too good-looking to be passed around like other girls. No, her first would be her only, and he would have a private plane and a title like Senator or Governor.
At minimum.
But her life had changed at that very moment, and she’d seen the error of her ways. She wasn’t going to go down the path of materialism and shallow pursuits. Instead, she’d found her purpose and her calling. His name was Mason James and he was sitting on the dais, ready to tell the world the words of his God.
The Rev stopped speaking. There was more singing and clapping and praise and hallelujah-amen. Finally Mason got to his feet and stepped up to the pulpit, his thick brown hair hanging around his forehead. He smiled and spoke. Christie’s pulse quickened.
CHAPTER 3
“I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of our God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to our God, which is your spiritual worship…”
Mason paused, scanning the crowd.
“It’s Romans twelve.”
Mason understood that only some of them would know this, and most wouldn’t have known the context. He left that thought hanging in the air while looking down at his hands placed carefully on the pulpit. He lifted one and examined it, making sure the crowd could see what he was doing. He continued to look at his hand, as if distracted by something about it.
“I know Jesus was talking to a very different group of people at a different time. A very different time. A hard time when hard choices had to be made…”
A faraway look came over his face, and for a moment he looked like he was just about to cry. The whole church congregation were on the edge of their seats. The Rev was a spellbinding preacher but his son Mason, well…
Mason was blessed .
Mason was like the Apostles. Some even suspected Mason to be something more, some kind of prophet. Every eye was turned, every heart was open to receive.
Every heart except one.
Kenny felt like he was going to vomit. He’d seen Mary several rows in front of him, with no makeup on and wearing a long dress. She had dragged her father out to church and he looked hung-over.
Mason nodded, tearing up ever so slightly.
“I admire those people, living under Roman tyranny, unable to be who they wanted to be, to live how they wanted to live, to love, to give freely. To be free! To step out in front of the world and say, “This is me! This is who I am! Can’t you just love me as I love you?”“
He looked up from his hand, reaching out with his eyes, with a wrenching pain.
“But the Romans, and the Pharisees , they didn’t see it that way. They wanted to own!”
He held out a clenched fist, looking at it as if he were crushing the life out of something or someone. There were little gasps from the audience.
“They wanted to tax, to grind down until there was nothing left, nothing left to give, and yet… those people continued to give, even as they were taken out and crucified!”
There was a pause, a collective gulping inhalation.
They were there .
They were all the way there, taken to the outskirts of an ancient Roman city by the sound of Lucky’s voice alone. In their minds a pious beautiful young man was being flogged and marched to his death for nothing more than the crime of his own incalculable beauty. They could smell the sweat and animal terror, see the sun glinting off of Roman steel…
“Yes! Crucified!”
“Run, Mason!” A little girl cried, tears pouring down her face.
“Nails! Nails pounded through their hands and feet!”
Mason threw his hands out wide, looking up in terror.
“No! Mason!” A girl cried out. It was Mary, but there was more than one woman thinking the exact same thing. No one in the entire room had found this reaction odd or inappropriate.
No one but Christie.
Her hands gripped her purse and squeezed, crushing the sunglasses inside.
He slowly lowered his arms and his face. He brought the microphone back to his lips and asked,
At minimum.
But her life had changed at that very moment, and she’d seen the error of her ways. She wasn’t going to go down the path of materialism and shallow pursuits. Instead, she’d found her purpose and her calling. His name was Mason James and he was sitting on the dais, ready to tell the world the words of his God.
The Rev stopped speaking. There was more singing and clapping and praise and hallelujah-amen. Finally Mason got to his feet and stepped up to the pulpit, his thick brown hair hanging around his forehead. He smiled and spoke. Christie’s pulse quickened.
CHAPTER 3
“I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of our God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to our God, which is your spiritual worship…”
Mason paused, scanning the crowd.
“It’s Romans twelve.”
Mason understood that only some of them would know this, and most wouldn’t have known the context. He left that thought hanging in the air while looking down at his hands placed carefully on the pulpit. He lifted one and examined it, making sure the crowd could see what he was doing. He continued to look at his hand, as if distracted by something about it.
“I know Jesus was talking to a very different group of people at a different time. A very different time. A hard time when hard choices had to be made…”
A faraway look came over his face, and for a moment he looked like he was just about to cry. The whole church congregation were on the edge of their seats. The Rev was a spellbinding preacher but his son Mason, well…
Mason was blessed .
Mason was like the Apostles. Some even suspected Mason to be something more, some kind of prophet. Every eye was turned, every heart was open to receive.
Every heart except one.
Kenny felt like he was going to vomit. He’d seen Mary several rows in front of him, with no makeup on and wearing a long dress. She had dragged her father out to church and he looked hung-over.
Mason nodded, tearing up ever so slightly.
“I admire those people, living under Roman tyranny, unable to be who they wanted to be, to live how they wanted to live, to love, to give freely. To be free! To step out in front of the world and say, “This is me! This is who I am! Can’t you just love me as I love you?”“
He looked up from his hand, reaching out with his eyes, with a wrenching pain.
“But the Romans, and the Pharisees , they didn’t see it that way. They wanted to own!”
He held out a clenched fist, looking at it as if he were crushing the life out of something or someone. There were little gasps from the audience.
“They wanted to tax, to grind down until there was nothing left, nothing left to give, and yet… those people continued to give, even as they were taken out and crucified!”
There was a pause, a collective gulping inhalation.
They were there .
They were all the way there, taken to the outskirts of an ancient Roman city by the sound of Lucky’s voice alone. In their minds a pious beautiful young man was being flogged and marched to his death for nothing more than the crime of his own incalculable beauty. They could smell the sweat and animal terror, see the sun glinting off of Roman steel…
“Yes! Crucified!”
“Run, Mason!” A little girl cried, tears pouring down her face.
“Nails! Nails pounded through their hands and feet!”
Mason threw his hands out wide, looking up in terror.
“No! Mason!” A girl cried out. It was Mary, but there was more than one woman thinking the exact same thing. No one in the entire room had found this reaction odd or inappropriate.
No one but Christie.
Her hands gripped her purse and squeezed, crushing the sunglasses inside.
He slowly lowered his arms and his face. He brought the microphone back to his lips and asked,
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