Angels' Hands - Cover

Angels' Hands

Copyright© 2012 by Robert McKay

Chapter 5

The service was typical. We had an opening hymn, a Bible reading, announcements, and then singing for 20 minutes or so. Our hymnal uses a lot of old pieces, including metrical psalms, and I love it better than any other hymnal I've ever run across. Of course I've been at MJT a lot longer than I've ever been in any other church – I moved to Albuquerque, and found this church, both in 1992, so it's been 15 years so far. At that I don't have a lot of experience with different churches – I became a Christian in 1989, just three years before I came to Albuquerque.

The sermon was a bit shorter than usual, though. José Mendoza was preaching, our fiery elder, the one who had questioned his qualifications for the position, with agreement from several in the church, on account of his hot temper. I hadn't been sure myself about appointing José, but time has proven that he's a good elder, and as long as he's part of a body of elders, who can rein him in when his zeal gets ahead of his compassion, he'll do fine.

When he was done, Tyrone Jackman, who had founded the church, climbed heavily up the steps. It hurt me to see how slow and painful his progress had become just in the last couple of years. He was only 60 or so, a little less if I remembered right, but arthritis had taken over his joints and just walking sometimes hurt enough that I'd hear him grunt when he took a step.

He stood for a moment behind the pulpit, looking out at us. He looked longest at Cecelia, which didn't surprise me – when she was still in high school he'd come within a whisker of proposing to her, and she'd been ready to accept. It was only Tyrone meeting a new family, particularly their daughter, that changed that – he met Patricia Wheat and never thought of Cecelia as a wife again. That was all right – Tyrone and Pat belonged together, and I was happy to have Cecelia for my wife.

Finally he began speaking, sounding more like Alabama than he had for a while. "You all know that I've been trying to retire for several years. My office downstairs is almost empty now, just my Bible and a few other books there. But you all haven't been willing to let me go.

"It's time, now. I've been hearing it from the Lord for months, stronger and stronger. I love this church. I was your first pastor. I led you into adopting a body of elders as your leadership. I've preached more sermons here, performed more weddings, presided over more funerals here, than anywhere else in my life. I've seen a couple of you come into the world and grow up and have your own children, for I've been here for 22 years. And God's telling me clearly that it's time for me to finally retire.

"The elders have asked me to preach one last sermon, and though I'm retiring from the pastorate, I'll always be a preacher. That means that when you invite me to preach, you might as well put me on the calendar because I won't say no." That got chuckles, especially from the other elders, and the two or three other preachers in the congregation, for we all knew just how hard it is to keep a preacher from preaching when you give him the chance. "So next Sunday I'll be preaching my last sermon as an elder of Menaul-Juan Tabo Christian Fellowship." It was unusual to hear anyone pronounce the full formal name of the church, but it seemed appropriate just then. "And then I'll become just Tyrone, without any position here at all, except the position I take in the pew."

He looked down at the pulpit for a moment before looking back at us. I saw tears on his cheeks, and tears on Cecelia's too – and knew my own cheeks were wet, for he'd been my pastor almost my whole Christian life. "I don't know whether I'll stay here. Pat has always missed Alabama, even when she knew without any doubt that God wanted us here. And the older I get, the more I want to see fields of cotton, and sometimes a mist coming up from the fields in the morning, and greenery all around. So Pat and I will talk about it, and make a final decision, but we're probably going back there. My family's there, her family's there, and now that I'm getting to where I can't move so well, I think it'll be good for me to be with family."

He wiped his face with both hands, unashamedly. "But you are my family too. I've seen some of you born, and I've seen a lot of you born anew by the grace of God, and I've baptized a lot of you, and I've counseled almost everyone here at one time or another. I could name the names of people who're special to me all day and not come to the end of it. So I won't try. But you all are my family, and I'm going to miss leading you, and if we do go back east, I'll miss seeing you too.

"But when God says it's time, it's time. So I'll preach for you next week, and do what He wants."

We sat in silence as he descended the steps. We weren't stunned, we'd known for years, literally, that it was coming, but that didn't make it any easier. Earl Carrington, another of the elders, led us in a closing prayer, and we all stood, most finding their way, still silent, out the doors. But I knew where Cecelia would go, and I waited by the pew.

And she did what I'd known she would. She walked straight over to Tyrone, and right in front of Pat she reached up – for Tyrone's a big, tall man – and put her arms around his neck and kissed him. I'd have been surprised if she hadn't. Even if they'd never gotten married, even if Pat had stolen his heart the first time they met, there was no way that Tyrone and Cecelia could get through this moment without remembering what might have been, and their friendship that went back to the days when she was a teenaged girl. I was her husband and knew she wanted no one else, but by the time I met her she'd known Tyrone for 15 years, even then longer than we've now been married.

When she finally released Tyrone she turned and hugged Pat too, and kissed her cheek. They all three wiped their cheeks, yet they were smiling, for – as I knew – they couldn't be completely sad given how wonderful their friendship had been over the years. They talked for a few minutes, and then Cecelia turned and waved me over.

Holding Darlia's hand, I walked over to the corner where the little group stood. Cecelia hugged me, squeezing me as tightly as she ever had. When she let me go she looked me in the eye, and said quietly, "Thank you for giving me a few minutes, Darvin. You don't know how much I appreciate that."

The source of this story is Finestories

To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account (Why register?)

Get No-Registration Temporary Access*

* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.

Close