#15 "Falling Up"

Episode 15 in the That Other Flock

This is the final episode of Season 1 of That Other Flock. If you haven’t experienced the other episodes in the That Other Flock series, you can find them in the Index. Thank you for reading!

I wanted to turn around and leave as soon as I swung open the door of the church kitchen. None of the usual crew was there.

After service, I’d gotten distracted by a mission trip booth in the foyer (“Give God A Week This Summer…in BELIZE!!”) so I was later than usual arriving.

There were two boxes of donuts, the usual coffee set up, but none of the gang.

He was sitting on the counter near where Betty usually stood. He was eating a pastry of some kind and drinking out of Tiffany-blue Yeti mug that nearly matched the color of his eyes. He was effortlessly handsome even in his late 50s.

He saw me in the doorway and motioned for me to come in like he owned the place…which I guess he did.

Rev. Dr. Stuart Johnson, the Senior Pastor was fresh from the podium. He’d preached 3 services this morning with around 9 thousand people hanging on every carefully crafted word (plus, as the church’s marketing awkwardly crowed, over 100,000 worldwide online eyeballs). His tie was artfully askew and his bespoke suit draped perfectly, even sitting on the counter. He hadn’t bothered to fix the sweat trails that streaked his stage makeup. He was done for the day. He’d delivered a word from the Lord, turning the crank to keep the mega-ministry machine humming.

“Come on in Charles. We need to talk.” He said this with his full-wattage smile and his rich orator voice. “Can I get you some coffee?” I guess he was going to use angels to serve me because he didn’t move a muscle.

“It’s Charlie now. And thanks, I think I can pour my own coffee.” I hadn’t had a drink in 57 hours and I was regretting this new run at sobriety.

“I heard you’d gone to ‘Charlie.’ I can’t say it suits you. You always seemed like a Charles to me. Charlie’s too common, even if…” and here he paused, surveying my hoodie, jeans, and scruffy appearance. He left his obvious disappointment unsaid.

“It’s Charlie now, but since we don’t talk all that much, I don’t guess I care what you call me.”

“It has been a while. Since the funeral, I guess. Sorry we didn’t connect after that and after…you know… your meltdown.”

“Same cell number…” I tried to keep the hurt out of my voice, but I don’t think I managed it. “I don’t remember any missed calls from you.”

“Hmmm…” He said, taking a sip from his mug.

I poured coffee just to have something to do with my hands. They were shaking a little, not from alcohol withdrawal. It was my old friend, rage. I dumped some half and half in my styrofoam cup and took a couple of deep breaths while talking myself out of smashing that pastry into his spectacularly perfect nose. Brian would have totally made a “Shiny People” comment. This guy was the shiniest of the shiny. Maybe what bothered me the most is that I was a guy like him back before everything fell apart.

I hadn’t seen him since we’d shared the stage at a conference 5 or 6 years ago. We were never friends. I turned back to him and said, “So, what do we need to talk about?”

“This thing…” he waved his hand around the kitchen, taking in the donut setup, coffee, and me again. He gathered his thoughts.

“Where are my friends? What did you do with them?”

“That sounds like a line from a Jason Statham movie. Really Charles, so dramatic. They’re fine…Garland and Jared are entertaining them with breakfast burritos in the boardroom.”

“What’s this about? Why are you here?”

“I heard about this…thing…here in the kitchen last Sunday. Heard you were leading this little…flock, group, whatever.”

“Not leading, no, just eating with friends…I’ll go find them. Thanks for this great cup of coffee.” My sarcasm missed him by a mile.

“I need to apologize. I didn’t know they had done this. Garland was a bit too zealous in his mission to protect our people. It was an honest mistake. No sinister motives.”

“Go ahead.”

“What?”

“You said you needed to apologize…go ahead.”

“Ah, hmmmm, I see.” He took a sip of coffee. “Hmmm,” he nodded, “I apologize.”

“Thank you, but it’s the others who deserve the apology. I’m not surprised what you would do, but they were.”

“What happened to you, Charles? I know your wife’s death was a blow, Biblical level hardship, a Job kind of experience, but really, you’re not the same. You were such a promising, charming young man. Now you’re harsh, bitter…” He drifted into silence, searching for a word to adequately describe my current state despair.

I crossed my arms and waited.

We were silent except for the growing hum of my rage. He represented everything I’d been and everything I’d drank away. I could see it now, so shiny.

