Fatal Convictions

19

Alex struggled to get out of bed Saturday morning and didn’t make it to the Belvedere Coffee Shop until 8:15, fifteen minutes late for his weekly breakfast. He chained his beach cruiser to a bike rack in the parking lot and squeezed his way past the line of tourists that snaked out the door of the restaurant.

Inside, the coffee shop was cramped and narrow, about half the size of a typical Waffle House. Booths lined one wall, and about ten barstools faced a Formica-topped counter on the opposite side. The saving grace of the place was the wall of windows that surrounded the booths, giving nearly every diner a view of the beach. Alex had tried to talk his grandmother into other restaurants, but she was a creature of habit-greasy eggs, strong coffee, a big glass of orange juice, and a two-mile walk on the boardwalk. Rain or shine, unless Alex was out of town, he and Ramona met here on Saturday mornings.

His grandmother usually commandeered a booth, but today she was sitting at the counter. Her purse marked the stool next to hers as taken. She had on knee-length shorts, a T-shirt, and white sneakers. Her sunglasses hung around her neck on a sky blue Croakie.

“Sorry I’m late,” Alex said, giving his grandmother a quick peck on the cheek.

She told him not to worry about it, then let the cook know they were ready for breakfast. Alex almost always ordered French toast, and his grandmother had already placed the order. The place smelled like grease, and Alex tried not to watch the cooks manning the grill in front of him.

“You look tired,” Ramona said.

“I’m fine.”

“How much sleep are you getting?”

Alex dumped three creamers into his coffee and took a gulp. He didn’t like lying to his grandmother, so he decided to dodge the question. “I don’t need much.”

His grandmother shook her head. “Too little sleep makes you irritable, intellectually sluggish, and overweight.”

“Overweight?” Alex asked, his voice still husky. He had never had a problem with weight in his life, and he typically slept only about five hours a night. After a good day of surfing, you could count his ribs.

“That’s what they say.” Ramona neglected to mention who “they” were. “Of course in your case, metabolism overrides the normal rules of nature.”

Ramona pulled a folded copy of a page from the Tidewater Times out of her purse and placed it on the counter next to Alex. “I know you don’t get the paper, so I brought this for you.”

Alex glanced at the story on the local news page about Aisha’s case. He had already read it online, but he thanked his grandmother anyway. They talked about the case for a few minutes, and then Ramona gave him updates on various church members-who needed what kind of surgery, financial hardships for several others, compliments she had heard about Alex’s sermons.

But hearing the second-hand compliments also brought to mind the murmuring Alex knew was out there. In the months following Alex’s unexpected call to ministry, the church had grown at a somewhat dizzying rate, climbing from sixty to nearly ninety. But recently things had plateaued, then slowly declined, and the church members had started taking sides. The older women all loved Alex, as did the handful of teenagers. But a few of the deacons blamed the lethargic attendance on the absence of a full-time pastor. Alex wanted to get his grandmother’s take on the situation but decided he should wait until they got outside, where they could talk without sitting elbow to elbow with complete strangers.

After they finished eating and Ramona paid the bill, they left the restaurant for their Saturday morning power walk. They headed down the boardwalk toward the south end of Virginia Beach.

There were bikers and skaters sailing by on the bike path, runners grinding it out on the boardwalk, and lots of tourists lining the various hotel and restaurant patios and verandas. The heat was stifling, but there was a mild ocean breeze. Despite the conditions, his grandmother never messed around on these walks, keeping up a pace that might qualify as a slow run for some. She pumped her arms to complete her full-body workout.

For a few minutes, they walked in silence, and Alex considered whether to even broach his concerns about the church. He hated to worry his grandmother, and he knew his preaching was a great source of pride to her. But he also wondered if it wasn’t time for South Norfolk Community Church to hire somebody who actually knew what he was doing.

Though he had the bloodline for the ministry, Alex would be the first to admit that he became the pastor of South Norfolk Community more by accident than by calling.

His dad had been a pastor, a church planter who spent two or three years getting a church off the ground so he could pass the reins to a less-restive man. His last church had been in the suburbs of Las Vegas, the ministry cut short when a drunk driver had killed Alex’s mother and father on a rainy Friday night. Alex, an only child, was in sixth grade.

