Down from the Cross Page 7

  “Without Jim Carter?” one of the older men interjected quickly, his beady eyes staring at her over funny little half-glasses perched low on his nose.

  “Hear her out,” Pastor Congdon said quickly.

  Jane gave him a grateful smile then continued. “I won’t go into detail, other than to say that through a series of circumstances that I feel came from the hand of God, I now work for Keene Moray. Some of you may recognize that name.”

  Some nodded their heads, acknowledging that they did indeed know who he was, while others gave her a blank stare or turned to the person seated next to them in bewilderment.

  “Isn’t he that famous opera singer?” one of them finally asked.

  She nodded. Don’t let them close their minds before they hear me out, God. “Yes, Keene is quite famous, highly respected in the music world, and very much in demand.”

  “What’s that got to do with our problem?” The man with the little glasses leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Like I said, I work for Keene. He is making his home in Providence for the next few months, learning and rehearsing the new opera he will be performing next year. We’ve… we’ve become good friends.”

  Pastor Congdon cleared his throat. “Go on. Tell them your idea, Jane.”

  Her heart raced. If she didn’t feel God’s guidance in this, she would run out of the room and never look back. “I–I don’t know if Mr. Moray would have any interest in what I am about to propose, or if it’s even possible with his contract, but I’d like the board’s permission to ask Keene to sing Jim Carter’s part—the part of Jesus—in Down from the Cross.”

  One of the younger men leaped to his feet and glared at her. “Do you have any idea what it would cost to hire someone like him? I know the church wouldn’t be able to afford it!”

  “I’m sure he has a contract of some sort that requires union fees. We sure couldn’t afford to pay him that kind of money,” another added.

  Jane chose her words carefully. “I–I was hoping he’d figure out a way to do it for a minimal fee, maybe even gratis.”

  “Why would he do that? He’s never even been to our church, has he?” another asked.

  Pastor Congdon stood and leaned forward. “Gentlemen, if I may, I’d like to add something to what Jane has said.”

  All eyes turned his way.

  “When Jane called me, I was skeptical about this idea just like you are. But the more she talked, and the more I listened, I realized this could be the answer to all our prayers—prayers that, in some way, God would make it possible to provide this community with the truth of His Word through our Easter presentation.”

  He paused and rested his palms on the conference table. “This man may not even consider Jane’s idea, but then again, maybe he will. She feels it is worth a try to ask him. I agree with her.”

  “But is he saved? Does he know the Lord?” a man seated next to the pastor asked.

  Jane felt she should answer his question since she was the only one personally acquainted with Keene. “No, he is not saved, though I have been witnessing to him nearly every day. At times he seems open, and I’m praying he’ll confess his sins and ask God’s forgiveness before he leaves Rhode Island. He’s a wonderful man and a gentleman. You’d all like him.”

  “I’ve always questioned anyone playing the part of Jesus, even Jim Carter, but an unsaved man? I’m not sure that would be wise,” another man offered, concern written on his face.

  “I understand what you’re saying, Milton,” Pastor Congdon said kindly. “But let’s think about this carefully. What is our goal here? Is it not to reach the people in our community with the message of God’s Word? Through music and the spoken word? Isn’t that the reason we always have an altar call at the end of each performance?”

  “But an unsaved man singing the part of our Lord?”

  Pastor Congdon rubbed his chin. “Tell me, Milton, do you know for sure that each member of our choir is saved? We have a big choir, some 150 people on any given Sunday. Some folks just like to sing and want an outlet for their talent.”

  Milton stared at him for a moment before answering. “I hate to admit it, but you may be right.”

  Pastor Congdon gave the man an appreciative smile. “Let me bring up another point here. We have a fairly large orchestra to back up our choir on Sunday mornings, right?”

  Everyone present nodded.

  “Have you forgotten we hire about half of those people? They are not even members of our church, but we hire them because they are professionals and we need them. The other half are our own dedicated church members who do it for free because they want to serve God with their talents. Should we fire those whom we hire or think any less of the musicians and their capabilities because they may not claim to be Christians?”

  Milton spoke up again. “But hire a man to play the part of Jesus? Shouldn’t the man who plays that part be a Christian?”

  “That’s what we’re here to decide,” the chairman of the board said, scanning each face. “At this point, we don’t even know if Mr. Moray would consider such an invitation should we decide to offer it. He may give us a flat no, and that’ll be the end of it.” His face took on a gentle smile. “But I personally think Jane’s idea has great merit. Think about it. Each year, though we fill our sanctuary for eight straight nights, and we’ve done everything but get down on our knees and beg the newspapers, radio, and television stations for coverage, we’ve had very little publicity. And,” he went on, “I’m sorry to say, but although many people come forward for salvation or rededication, most of those in our audience are Christians.”

  Pastor Congdon nodded his head. “He’s right. All you have to do is look at the attendance cards we ask everyone to sign.”

