You'll Be Fine

You’ll Be Fine

Noel Laflin

6-5-14

(Mom’s 99^th Birthday)

The middle-aged man stood at the back of the old church and looked about for familiar faces.  And, yes, he thought, there are a few.  He made his way to a pew near the rear and slid in, seating himself next to an elderly couple.

“Hello pastor,” he said, extending his hand to the slight, well dressed, be-speckled gentleman to his left. 

“Oh, good Lord, look who’s here, dear,” the former pastor said, turning to his wife.  “The prodigal son has returned!”  They all shook hands warmly.

“I saw where you had parked your car,” the man said, winking to pastor’s wife.  I made sure that I parked in the other lot.” 

Pastor’s wife, now in her early eighties, smiled brightly and blushed at the memory.

“I knew you would bring that up,” she replied.  “But I still might find a way to hit it before the day is up!”

It was an old joke between the three of them.  It referred to the time, some forty years prior, when the only two cars in the entire church parking lot had been that of the pastor’s wife and the old Plymouth driven by the young gardener for the church.  Despite the fact that the gardener’s car was the only other vehicle within a mile of her own, she had backed into nonetheless.  There had been no damage – just acute embarrassment on her part.  The young gardener, now not quite so young, had never let her forget the episode.  It had been their opening line to one another for four decades.

 With pleasantries aside, pastor and his wife’s attention were soon diverted elsewhere by other congregants wanting to say hello.  The man took his cue and settled in. He took keys and cell phone from his pockets and placed them beside him on the old cushion.   He relaxed, closed his eyes and said a silent prayer - May the biopsy be negative. 

His recent colonoscopy and the over-due pathology report had been weighing on his mind for several days.  Coming to this place today, the very place where they had said a final goodbye to his mother, oh so long ago – due to colon cancer - had been darkening his thoughts lately. If that were not enough, a friend ten years his junior had just been diagnosed with the insidious disease and was on his fourth round of chemo.  They removed polyps from me once more, the man thought.  I have been lucky in the past, but will it hold out the older I get. I grow weary of this wait.   I just want some good news today.

Coming to again, he took in his surroundings.  I was just here a year ago for another old friend of the family – a fellow who had been a favorite friend of my folks; a man who had brought a smile to my own father’s face in his waning days; a gentleman who had watched me come into my own manhood so long ago. He looked about and spotted his widow.  She was chatting amicably with two other elderly ladies several aisles away.  Old familiar faces, the man thought; there is always comfort in that.

  

He felt the vibration of his phone against his thigh as it lightly danced about the cushion on the old church pew.

The number flashing across the screen was local, but not familiar; there was no name attached. 

“I’m not taking a call during a funeral,” he silently muttered and congratulated himself for having remembered to silence the ringer just moments before. He suddenly recalled how his brother had forgotten to turn off his pager during a funeral some twenty-five years before.  The piercing interruption of that little device should have been enough to wake the dead.  Fortunately it did not.  But, he was not about to test that hypothesis today.

The phone began to dance once again with the same unknown number. 

Christ Almighty! he muttered to himself as he grabbed for the phone.  He looked around guiltily just to make certain that he had not actually uttered the oath aloud.   He could see that the persistent caller finally went to voice mail.  I’ll deal with you later, he mumbled.

The minister stepped forward and welcomed the gathering.  The service was underway.

 

Nearly a hundred folks had joined with the man to pay tribute to a life both long and well-lived.  Jackie was 91 years old at the time of her death; the last original charter member of Lamb of God Lutheran Church.  The old friend of his family had outlived all the other founders of the congregation, the man’s folks included.  She had been a much loved and faithful congregant for fifty-two years.  The man’s sister had alerted him to her passing.  He knew he had to attend.  Jackie and family had been a warm and familiar touchstone to his past.

 

The minister had just directed everyone to page 759 in the old red hymnal, “My Faith Looks Up To Thee.”  Wavering old-lady soprano voices began to rise in pitch and eclipse the more timid among the crowd.  The man closed his eyes and pictured the church choir rehearsal scene from Thornton Wilder’s “Our Town.” In that iconic piece the town drunk and choirmaster, Simon Stimson, lead the choir in “Blest Be The Tie That Binds.”  The man began to hum that tune instead.  It had always been a favorite of his.

It was right there, he thought, casually glancing across the aisle as folks delved into the second verse of the hymn, that I first hinted to my mother that I had lost my faith.  Jesus, that must have been 1970 - I was seventeen.

