Fatal Convictions

42

Jonesy Maxwell had been in charge of maintenance at Grace Coastal Church in Los Angeles for as long as anyone could remember. He’d seen the good times and the bad. Lately, with the installation of a friendly young pastor who also had a decent dose of humility, the Lord had chosen to bless.

Grace Coastal was overwhelmingly white and suburban, and Jonesy was from the inner city, but the church members accepted him as a brother. He sensed it was almost a point of pride for the congregation- Look, we have black members too! So Jonesy played his part, sitting in the first or second row, raising his hands and singing loudly during the worship time, tossing a few amens toward the pastor during the stronger moments of the sermon.

The amens had been flying fast and furious yesterday because the church had baptized a total of thirteen new converts during three separate worship services. Jonesy was especially fired up when a young woman from a prominent Muslim family walked boldly through the waters of baptism. “She risks persecution and alienation from her family for her decision to follow Christ,” the pastor had said. “Now, what’s holding you back?”

Yes, sir, yesterday had been Grace Coastal Church at its absolute finest.

On Monday morning, Jonesy had to contend with the earthier part of being a church janitor. There would be bulletins and papers left in the pews, bathrooms to clean, and if he had time, a lawn to mow. Jonesy had intended to start work at eight, but his knees were acting up, and he couldn’t drag his tired body to the building before nine.

He planned to empty the baptismal first. He would pull the plug, do some other work while the water drained, then come back to rinse it out. He climbed the steps behind the stage, felt the knifelike pain in his right knee, and wondered if he should break down and get a total knee replacement after all. He caught his breath and limped toward the baptismal. A few feet away, he stopped dead in his tracks, mouth open in a silent scream. Before he could look away, he felt his breakfast rising, and he turned to the side and hurled. He knelt on his left knee, dizzy at what he had just witnessed.

There was a dead body in the baptistry!

He tried to catch his breath and look back-he needed to confirm the picture now seared into his mind. A second glance brought a second round of vomit, this time in a nearby trash can.

After he had wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he tried to make sense of it all.

The head of the young woman who had been baptized yesterday was floating in the bloody water-severed from her body.

Somehow, Jonesy composed himself and found the urge to pray. “Lord, have mercy,” he said over and over. “In the name of Jesus, bring her killer to justice.”