Words failed him. He settled for the last bite of pastry. His nonverbals were eloquent. I was so far gone that even his vast communication skills were inadequate.

He said, “I hear your house is gone, really, everything you had is gone. True?”

I tried to keep my face blank. “Yeah, without Jules, none of it mattered. Gave most of it away.”

“Drank and gambled it away, I heard.”

“True. Big bets made me feel some life. Nothing like 10 grand riding on a college free throw to make the juices flow.” I thought, “for a minute,” but didn’t say it. “So, yeah,” I gestured at my hoodie and work jacket. “What you see…”

“Charles, you can’t win a fight with God. That just leaves you limping and bitter. Accept it. Give it to Him. Move on.”

I couldn’t speak. I shook my head…I’m not sure why or who I was saying ‘no’ to. I stuffed the swelling tide of emotion down deep.

He was oblivious. It must be really nice to be the center of the universe. “I could use your help. Come work for the church. Work with me. Help me.”

“Help you what, Stuart? You have it all. You don’t need me.” I thought back to last week's sermon on sin and the Judgement Day sermon a few weeks ago. “Plus, I don’t do the video replays on Judgement Day shtick…really Stuart, that’s crazy talk. If I hadn’t heard you preach it, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“Charles, this is a tough time. I’ve experienced nothing like it. You know I had one of our core members take me to task as a 'libtard’… really, he said ‘libtard,’ because of a lesson from the Sermon on the Mount? Me, a liberal? The Beatitudes.” He shook his head and drained the last of whatever was in his Yeti.

“So?”

“So? I’m like a man with a foot in two boats. I’m trying to get us all to shore, but it’s choppy water and not everyone is paddling in the same direction. We got people picking fights with the people in the other boat. Folks of every stripe and every perspective are on edge and spoiling for a fight. I got people wanting me to condemn everything happening in Washington and others saying if I don’t stand with the President then I’m a false teacher.”

“You gotta preach the truth.” It sounded trite and shallow as I heard myself say it. “Sorry, Stuart, I know it’s not that easy.”

“No kidding, what is truth anymore? It’s so not easy. We have a 11.7 million dollar budget. 23 ministry outposts world-wide. 71 on payroll here. Plus…”

“Plus, your life, your family, and your legacy and your ministry.” I didn’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. Really, didn’t even try, but I wasn’t proud of how little that made me feel.

“Every body has bills to pay, Charles.” He was staring down at his 300 dollar handmade Italian loafers. “I’m not sure my Land Rover is the problem.”

“Your Land Rover isn’t the solution either.”

“See, I need someone like you to help me find our way. I don’t need a Yes man, I need you. You can speak truth to power. Be Aaron to my Moses. Help me find our way to shore. Help me and I’ll help you put your life together.”

“Fuck you, you’re no Moses. You can’t put my life together. Even you, the great Doctor Reverend Johnson Master Pastor, can’t bring Jules back. You gonna raise her from the dead?” I crushed my styrofoam coffee cup with some flair. The drips of coffee and styrofoam debris spoiled the effect. I settled for fantasizing about smashing a donut in his perfect face.

It didn’t help.

We stared at each other across the 2 boxes of donuts in silence (17 visible donuts).

He cleared his throat. My rage crackled.

I tried to flick a couple of pieces of styrofoam off my fingers but static electricity spoiled the dramatic flair. Shit. I can’t even do the crush the cup thing without screwing it up. Pieces of the cup were stuck to my fingers. Should have just punched him. That would have done the job.

He sat there, so together, so comfortable, so privileged.

“You know you dodged a bullet.” I said. “Do you know about Eve and her expose?” Maybe a topic change would help me gain control.

“I heard something about it. No big deal. The world’s always trying to drag me down. Little dogs bark at moving cars… you know. Plus, who’s going to believe the little Asian girl? I’ll be just fine. Who are my people gonna believe? Me or some foreigner? I’ll turn that kind of threat into a money maker. I’m tempted to pay her to publish. Richly blessed.”

He spoke the truth, as painful as it was to hear from this person, this person who doesn’t even know how shiny he is.

Which was too much. People like him always fall up. At the expense of those of us less “richly blessed.”

