Short Stories

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Tie-dyed Angel
By Patricia Backora, author of the book
Tough Love in Christ’s Millennium
Which you can order online from: http://www.publishamerica.com

Sister Mary felt more stunned than grief-stricken. Why, Pete had had such a bright future ahead of him, with a growing church and a budding reputation as a brilliant expositor of the Word of God. Why should the Lord take him home just now?

Mary wiped the corner of her eye as she listened to Assistant Pastor Frisk’s graveside eulogy of her husband: "A good and decent brother in the Lord, kind and generous of heart..."

Sister Dora, a poor widow, sadly slipped away. At her age, she must face reality. This whole sad affair was turning into a flowery farce. Only truth, not insincere flattery, would pass muster at the Judgment Seat of Christ. Dora was not one to judge others, but had Pastor Pete truly been kind and generous of heart toward those in no position to repay him? Even if Brother Frisk had been Pastor Pete’s closest pal and had graduated from Seed Faith Seminary with flying colors, he didn’t know everything. Dora remembered being rebuked from the pulpit for the IOU she’d stuck into the offering bag, wrapped around one of her homemade brownies. Even before he’d died, the departed pastor had lived in another world, far removed from the hardscrabble existence of everyday folks like her. At least Brother Pete had left this world, she thought, before ever having to suffer such sore trials as she had known in her 77 years. But fortunately, Sister Dora did not know everything either.

The following month Brother Frisk opened the morning service with exhortations to continue to pray for all Pastor Pete’s surviving relatives and close friends. Choosing his words carefully, Brother Frisk reaffirmed his promise of the church’s continued concern for Pastor Pete’s bereaved family. Mary and her two teenage sons could continue to occupy the church parsonage, at least for the interim. Brother Frisk was so glad he owned his own home and his family didn’t need to live in the parsonage, which was across the street from the "hippie house", a dilapidated Victorian mansion teeming with “neighbors from hell”: dreadlocked hippies who came and went at will, most with backpacks slung over their shoulders. What a terrible testimony that place was to the whole upper-class neighborhood! A wealthy, but lonely old woman owned the place, and had opened up her home to a band of homeless young people, apparently in exchange for their companionship and help with household chores and gardening. But when they had nothing better to do, they could be overheard laughing and singing at odd hours of the day or night, usually in strange-sounding foreign languages. The songs sounded happy, but judging from their Bohemian appearance, the singers must be up to no good. The elderly lady seemed to enjoy their company, those who caught occasional glimpses of her said.

Various church people had spotted some of them sitting out on the lawn, strumming the guitar or stringing beads. The front porch was neatly stacked with bedrolls belonging to those “just passing through”. No one had actually seen the hippies do anything more sinful out on the grass than converse and sing and string beads together. But their childlike exuberance and exotic attire raised the eyebrows of conservatively dressed, affluent churchgoers, who thought those vagabonds really should grow up and shoulder the burdens of adulthood like everyone else. Few of the members of Green Pastures Church had the courage to walk up to those beaded, bandana-wearing freaks and hand them a tract to let them know that Jesus loved them. Why bother? Their idea of paradise must be a bowlful of granola, not a city paved with gold!

Once Green Pastures Church attained to a more respectable degree of prosperity, a plan would be implemented to help put the financially sluggish church in the black again. The rambling old parsonage would be remodeled into a charming Bed and Breakfast Inn selling Christian books and music on the side. A beautiful new parsonage would be constructed in an even more exclusive area, far removed from the rifraff. The church must grow in numbers. Pastor Pete’s family would have to find somewhere else to live.

Brother Frisk cleared his throat and notified everyone that after weeks of careful deliberation the church board’s decision was unanimous: Pastor Pete’s mantle, and pulpit, had been passed on to him, God’s humble servant. Hearty "amen’s" rippled through the congregation. Pastor-elect Frisk nodded discreetly with just a hint of a smile.

"I’m not one to beat around the bush," the new pastor began. "I’m going to lay my cards on the table, straight. You all need to know what to expect from me, as the newly appointed pastor of Green Pastures Church. Our dearly departed pastor, God rest his soul, left us with a very worthy legacy: "Pastor Pete taught us how to operate the principles of mountain-moving faith. Toward the end, he’d begun the process of undergirding our gold with foundations of steel. I intend to pick up where he left off. It’s a glorious privilege to worship here, but it also entails individual responsibility, and I will be firm and unequivocal about it." He focused on a long-haired man in the back row who stuck out like a sore thumb because he wore a tie-dyed shirt instead of a tie. "Blessing and responsibility go hand in hand," Pastor Frisk intoned. "If you don’t first give of your best, God will pass you over for promotion in His Kingdom. And if you don’t shine for Jesus outwardly as well as inwardly, you might as well go elsewhere, because we’re in the business of conveying a great glad message to the community: "God prospers those who serve Him. We are not second-class citizens. We are children of the great King, so let us act like it and look like it. But if you go around looking like you slept in some doorway, that will convey the opposite message and ruin the testimony of this entire church. Let me make this quite clear from the outset: I’m going to continue the program and the theme of this church instituted by Pastor Peter and if any of you don’t like it, that door swings both ways!"

