The Lutheran Ladies' Circle: Plucking One String (7 page)

“Marcus, take the angels for a hike.”

“Mom, I’m a shepherd, not an angel herder. I’m all dressed. I’m minding my own business. Why am I being punished?”

“Take them on a hike, sweetie. Take some other shepherds with you. Wear off a little of this energy.” She pointed to the wiggling, bouncing, bumping bodies in front of her.

“Okay! Come on, rug rats.”

“Stop calling them rug rats,” Vera commanded.

“Come on, midgets. Follow me,” he said as he took off.

Kay stared at Vera. “Why don’t you go somewhere private, and yell at God for a while, Vera.”

“What?”

“Your tail’s in a twist about something. Now you’re taking it out on the kids. Go yell at God about it.”

“I have
never
yelled at God.”

“Then your God is too small.”

“Kay, you open your mouth and utter all sorts of obscenities. Could you just be helpful for once?” Vera’s clipped words accompanied the invisible darts shooting from her eyes. The noise in the room had dropped significantly.

“Why don’t you ask God where your pen is?” Kay said quietly.

Vera looked at her. There was no spite or malice in Kay’s voice; it sounded like merely a suggestion.

“I would never presume to bother God about a pen.”

“Then your God is too small,” Kay repeated. Their eyes locked. The room grew quiet. Kay’s face showed no emotion. Vera’s lips pulled into a tight line, her eyes narrowed.

“What did you say to me?”

“Kay, not now.” Micki hurried toward them, carrying sheep ears on a headband. “Vera, I’ll help you look.” Kay snapped her hand toward Micki, five fingers splayed into a barrier sign.

“In just a few minutes we’re going to tell everyone, in our own inept words, about God coming as a tiny little baby to provide a way we can get home again. God, who orchestrated this plan, this universe, and worlds we don’t even know about yet, knows where your pen is. Ask Him. This is the God who loves you enough to notice if you lose a hair out of your head. He voluntarily died for you. You can’t give Him too much to deal with.”

Vera’s lips were pursed. Her jaws clenched. Everyone was silent, watching. Even the sheep had stopped butting each other.

Kay flicked off her halo, smiled, raised her eyebrows twice, then turned and walked away.

Silence hung in the air. Micki said, “Now where is that box of myrrh?” A shepherd hooked his staff around a camel’s leg. They began to wrestle. The sounds of pre-show jitters slowly returned to the room.

THE PLAY’S FIRST scene—the meal—went smoothly. Hettie placed an elbow on the table, held her drinking glass to her face, and read her lines. When the script ended, she picked up another glass and began reading again. Sometimes she had to adjust her eyeglasses and look down the tip of her nose to make out the words, but she didn’t stop. Not even when Kevin tripped and sent the roasted chicken sliding to the floor. Hettie kept reading her lines, picked up the bird by the drumsticks, and smacked it back on the platter. She seemed to have no idea what the audience was laughing about.

During the second scene, angels and shepherds fidgeted outside the sanctuary, awaiting their cue. Johnny let out a plaintive squeal, “I don’t wanna do this! I’m not singing!” Marcus bent to Johnny’s eye level, made a menacing face and claw-like hands, whispering, “Sing, or sit with St. Scary.”

Johnny went silent and marched in with the group. He continued his rebellion by standing on the top step rather than his assigned position. Because there wasn’t enough room, he clung to the child on the end as they sang “Away in the Manger.” Tiring of being an anchor, the kid elbowed Johnny in the stomach, knocking him to the floor.

Johnny hopped up like a TV cage fighter and gave his opponent a two-handed shove. They jostled each other off the riser once more before Marcus worked his way between them, defusing the angelic battle.

The Virgin Mary was not wearing blue. The director had forbidden it. She did sneak on with bright lip gloss and her glittering neck warmer. When it came time to give birth, she turned her back to the audience, yanking the doll from under her bathrobe. The soft-bodied doll, filled with water to make it more life-like, had been purposefully overfilled. Each time it was handled, water squirted from its joints. It sprayed like a garden hose during the tug-of-war scene.

“Stop it. Stop it this instant!” Hettie seized the doll—which was actually one of her lines. The Blessed Babe shot a stream of water across her face and chest. The teens froze. Hettie wiped her forehead, trying to compose herself, but each time she looked at the teenagers, she giggled. She hid her face behind her Bible to read her next line, but “My script is all wet!” came out instead.