  “What if—” The man’s eyes sparkled as he continued. “What if Keene Moray, a famous opera singer, were to sing the lead part in our Easter production? Think of the possibilities to reach people with the gospel, gentlemen. People from all over the state would come to hear him! What would it cost them to attend a performance at the opera? Maybe $60 or $70 a seat? And they would be attending our performance for free! I am not sure we would be able to contain the crowds! Do you think we’d have to beg the media for coverage with him singing the part of Jesus?”

  Milton shook his head. “I know you’re right—Mr. Moray singing in our church’s Easter pageant would be a real drawing card—but could he do it? I mean, portraying Christ would be extremely difficult. Not many men could do it without offending those in our audience. We sure don’t want that to happen. I remember the first year we did a cantata that required someone to play the part of Jesus, we had a real uproar from a number of church members.”

  “That we did,” Pastor Congdon said with a slight chuckle. “But after that first night, everyone agreed it worked out well, especially when so many people responded to the invitation. Jim Carter did a masterful job singing, and I don’t really remember anyone complaining after that first night.”

  “But Jim was saved,” a member who had been silent up to that point said meekly. “He sang it from his heart.”

  Jane could no longer keep her silence. “Keene Moray is a professional, just as those musicians we hire for the Sunday morning services are professionals. Granted, he doesn’t know Jesus as his Savior, but that man is able to take simple words from a music score and put feelings and emotions into them that would amaze you. I know. I hear him every day. He’s not only a singer, he’s an actor. A marvelous actor. If he were willing to do it, he could take the music to Down from the Cross and make it come alive.” God, help me to make them understand! “I–I have an audiotape at home of Elvis Presley singing ‘Amazing Grace.’ I’ve heard some say he was a Christian, but from his lifestyle, I have my doubts. Yet every time I hear him sing it, it touches my heart. Could not Keene’s voice singing the part of Jesus in Down from the Cross touch hearts in our audience?”

  Pastor Congdon gave Jane a smile of agreem
ent, and she felt herself relax.

  “Thank you, Jane,” he said, motioning toward the door. “You’ve given us much to think about. The board and I will discuss this, pray about it, and get back to you. Thank you for coming.”

  Jane stood to leave and felt compelled to make one last plea. “I–I want to thank you for letting me come here tonight. Please… I’d like to leave you with one final thought. Keene is a gentleman with a fine personal reputation, one of which he is very proud. If you decide to allow me to ask him to do this for our church, and if he should accept the invitation, I can assure you he will give the performance of his life. Keene never does anything halfway. He would never do anything to embarrass the church, the board, or me, and especially not himself. Please pray about this and consider it carefully before making your final decision.”

  She walked out the door with a feeling of euphoria, knowing she had done the best she could. God had answered her prayers and steadied her heart and mind. She had to smile to herself. Getting the church to approve was only the first step. If they agreed, convincing Keene to do it—even if his contract and agent would allow it—might be more difficult. “But,” she said aloud with a renewed confidence, “God can do anything!”

  The next morning, right at nine o’clock, the phone rang in Keene’s office.

  four

  The caller didn’t need to identify himself. Jane recognized Pastor Congdon’s cheery “Hello” immediately, and her heart soared.

  “We did it, Jane. It took the board another two hours of discussion, but finally they voted unanimously to ask Keene Moray if he would take over Jim’s part in Down from the Cross. It’s up to you now, but I want you to know each man on the board will be praying for you.”

  She gripped the phone tightly, her heart racing. “Oh, Pastor Congdon, I don’t think I slept a wink last night. I just kept praying over and over that God would have His will in this.”

  “Well, we’re only halfway there. He hasn’t said yes yet. You can be sure our prayers will be with you while you approach Mr. Moray.”

  She thanked him for his call then slowly returned the phone to its cradle, all the while smiling and already considering the possibilities if Keene agreed to accept their invitation.

  “You’re chipper this morning,” Keene said, pushing open the door to the office and entering, carrying two glasses of orange juice from the kitchen. He placed her glass on the desk then glanced at the phone. “Who called? I heard the phone ring.”

  I can’t ask him yet. I have to pray about this first. The time has to be just right. “My… my pastor.”

  He shrugged. “Oh, I was hoping Brian, my agent, would call. I need to talk to him today.” Pointing toward her glass, he said, “Drink up. You need your vitamin C.”

  “Thanks, Keene.”

  She watched him move through the door, amazed at his thoughtfulness. Lord, even now begin preparing Keene’s heart for what I’m about to ask him.

  Fortunately, the work she had planned for the morning was busywork, requiring only repetitive hand motion and very little brainpower or concentration, giving her time to pray for the task she believed God had given her.

  For lunch, Keene sent her to a nearby carryout to buy fried chicken dinners. By the time she returned, he had set plates and silverware on the little kitchen table and added ice to their glasses. She quickly fixed a pitcher of iced tea then sat down opposite him, noting he had been unusually quiet most of the morning.

  “Something wrong?” she asked, hoping she wasn’t prying. She lifted her head after sending up another quick prayer.

  He spread a napkin across his lap with a deep sigh. “Not really. Just one of those down days. Nothing you need concern yourself about.”

  She reached across the table and cupped his hand with hers. Despite the warmth of his skin, cold chills crept up her spine. “Anything I can do?”

