“Take notes. Oh, and I forgot to tell you. Nathan has an alto part he really wants you to sing.”
“A solo?”
“I’m not sure. There’s also going to be a flute solo by a high school student.” Mike saw Peg receive three congratulatory hugs before she crossed the parking lot. As an expectant mother, her acceptance by the church was bound to go up. Mike retreated to his office where, for the next forty-five minutes, he alternately reviewed his notes and paced back and forth across the room practicing his delivery. As time drew near to go to the sanctuary, he stopped and looked out a window that gave a partial view of the parking lot. He spotted several first-time visitors, the best sign of a healthy church and a radical departure from the norm prior to Mike’s arrival at Little Creek. He slipped on his black robe and checked his appearance in the mirror.
Mike and the choir crowded into an anteroom adjacent to the front of the sanctuary for a brief prayer. Peg was lovely in a burgundy choir robe trimmed in gold. The same robe made Nathan Goode look like a fugitive from Alice in Wonderland. For the minister and choir members, wearing robes was a nonnegotiable tradition. They all entered the sanctuary to the stately sound of an organ prelude. Mike stepped into the pulpit area.
From the first time he sat in the high-backed chair behind the pulpit, it felt right. During the ensuing three years, he’d never tired of steering the service like the captain of a ship.
It was close to a full house, more than three hundred and fifty people. Mike scanned the crowd until his gaze fastened on an older couple sitting on the far left side of the sanctuary in the second pew from the front. The man turned his head from side to side then looked up at the ceiling for several seconds as if closely inspecting the rafters. Mike looked up, too, but saw nothing except wood. The woman beside the man stared straight ahead with a slight smile on her wrinkled face.
It was Sam and Muriel Miller.
After the opening prayer and a congregational hymn, the flutist played her song. Mike tried to interpret his client’s expressions as the service progressed. The first time their eyes met, Sam smiled broadly. Mike nodded in greeting but remembered Muriel’s comment that she and Sam moved from church to church “as the Lord” led them. It was one thing to spend time with Sam Miller at the jail or in the privacy of his living room. Having him in the Little Creek congregation where he might say something bizarre to one of the members of the church made Mike’s stomach tighten in a knot.
The choir performed a baroque anthem that sounded familiar. Peg sang a brief solo. Her clear, mellow voice moved perfectly from note to note. Mike listened with pride.
Mike delivered a pastoral prayer that followed an outline familiar to the congregation. He requested divine help for the world, the nation, the state, Barlow County, the church, and anyone who had been sick enough during the week to require a night in the hospital. When he said “Amen” and opened his eyes, he saw that Sam still had his head bowed.
The announcements for the week were printed in the bulletin; however, Mike had learned not to trust the congregation’s ability to take note of them and dutifully read the list. He reached the end and paused to allow silent consideration of the money contributed the previous Sunday. To read aloud the numbers would be in bad taste.
“The last announcement isn’t in the bulletin,” he said. “Peg and I are thrilled to announce that she is expecting our first child. She’s been to the doctor and everything looks fine.”
There was a splattering of applause. Mike looked at Peg, who was beaming. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam Miller with his left hand raised in the air like a schoolchild wanting to attract the teacher’s attention. Mike quickly looked away as the clapping died down. An impromptu speech by Sam definitely wasn’t in the morning bulletin. “Thank you very much,” Mike said. “You can’t imagine how grateful Peg and I are for the love and support of this congregation.”
During the offering, Mike avoided looking in Sam’s direction. As the offering plates left the sanctuary, Mike stood up and stepped forward to the pulpit. He kept his notes folded in his Bible and slipped them out to preach. His mouth suddenly dry, he took a quick sip of water from a glass he kept on a shelf in the pulpit.
“Our scripture lesson this morning is a single verse from the words of Jesus in John 10:27. My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.
Recently, these words have come to have a new meaning for me.”
Mike paused and distinctly heard Sam say, “Yep.”
Mike hurriedly continued, “We’re God’s sheep if we’ve submitted to Him as the shepherd of our souls, and personal communication with Jesus is the birthright of every Christian. This morning, I’m going to discuss ways to recognize the voice of God and how to respond to what He says.