Chapter 10

Wednesday night Kevin pulled on his leather jacket, considered the chaps but decided against them, and carried his Bible down to his bike. In the early darkness of winter he steered the Hog along Albuquerque's streets toward the intersection of Juan Tabo and Menaul. He grinned as he remembered the meaning of the church's name. I would never've guessed it, he told himself. Good thing Karin's there to tell me this stuff.

He pulled into the parking lot and, seeing her car – now that he knew that the Hyundai was hers – parked next to it. In a sudden surprising impulse he gently patted the fender as he walked by. Don't ask me 'bout that one, he thought.

No one was at the door on Wednesday night, nor were there stacks of bulletins on the foyer table. Inside it was warm and light, with gentle music coming over the speakers. Karin was leaning against a rear pew, facing the door and talking to someone, and as he pushed through the door her face broke into an enormous smile. "Kevin, how are you?"

"Freezin', Kar. It don't get like this in Fresno."

"It doesn't get like this in Fresno, Kev."

"Doesn't, okay. Thanks."

"No problem, Kevin. I'd like you to meet my best friend, Susan Emmerich – she usually goes to the second service on Sunday, since she prefers more modern music. Susan, this is a brother who's just come to us, Kevin Farley."

Kevin looked Susan over as he shook her hand. She was average – in size, in appearance, in clothing. Where Karin would always stand out in a crowd, Susan could blend in without even trying. Yet her face, though it wasn't conspicuously attractive – Not that she's ugly either, he thought – bore the signs of a lively intelligence, and he grasped, more by instinct than reason, how she had become Karin's friend. "Nice to meet ya, Susan. You're a friend o' Karin's, you're my friend, far as I'm concerned anyway."

"Why, thank you, Brother Kevin! I appreciate that – I really do. You know, I believe I've seen you once at the second service."

"Prob'ly – I'm kind o' hard to miss."

Susan smiled, and turned back to Karin. "Mind if I run?"

"Sure, why don't I catch you later? Maybe I'll call you tomorrow."

Susan smiled, at Karin this time – and Karin realized that there was more in the smile than simple happiness and friendship, though just what the additional element might be she couldn't figure out. "I'll settle for that – I will settle for it." And she gave Karin's hand a squeeze before she walked away.

Karin turned back to Kevin. "It's good to see you tonight, Kev. And I've got that confession I promised you." She fished around in her purse, which she'd picked up from the pew behind her. She withdrew a slim bound volume. The title, Kevin saw as he took it, was The London Confession of Faith: With Some Modifications for the Use of MJT Christian Fellowship. "It's originally Baptist," she told him, "but we agree with most of it though we're not a Baptist church, so we've adopted it. We have changed a few things – you'll see the annotations when you go through it. Some of the language is fancier than you're probably used to, but since I'm your teacher..."

"You'll straighten me out when I get all fouled up. I gotcha, Kar. Thanks much." He tucked the confession into his hand along with his Bible.

"And I need to thank you, Kevin. Here, let's move over this way, if you don't mind." She led him into a corner in the back of the building, and he realized that this would give them privacy; no one would intrude on people who were off in a corner. It was something he'd known, and used for years in making drug deals, but had never thought about. Learn somethin' new every day, he thought, even if you are one o' them old dogs.

Once in the corner, Karin took his hand for a moment, squeezing it strongly, then released it. "Kevin, do you remember what I told you Sunday?"

"Yeah." It would have been difficult to forget.

"Well, I knew I had to tell the elders, but I had never been able to muster the courage. But after I told you, I knew I had to go ahead and make it official. It was you – somehow – who gave me the strength to start down this road."

"Shoot, Kar, I was just there. I didn't do nothin'."

"Anything, Kevin – and you did do something. You listened. I shouldn't be surprised when a brother listens. I shouldn't be surprised when a Christian acts like a Christian. I've been watching it happen all my life. But I was so caught up in my own shame and hurt..." She had to stop, and her eyes closed...

Kevin reached out his hand and gently touched her cheek, and her eyes flew open just as his hand was dropping away. "Don't cry, Kar. I don't know nothin', hardly, 'bout bein' a Christian, but I know that you're my sister. I don't know nothin' 'bout bein' a brother either, 'cause I ain't never had a sister, but I know that I gotta care. And I do care. I don't exactly understand everything, but I know I care about you. Of course I listened."

Through her tears Karin couldn't help smiling. "Kevin Farley, you are the sweetest man I've ever known – even if you're also the closest thing I've ever known to a grizzly bear. Thank you for listening, for caring ... and for not letting me wallow in my self-pity."

Wednesday nights, Kevin found, were informal. Instead of standing behind the pulpit the teacher – it was more in the nature of teaching than preaching – used a portable podium that stood in front of the forwardmost pew. And if what happened on this particular night was an indication, more people were likely to have the floor than the elders. In this instance it was one of the female Sunday School teachers – Kevin learned during the course of the evening that Sunday School ran concurrently with the first service – who was reporting on what her class was studying, and invited participation from the rest of the congregation as well as the members of her class.

The book of Ruth was, it seemed, the current subject in that class. Kevin hadn't read it, and when he looked on the list Karin had made, and which he carried in the front of his Bible, he saw that it was fairly well down the second page. He didn't fret about it; sooner or later he'd get to it, now that he had a plan to follow. He did perk up when he learned that Ruth was one of Jesus' ancestors. Apparently Jesus, though without question a Jew, had two ancestors who weren't Jewish – Ruth, who was from Moab, a nation that was in fact an enemy of Israel; and Rahab, who was a Canaanite prostitute in Jericho before she realized who the true God is.

"This tells us," said the Sunday School teacher – Joy McKinny, her name was – "that Christ isn't just for this group, or for that. The Jews of His day thought He would be their Messiah only, and part of what led to His crucifixion was, in fact, His willingness to reach out to Gentiles. The early Jewish Christians believed Jesus was only for them, and persecuted Paul for daring to preach to Gentiles. Some whites have thought Jesus was only for them. There are Gentile Christians today who think that Jesus isn't for Jews. But He is for everyone. He saves everyone who comes to Him. And it doesn't matter what color you are, where you live, who your parents were, what your last name is. None of that matters at all to Jesus Christ."

I didn't know anybody would wanna limit Jesus, thought Kevin, in his seat toward the front of the building. I just figured that if He'll take me, He'll take anybody.

One of the teenagers, it seemed, was having trouble with the concept. "Okay, I can understand how Jesus can take in drunks, or blacks, or whoever. But what about homos? That's really gross. Can Jesus save them?"

A thin, quiet man spoke up from just in front of Karin. "If you want to use that word, yes, Jesus can accept us." He waited for his pronoun to have its impact. "Yes, I'm a homosexual. Or I was – but Jesus saved me. He saves alcoholics, and drug addicts, and murderers, and adulterers, and child molesters, and liars, and gluttons, and gossips ... and homosexuals. 'Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.' 'The one who comes to Me I will certainly not cast out.' That is what Jesus said. He never said, 'I will accept everyone except homosexuals.' Let me find something real quickly."

The man flipped pages in his Bible, and Karin, her brows drawn together in thought, did likewise. She thought she knew where the man was headed. She was still turning pages when the man's voice came again, and she raised her head and watched the back of his head. He had turned in his seat, speaking primarily to the young man across the auditorium, but also to everyone in the congregation. "Listen to what Paul the apostle wrote: 'Or do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived; neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor homosexuals, nor thieves, nor the covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers, will inherit the kingdom of God. Such were some of you; but you were washed, but you were sanctified, but you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God.'