifted asleep. Though already exhausting, his day of reckoning continued, for he fell into a dream.

He found himself standing on top of the church’s spire. There, up on the steeple, with his feet on the cross, he heard someone yell from down below, “Drop the baby.” Much to his surprise, he let go. The baby fell face down toward the ground. But just before it hit the ground it slowed down and then stopped because it was connected to him by a long umbilical cord. The baby bungeed back up toward him. As it returned, it turned over. Now faced up, Pastor Donovan saw that the baby was Anne. She was smiling and saying, “Do it again, Daddy.”

He woke up with his daughter by his side saying, “Daddy, I think this is something I should do.”

Pastor Donovan shook his head to clear away the sleep. “Are you sure, Precious?”

“If this would really be Jesus’ second coming, then what else can I do? It would be wrong to say no.”

He hugged her and said, “Don’t tell your mother.”