The pastor raised his eyebrows. A hand was raised in the back, and though he tried to ignore it, it stayed stubbornly up. Everyone’s looking, the pastor thought.Better see what he wants. This is going to be fun. Free sermon material. "Yes, you in the back row? Did you care to comment on something I just said? Don’t shout, now. You’ll have to come up here, so we can all hear you better."

The young man didn’t seem at all overawed by the sea of suits and ties and jewelry all around him, or by the blue velvet speaker’s podium with its gorgeous flower displays. He looked rather lion-like with his wild cascade of auburn curls, and his burning blue eyes. He was unusually handsome for someone who had to panhandle for a living, thought many. No sign of wear or windburn on his fine-chiseled face. Why, he didn’t even look dirty. Without a word to the pastor the young man took the microphone. "What kind of testimony was left by the man you just buried?" he asked, causing everyone to gasp.

"Who are you to judge!" Pastor Frisk cried. "You knew nothing of Pastor Peter!"

"Oh, I knew quite a lot about him," the young man said. "God and I are very close, and He shares his secrets with me, to better equip me to fulfill my mission here on earth."

"But you’re just a loser from the hippie house!" the pastor objected. "What use could possibly God have for you, unless you repent of your disorderly lifestyle and walk in dignity as a child of God?"

"There you go, pastor, jumping to conclusions," the man answered. "You know everything about me just because I don’t wear a strip of silk around my neck or cut off most of my hair? John 7:24 says: Judge not according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgment. Pastor Peter spent most of his life worrying about his standing in the community instead of being concerned about doing the true will of the Heavenly Father. He laid up treasures here on this earth instead of accumulating them in heaven, and you are about to deceive these people into carrying on this same vain tradition of man. I came to set these sheep free before more of them get hurt and bear the scars for eternity."

"How dare you!" Pastor Frisk pointed at him angrily. "Ushers, escort this bum out immediately. What blasphemous words! After he leaves, I’ll have to fumigate the sanctuary! And," he added imperiously, "I intend to call the law down on that old eyesore of a house to rid it of squatters and vagrants."

But no one was able to touch the man. The ushers only staggered backward as they approached him. A bluish-white haze formed, and he vanished without a trace. "An angel!" gasped people all over the semi-circular sanctuary.

"God has visited us with a sign!" one elderly man shouted. "Hallelujah!"

"I’m so happy I could sing and shout!" Sister Dora rejoiced, doing a sprightly jig in the aisle.

"Stop that!" a woman next to her cried. "We don’t believe in that sort of thing here! My word, let’s preserve a little of our dignity! What would Pastor Peter have said about that!"

"Pastor Peter’s opinion no longer matters, nor does it carry any weight with God!" called a familiar voice from the vestibule. "God wants you to all to repent of your idolatry, self-centeredness, and covetousness! Return to Jesus, your First Love! Those of you who are willing to forsake all lying vanities, come out of this place! Those who would be immersed anew in the Love of Jesus, forsake this stronghold of satan, who appears as a fair angel of light to deceive many! Those who would be swept upward into Higher Realms of the Spirit, follow me out!" There stood the colorful young man again, beckoning to them.

Dora was the first to reach the door. Lightness and brightness and intense joy permeated the sanctuary. Many had not known that sort of glorious gladness since before the days Pastor Pete made the Prosperity Doctrine the central focus of Green Pastures Church.

Now others were skipping and dancing, for what else could they do to express their happiness at finally hearing the Voice of the Lord? Fewer than half the congregation filed out of the sanctuary, while the others looked anxiously about them, trembling and hoping the strange drawing within would cease so things would get back to normal and their new pastor could get the chance to further expound on his agenda for the future of Green Pastures Church.

Finally the last deserter was gone. Some of those remaining would later claim to have seen a brilliant flash of light through the church door after the last person went outside, while others would testify to a leaden weight of depression descending upon them suddenly, and seemingly without cause.

Two women seated near the door got up to go find out where the deserters might have gone. When they came back in they were crying. "Clothes! Clothes, shoes and purses all over the church lawn!" they hollered.

"The Rapture has come, and we’ve been left behind!" spread a collective cry through the congregation. "They all went up to heaven and we’re still here!"

"Pastor!" a particularly emotional woman screamed. "Help us! You’ve got all the answers! Save us!"

"Stuff and nonsense!" Pastor Frisk chided. "Quit acting like crybabies!"

"But you saw him disappear in a cloud of smoke, Pastor, same as we did!" one man called.

"That was just some kiddie smoke trick," said the Pastor. "Probably went to the mall and got it at the joke shop. As for his alleged disappearance from view…’ahem!’…he used one of the oldest magic tricks in the book: He diverted your focus from himself to the wonder of the surrounding smoke. Then while the ushers were running around like headless chickens and covering him from view, he skittered down the aisle and sneaked out the sanctuary door while no one was looking that way."

"But what about the clothes out on the lawn, Pastor?" one of the deacons demanded. "You can’t explain them away if they’re still out there!"