  He scooted the bucket of chicken toward her. “No, I’m just a bit down. My mom died three years ago today. I wasn’t even with her when she died. I was in Japan, singing at some meaningless concert. I’ve… I’ve never forgiven myself for not coming home when she asked me to.”

  In all the weeks they’d been together, she’d never seen him like this, and she wanted to do something—anything—to take his pain away. What could she do?

  “The doctor had said she wouldn’t make it a year. I knew that, yet… yet I only made it home to see her twice during all that time. Some son, huh?”

  “I’m sure she knew you had obligations,” Jane assured him, wanting to free him of some of his guilt.

  “Although she was happy for me and my success, she never wanted to be in the limelight,” he went on, cupping his free hand over hers and giving it a squeeze.

  She watched him blink back tears. Sadness for him filled her heart. “She had every right to be proud of you.”

  “I remember one time I introduced her and made her stand up, and she nearly fainted.” A tender smile played at his lips while he spoke of his mother. “She… she left me a letter. I found it in her things when I went home for the funeral.”

  “I’m sure you’ll cherish that letter for the rest of your life.”

  He removed his hand long enough to wipe at his eyes, then placed it back on hers. “In some ways, she reminded me of you.”

  She gave him a quizzical stare. “Me? How?”

  “She… she…”

  His pause gave her cause for alarm. What could there be about his mother that could have been anything like her? “She claimed to be a Christian, too.”

  Awestruck by his words, Jane sat staring at him. “You never told me!”

  “Although I loved her with all my heart, those last couple of years I found her to be a little weird. You know, always reading the Bible, attending church, listening to Christian programs on the radio and TV. She used to bug me about going to church with her.”

  He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at his nose. “It happened after she moved into an assisted-living home. Most of the times when I visited her, she’d be her usual old self, bragging about winning at Bingo, planning a trip to Las Vegas to gamble with some of the ladies in the home. But all of a sudden, not long before she died, all she could talk about was God and His love. I could not believe the change. I figured some preacher had come to the home and gotten her all stirred up. However, when I asked her what had happened, she explained that some woman from a nearby church started a weekly Bible study there at the home, and she had been attending. The change in her amazed me. She preached at me like you wouldn’t believe. Even on her deathbed when she could barely talk for the pain, all she seemed to have on her mind was God. In that letter she left for me, she kept saying she hoped I’d settle things with God so she would see me in heaven.”

  “I’m sure it’s a great comfort to you to know that she’s in heaven with her Savior.”

  He drew back slightly, his dark eyes locking with hers. “It would be, Jane, if I believed in God. But I don’t.”

  “Your mother believed in Him. Keene, why is it so hard for you to believe He’s real?”

  He stood, towering over her, his hands on his hips. “You really want to know?”

  His aggressive tone frightened her. “Yes, I’d like to know what could make you so bitter toward God.”

  “My dad walked out on my mom and me when I turned twelve, without so much as telling me good-bye, and I begged God to make him come back home.” He dropped to one knee, his eyes level with hers. “You’ll never convince me God is real, Jane. I sort of remember a scripture my mom tried to teach me once. Something about an earthly father who wouldn’t give his son a stone if he’d asked him for bread. Then it went on to say how much more the heavenly Father wants to give good things to His children if they ask Him. I decided, right then and there, if there really was a God, He would answer my prayers. But nothing happened. I never saw my father again.”

  “That doesn’t mean He isn’t real, Keene,” she said softly, hoping her wo
rds would soothe him. “We can’t tell God what to do. We can only ask Him for what we’d like Him to do. I can’t pretend to tell you why your father left you or why he stayed away, but I do know God has promised to be a Father to the fatherless.”

  Keene closed his eyes and blinked hard. “But He let my father walk away from me at a time in my life when I really needed him.”

  “God would like to be your Father, if you’d let Him.”

  “Isn’t God supposed to be a God of goodness? If He is, why did He let my mother work night and day at a hotel maid’s job to keep a roof over our heads? That woman literally worked herself to death!”

  She shook her head sadly. If only she had answers. “I don’t know.”

  “If God is real, why did He let that man at your church get throat cancer? And why now? When your church needed him? Answer me that!”

  Now, Jane, now. Ask him now, a still small voice seemed to say from within her.

  Now, Lord? When he is so angry with You?

  Trust Me, child. Trust Me. Now is the time, the voice said.

  Jane swallowed the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat and sent up a silent prayer. If You say so, God.

  “Well, do you have an answer for me? Why would God do such a thing? You’ve already told me there is no one to sing in that man’s place.”

  Jane rose, her eyes never leaving Keene’s. “Because He had a better plan.” His stare made her wonder if she had sprouted wings.

  “A better plan? Like what?”

  Help me, Lord! “He wants you to take Jim Carter’s place.”

  five

  “What? Surely you’re kidding!” Keene sputtered, nearly choking on his words.

  She looked him square in the eye, once again feeling that new confidence she deemed a gift from God just when she needed it. “I’ve never been more serious.”

  Keene threw back his head with a laugh that echoed through the condominium. “You want me,” he said, ramming one thumb into his chest, “to play the part of Jesus?”