After the audience and the actors settled down from the laughter, the play continued in the spirit of a group improv. Hettie, reading from the script, cued anyone who missed their lines. When she prompted, “Shepherd Marcus, don’t you want to say something?” there was no answer.

A shepherd kneeling on the floor pointed a finger. Marcus sat against a bale of hay, head thrown back, mouth open—sound asleep.

Vera put an end to the production by turning the lights out. She gave a push start to the acolyte, sending her weaving down the aisle toward the altar. The tall, white Christ candle that had presided over the Advent wreath for weeks was lit. Its tiny glow reached into the blackness of the sanctuary. Gentle chords of “Silent Night” began to play.

“The Light has broken into our darkness. Jesus Christ is born!” announced Pastor Poe as he removed the white candle and carried it into the congregation. The first person in each row lit their small candle, and the flame passed from wick to wick, spreading gradually to the candles in the corners of the sanctuary then out the doors to the overflow of worshippers in the narthex.

When notes of the last stanza stopped resonating, the organ broke into a spirited rendition of “Joy to the World.” Candle light bounced around the sanctuary. Impromptu harmony swelled through voices. Kay’s halo flashed in a strobe pattern.

*

Families and friends exited through the doors, finding Lutheran-brewed coffee and hot spiced cider. Lorena and Brynn had set up a cookie buffet. Johnny and the other little angel continued their elbowing over chocolate chip treats.

“It snowed. It snowed!” someone shouted. A thin layer had blanketed the parking lot. The shepherds and Holy family were already outside, hurling snowballs at each other.

Lorena, behind the cookie table, made sure handfuls of baked goods didn’t disappear into bathrobes.

She signaled with a furtive wave to Kay and Hettie. “Does anybody know the guy in the khaki slacks over there? He’s been here the last couple of Sundays.”

They craned their necks. They could see his partial profile through the crowd. Turtleneck, blue blazer, dark hair with graying temples.

“Go introduce yourself. This is a friendly church,” Kay said.

“No. He’ll think I’m pushy.”

Kay cut through the visiting groups, stuck out her hand, said something, and then pulled the man toward the cookie table.

“Oh crap.” Lorena almost made it into the crowd before Kay grabbed her jacket.

“Lorena, this is Robert Fullerton. He likes coffee and oatmeal cookies. Robert, this is Lorena.” She turned and left.

*

Anyone who could be recruited away from the cookies and snowball fights was downstairs, stuffing wings and sheep’s clothing back into boxes. “I wanted to crawl under a table, Kay.” Lorena carried the empty urns through the melee to the kitchen.

“Well, you wanted to meet him. What’d you find out?” Kay asked.

“Nothing. I apologized for you, explaining you had the social skills of a badger, and then I offered him a cup of coffee. That’s when I noticed he already had a cup. I felt even stupider, so I blurted out that the single folks, old and young, went to the all-night diner after Christmas Eve services. I invited him, but he declined. I don’t even know if he was single. I’m such an idiot.”

“No worries.” Kay raised her eyebrows twice with a big grin. “I’ll help you.”

“Please don’t. Are you coming tonight?”

“No,” Kay stacked boxes. “Gabe, my ex, gets the boys tomorrow, so I want to spend tonight with them, even though they’ll be more interested in their new video games than talking to me.”

Vera appeared in the doorway, but seeing most of the boxes already packed, turned to leave. Hettie jabbed an elbow into Lorena’s ribs, hissing, “What about her?”

Lorena cast a dark glance at Hettie before calling out, “Hey, Vera, what are you doing tonight? You want to go to the Cherokee with us?”

“Uh…no, my family will be here tomorrow.” She quickly retreated up the stairs. Lorena looked to Kay, but she was already ordering kids to carry items to the closets.

Room by room the lights went off in the church as families left. Only the twinkling lights of the Chrismon tree shone on the faces of Walt, Roger, and the few women waiting in the narthex.

“Where’s Jerod?” asked Lorena as she and Kay switched off the stairway lights.

“This was his first and last Christmas.” Roger bowed his head. “Brynn arranged to donate him to a low-income nutrition program that teaches cooking and canning.
Jehovah Jirah
, God provides.

“They’re slaughtering Jerod? We should launch a rescue mission,” Kay said.