After the funerals, Alex had moved in with his grandparents in Virginia Beach, where his free spirit met its match in the strict discipline of Ramona Madison. Alex’s grandfather had little time for church in the midst of his busy law practice, but Ramona was there every Sunday with Alex in tow, even during his rebellious teenage years. As soon as church ended, Alex would grab his surfboard and head to the beach.

He never once dreamed of being a pastor.

But two years ago, at his grandfather’s funeral, Alex climbed the steps of the platform, stood behind the podium, and quietly eulogized one of the most galvanizing men that had ever graced the doors of the church. He used his grandfather’s Bible, particularly the margin notes his grandfather had written, as a road map to his grandfather’s life. Later, Ramona would tell Alex that some of the church members didn’t even know his grandfather had owned a Bible.

Alex told the rapt audience about the conversation he’d had with his grandfather the night before his death. Though Alex had not been ready to lose him, John Patrick Madison was ready to go. With no regrets. “The test of faith is not just whether it helps you live well,” Alex said as he concluded the eulogy. “The real test of faith is whether it allows you to die well.”

South Norfolk Community was without a pastor at the time, and Alex’s stirring eulogy was followed by a mediocre message from a retired pastor who now lived out of town. Not one person thought that Alex had been outpreached.

The next week, a fill-in preacher called at the last minute to cancel. One of the deacons asked Ramona if Alex could take his place for just that week. One week led to two, which led to a month. Six months later, after three candidates had turned the church down, the pastoral search committee disbanded. The board of deacons ordained Alex to preach.

A second job for which he lacked a diploma.

“Can I ask you a question?” Alex said, matching his grandmother stride for stride.

“Of course.”

“Do you think it might be time for me to step aside at the church?”

Alex half-expected the question to draw some kind of dramatic response. Maybe his grandmother would quit walking altogether and look at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe she would launch into a big think-of-the-lost-souls pep talk. Maybe she would wax philosophical about God’s will and the building of Christ’s church.

She did none of those things. She took the question in stride, as if Alex had merely asked about her favorite restaurant. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. It just seems like maybe we’re stuck as a church. I know some folks would rather have a full-time pastor. Maybe we need someone with a little more experience and I should stick to the law.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

Alex looked at his grandmother and frowned. “What is this, a counseling session? You’re answering every question with one of your own.”

“Am I?”

Alex chuckled. “Seriously, Grandma. What do you think?”

They were coming up on a spot behind the Hilton Hotel now, just under the shadow of the giant statue of King Neptune rising up out of the boardwalk. The tourists were thick here, and the two of them had to weave in and out.

“First of all, the people who are complaining have always complained. They complained when we changed the color of the pews. They’ve complained about every full-time pastor we’ve ever had. You can’t listen to them, Alex. You’ve got a gift. Your dad had it too. You’re every bit as good of a preacher as he ever was. You inspire people, make them think…”

She paused, and Alex sensed there was more. They’d been together so long, he felt like he could read her mind.

“But…?” Alex prompted.

“What makes you think there’s a but?”

“I’m a Madison, Grandma. I’ve got thick skin. Tell me the rest.”

She glanced at him, then returned her focus straight ahead. “Okay.” She hesitated for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “You’re young, Alex. And sometimes people get the feeling that maybe you haven’t figured out whether you’re totally committed to this. People want to follow someone with convictions, not questions. Smooth eloquence can never take the place of unwavering belief.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes as Alex digested that assessment. If anyone else had said those things, Alex would have been defensive. But his grandmother was such an encourager. She always had his best interest at heart. There was a Bible verse someplace that said the wounds of a friend are better than the kisses of an enemy.

She was speaking the truth. Alex just didn’t know what to do with it.

“It’s a matter of calling,” his grandmother said, as if reading his mind. “You know that list your grandfather made-the one with some things to keep in mind at the firm.”

“Sure.”

“What was the last item on the list?”

Alex didn’t hesitate; he looked at the list every day. “‘If you’ve been called to be a lawyer, don’t stoop to be a king.’”

“The same thing applies to pastors, you know,” Ramona said. She was getting a little winded now. They usually didn’t talk much when they walked. “You’ve just got to figure out what you’re called to do.”

The way she said it signaled that the conversation was over. She picked up the pace and pumped her arms a little faster. Alex hoped that the tourists would be nimble enough to stay out of the way of Ramona Madison.