   

I remember the day so clearly.  I had driven separately that bright Sunday morning.  I found my folks and joined them in that very pew.  The man’s wandering eye now lingered across the aisle as verse three of “My Faith Looks Up To Thee” was taking hold.

We were in the middle of reciting the Apostle’s Creed, that warm lazy day in May, when it struck me - like a thunderclap - that I was in great doubt as to the validity of those ancient words – words I had been repeating aloud with everyone else in the congregation ever since I’d had the ability to speak.  I suddenly felt like the most obvious hypocrite in the world.  And, if it was not obvious to others, it was certainly apparent to God.  I stopped in mid-sentence, turned to my folks and said I had to leave.  My mother nodded and I quickly slipped away.  I walked to my car, lit a cigarette and drove away.  As I blew the smoke out the open window, I wondered aloud at what I had just done.  Was God disappointed?  Had I just failed some major theological test of faith?  Was I damned for walking out of the church of my youth?  I did not know.  But, I stopped believing something that day.

   

The man noticed that the singing had stopped at some point and that a tribute from one of Jackie’s kids was underway.  He listened intently to the words being spoken, the voice of the adult child being held in check – the emotion of the moment.  I’ve been in your shoes, the man thought.  I do not envy your task today.  Saying goodbye to your mother is a gut-wrencher.

He remembered the conversation he had with his mom later that Sunday in May some forty years prior.  He recalled her kindness in particular when he spoke to her of his new-found doubts.

I just don’t know if I believe any of it any more, mom, he told her quietly, leaning both arms against the kitchen sink as she dried a glass and put it in the cupboard.

I mean, how can we Christians claim to own the truth?  What makes us the sole inheritors of heaven?  Why is there ‘life everlasting’ only through the acceptance of Christ – and what makes him the only son of God – or God himself?  I don’t buy it any longer.  Why should good people of any other religion or no religion at all be denied heaven based solely on their not accepting Jesus?  It doesn’t make sense.  God would have to be one mean son of a gun to set such rules in place. It’s not fair.  And, I’m a hypocrite if I stand in any church again and confess otherwise.

The boy’s mother listened to her son and did not interrupt.  She never interrupted, the man thought; it was not in her character.  When he had finally run out of words she looked him in the eye and simply said:

You’ll find your way, son.  You have a good heart.  Take all the time you need to figure things out – that’s why God gave us free will.  Regardless, you are going to be fine.  Now, help me set the table will you please?  It’s Sunday and I’ve got chicken in the oven.

 

And, that was it, the man thought.  Mom knew how to deal with my melt down of faith.  She took it in stride.  She made no mention of my not returning to church thereafter, other than to be a gardener, while I worked my way through that last year of college.  She made no mention of it for the next thirty years.  But, she always knew that I would be fine.  And, she was right.

The service was winding down.  A sermon had been preached, but the man paid little attention to the verses the minister quoted.  The Bible no longer inspired nor scared him, as it once had.  A final song was announced: “How Great Thou Art.”

Ah, he thought, a classic.  Both mom and dad had always liked this one.  It’s almost as good as “Bless Be The Tie That Binds,” he mused.  He did not join in the singing, but he knew the words.  They no longer moved him as they once had in his youth, but they were nicely familiar – in an old comfortable shirt kind of way.  He thought of his mother.

As he had chosen a pew in the rear of the church, he and the retired pastor and his wife were some of the last to leave.  He asked them both if he could take a picture of the two of them and they agreed.  They went out and stood on the lawn that he had once tended during his younger gardener/college days – back when one of the sweetest women on Earth could be so easily forgiven for backing into his car – and he snapped a photo on his phone.

 

As the man headed back into the narthex of the church he was greeted by old friends, one mentioning just how  much  she missed his  mother.  The man knelt down, gently taking her  hand, and gave  thanks  for that sweet sentiment. 

Before making his final exit, the man edited the photo of pastor and  his wife so that he could send it to his sister.  The phone was blinking - reminding him that he had an unheard voice mail.  It was the pesky caller trying to interrupt the funeral.

 

The man stood in the empty chapel and had a listen.

Hello, Mr. Laflin, it’s Patricia from the surgery center.  I just wanted to let you know that we’ve received the results of your biopsy.  It looks good! No cancer cells present  We’ll see you in five years.  Have a great day!

The man stared across the backs of the empty pews and looked at the altar, which had not changed in appearance in more than five decades.

He whispered, thanks, and began to sing aloud – as there was no one present – “Blest Be The Tie That Binds.”  

He continued to sing and think of his mother all the drive home.

He was fine after all.