“I hope he falls out of her van and cracks into a million pieces,” Lorena said.

Roger squinted at her. “My! Such Christmas spirit and good will.”

“It’s a gourd the size of a space ship, and I’m tired of that pumpkin attending every event and marring the decorations. I’m surprised he’s not going to the restaurant with us.”

“Well, actually,” Roger looked sheepish, “he is. He’s in the back of my van. Brynn didn’t have room for him tonight.”

“Oh for-cryin-out-loud!” Lorena threw up her hands. “I’m not sitting next to him.”

“Ready? Pastor’s already left. I’m locking up.” Vera unplugged the tree, leaving everyone to make their way out the doors using the dim light from the parking lot, shining through the windows.

The snow crunched underfoot. People didn’t speak as they listened to the quiet world and watched their breath rise in the air. Planning to come back later for their cars, the diners piled into Walt’s van.

“Vera,” Lorena tried once more, “why don’t you come with us? We’ve got plenty of room.”

“No…thanks. I…I have things to do before my family gets here.”

“Leave her be,” Walt mumbled, staring out the windshield, watching ice crystals swirl under the parking lot light while the engine warmed.

“I was just trying…” Lorena closed her mouth and got in the van.

“It’s kind of sad, looking at the church.” Roger rubbed a circle in the window fog for a better view. “Just an hour ago it was bursting with lights, kids, and people singing. Now, it’s locked and every window is black. This surprise snowfall made folks hurry home. Even the streets are dark and deserted.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think Pastor Poe nailed it with that benediction of his: ‘The Light of Love has come. Go forth in joy.’” Walt pointed to a car leaving the parking lot. As it motored cautiously away, multi-colored lights flickered from inside.

Kay’s halo.

THE WEEK AFTER Christmas, teenagers slouched in the overstuffed couches of the church’s High School Room. Late as usual, Phil, their twenty-eight-year-old, part-time youth director, dashed in. “Let’s get started,” he called through the chatter. Short in stature, but wiry in muscle, he sported a T-shirt, shorts, and a dark tan from the previous summer’s soccer season. He shoved a pair of clunky-footed tennis shoes off the coffee table as he strode to the front of the room. “Okay, Pastor Jim once said that an epiphany meant—”

Eyes were watching the big screen TV even though the sound was muted. Taking two long steps, he smacked the “off” button to a chorus of groans.

“Now, if I could have your
full
attention. Kevin, how about removing your leg from the back of the couch, so you’re in a more upright position? Thanks. Now, because we’re in the season of Epiphany—”

“What’s epiphany?” a blonde youth said as she checked her cell phone.

“I’m glad you asked. Pastor Jim used to define it this way:
 
Epiphany is when you have a moment that makes you do this…” He held up one finger, signaling wait-for-it, drew a breath, and said, “Aaaaaah! I didn’t know that.”

The kids stared at him with a nobody’s-home look.

“When life makes you gasp, ‘Aaaaah! I didn’t know that,’ you’ve just had an epiphany,” he explained. The room filled with kids practicing their gasps and I-didn’t-know-thats.

“Okay, okay. Now in order to give you many opportunities to have your own epiphanies this year, the youth group is going on a mission trip.”

“Aaaaah! I didn’t know that,” said Marcus.

“That’s not an epiphany. That’s an announcement,” said Phil.

“What’s the difference?” Marcus squinted.

“You’ll find out on this mission trip.”

“Where’re we going?” someone asked.

“Your committee voted on San Francisco. We will be working with inner-city youth, serving in soup kitchens and doing some improvement projects.”

“San Francisco? I thought all the mission projects were in Mexico,” a tall blond teenager said.

“See, you’ve had an epiphany already,” said Marcus.

“Nope, that’s not an epiphany.” Phil pointed at the unenlightened youth. “That’s just correcting misinformation.”

“I still don’t get it,” said Marcus.

“You will. We’ll have fundraisers, so each of you can go. The Lutheran Ladies Circle has graciously offered to help us do the first one. Mrs. Henley is here to tell us about it.”

The kids hadn’t seen Vera slip into the back of the room. She strode to the front, clutching a clipboard and pens, and stared at them until she felt it was quiet enough to begin. “The Ladies Circle wants to support you in raising money for this mission trip, so we propose to work with you in a deli sandwich sale for the Super Bowl.”