Cool as a cucumber, Pastor Frisk was ready for that one: "It’s been awfully windy today, and our portable dumpsters might have been overturned. Sister Summers, what did you do with all those leftover clothes from yesterday’s rummage sale?" he asked a church deaconess in the second row.

"We didn’t dispose of them that way, Pastor," she quavered. "We donated all leftover items to the hippie house, because they were too good to go in the trash. I’m sorry, it was a bad idea.”

"Hey, that was my shirt that walked in here on that hippie!" a tongue-tied teenage boy shouted. "Mom threw it in a bag for the rubbish sale ‘cause it had an ink stain on it she couldn’t get out!"

"But most of the clothes we saw on the lawn were so much finer than what we sold yesterday!" cried one of the two women who had seen the spectacle out front.

"You’re imagining things!" called Pastor Frisk. "Those were the leftovers from the rummage sale! You’re so overwrought you’re seeing the wrong things! The door to the vestibule was shut at the time, and you can’t see much through these stained glass windows! Who knows what went on out there while we started today’s service! So you gave the sale leftovers to the hippies! That’s a fine way for them to show gratitude for our benevolence! Jesus said we shouldn’t cast our pearls before swine, and you should have known they wouldn’t know what to do with decent apparel! Talk about spite! Uh…I’ve got my suspicions…did any of you ever tell those bums about the Rapture?”

“Don did, Pastor!” cried a teenage boy in the third row. “He gave them cartoon tracts about the Rapture just the other day, and invited them to next week’s concert! And I think I saw Don go out to that guy.”

Pastor Frisk fumed. “A fine Christian Don is, deserting us the way he did! All that did was give them an idea for a prank to pull on us to show their contempt toward us! Now, if you check the purses lying on the ground and find there’s no money in them, that would be proof conclusive there was no rapture! No wonder that bum came in here, to get us all upset! Any idiot with half a brain knows the Rapture absolutely cannot happen until the Church is ready, and God’s people have not yet fully entered into all the profound truths He’s trying to teach them, so why would He hold the Rapture now?"

Many were crying, others moaning, either to themselves, or out loud, to the Lord. One woman lifted up her voice and cried: "Woe be unto us! The Bridegroom has come and we’ve been left behind!"

"Nobody’s left you behind, Sister Mayfield!" The pastor rolled up his eyes. "Why, you’re our best soloist and the heavenly choir would be lost without you! Get a grip on yourself! I don’t need anybody else to come unglued here!"

“But I saw Sister Sue’s bifocals out on the grass!” wailed one of the two women who had gone out to check. And no, I didn’t bring them in, I nearly lost my mind when I saw them!”

“So by your own admission you’re losing your mind, Sister Roberts. So why should we lose ours along with you?” the pastor chided. “As you say yourself, you’re overreacting. Ah…did anybody notice eyeglasses on sale yesterday?”

“There were three or four pairs of sunglasses, Pastor,” said the deaconess. “I don’t know about regular ones.”

“Okay, then, let’s not nitpick about this. The only thing to do is go out and examine the evidence before we lament about being in the midst of the Apocalypse. A fear confronted is a fear defeated! So let’s all go outside to go look for the others, and then I’ll call the cops on that hippie house for causing mayhem at a religious service!"

Numb and shaking church members filed out the door, fearful of what they would or wouldn’t find. They stumbled over canes, eyeglasses, clothes and shoes as they dispersed to all corners of the church property, calling out names of departed friends or relatives. Several checked some ownerless purses. They found money and credit cards intact. But this was one time the sight of filthy lucre didn’t fill their hearts to overflowing with joy.

Sister Mabel had known Dora well, but considered her only a fanatical eccentric whose every word must be taken with a grain of salt. Mabel peered down and spotted a leather-bound Bible in the grass, its pages flapping wildly in the breeze. She stooped to pick it up. She let out a startled cry as she spotted a highlighted verse: Mark 8:36. Mabel knew what Dora’s Bible looked like, but she just had to be sure. She bookmarked the passage with her finger while she turned the Bible to the front to confirm the name. Sure enough, Dora’s name was on the flyleaf.

"Pastor! Pastor!" Mabel cried frantically. "I found Sister Dora’s Bible, and it was turned to this verse: ‘What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul’?"

"What have we lost, except a few troublemakers who picked a hippie for their pastor?" Pastor Pete called. "I say this is just a stunt perpetrated by lazy hippies persecuting us because they’re jealous of prosperity we earned by our own diligence and hard work! This was supposed to be my chance to shine at my church at my very first service, but unwashed riffraff ruined it for me!" He was almost crying.

It wasn’t long before they all had to face reality: They really had been left behind after the others responded to the Voice of the Good Shepherd, spoken through an angel disguised as one of the most despised members of society. Loud, bitter cries of fear and regret rose up from the surrounding residential streets. Several church members got the fearful news on their cell phones. It was then that worshippers of materialism knew they had been fed not the Milk and the Meat of the Word of God, but a subtle lie of satan: that prestige in the community is a sure sign of God’s favor, and worldly wealth the truest measure of one’s Treasure in heaven.

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