I thought of Jules and Tommy. Betty and her truck. Brian and his temptations. Sweet Toby who probably would just laugh if he knew I’d nicknamed him ‘Jelly.’ Leon, out of time and out of love. Eve trying to find her way alone and with an unplanned plus one. Even Jared, his innocence stripped away by the mega-church industrial complex. They were my people. They came for free donuts and found friendship. Fellowship. My friends who were happy with leftovers and me.

The injustice of this arrogant, wealthy, indulged, self-righteous preacher…

Impotent rage flashed white hot.

And broke.

I fell.

I was on my knees. I felt the impact of my kneecaps hitting the linoleum before I was aware I was falling. Every part of me fought the sobs. Will I ever stop crying? I’ve cried more in the last few weeks than I have in my whole life. What is it about this kitchen? I fought with every ounce of my being to hold it in.

But I was weeping. A huge, ugly cry in a mega-church basement kitchen in front of the most arrogant, self-centered person I’d ever known. I folded up and rested my forehead on my knees. I quit fighting and I let it out. Emotions finally ran me down and ran me over, again.

I surrendered to it. Didn’t really have a choice. I’m broken. Completely broken.

I let it go. I let it all go. Through my sobs I mumbled, “Done with you shiny people. Make this end.”

And he was there. Tentative and cautious, leaning over me. He was trying to figure out how to put his arm around me. He ended up awkwardly patting my shoulder like I was a dog.

Pity pats from this shiny person, that’s perfect. I let gravity take me and fell onto my side, curled into a fetal position.

I sobbed.

He patted.

And then Betty was yelling. “Get your hands off of him.” Not her den mother voice this time. It was a clear threat of violence.

“Back the fuck up,” I heard Brian moving quickly.

And Eve was there. She spoke in my ear, so close I could feel her breath warm on my cheek. Softly she said, “Hey, my Charlie, it’s OK, we’re here.” She draped herself over me like she was shielding me from gunfire. “I’m here. We’re here.”

I couldn’t speak. I just cried. And cried. This went on for much longer than I care to admit.

Eventually, Leon said. “Pastor, give us room. He’s ours. We’ll take care of him. Just back up.”

Eve and Leon helped me to my feet. Betty was standing between Stuart and me like a secret service agent. The Pastor’s eyes were wide with surprise, but there was calculation there as well. I missed part of it because Toby swarmed me with a hug. He smelled of sugar and sweat. It was wonderful.

“Reverend, what did you to Charlie?” Jared asked with some suspicion and no small amount of steel in his voice.

“Nothing, Jared.” Stuart answered. “We were just talking. He fell apart.”

Jared turned to me. “That true? He didn’t do anything to you?” Where’d his newfound strength come from?

“I’m fine. All fine.” I lied, fooling no one. Leon handed me a napkin, and I wiped my face and dried my tears. I looked around the room and felt…peace, maybe. I’m not sure, but I felt different, finally. I said, “Guys, the Reverend has something to say to you.”

He looked blank for a moment and then he said, “I’m sorry that we shunted you down here and didn’t treat you like the good people you are. We were wrong. I was wrong for letting it happen. I hope you’ll forgive us. This all ends today. We won’t put you down here again.”

Leon straightened. He squared his shoulders. “Pastor, this is the best thing that’s happened to me in years.”

“Yeah,” Betty said, “This is wonderful. This is our church. Family.”

“Bet your shiny ass,” Brian said.

Betty glared at him. He ducked his head and said, “Sorry.”

I pulled in a shaky breath and said, “Is that job offer for real? You can hire me today?”

Dr. Reverend Stuart’s smile was bright again, back on the familiar ground of getting his way. “Absolutely. Can’t pay what you’re used to or what you’re worth, but I can pay you well.” He actually rubbed his hands together and said, “This is perfect. I knew something good could come from this.”

Surprise and shock were on all my friends’ faces.

“Good. Give that job to Jared.” I said, gaining control. “Same pay. A year contract and genuine work that’ll build his resume. And this donut thing continues. No one interferes. You keep Garland and his goons away from us. We get the kitchen after church. And I’ll help you as I can, but not officially and not in the office. You can find me here.”

Stuart’s smile was stiff, but he nodded.

Then I winked at Toby and said, “Plus burritos, with chorizo, once a month. ”

The End

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Here’s how Season 2 Begins: “Email Prologue”

Thank You, Thank You. This is the end of Season 1 of That Other Flock. Next Sunday I’ll share some notes and thoughts on the characters and background, plus let you know where this is all going.