Lord’s battles.
Looking over the congregation as he spoke, Matthew saw Karl take Molly’s hand. His gaze again drifted toward the strangers seated in the back.
Quickly, so he wouldn’t be caught staring, Matthew returned his attention to the notes he’d placed next to his Bible. “The thing I want you to remember from this portion of scripture is that God gives the success. We don’t do it on our own.” He quoted other verses in Joshua to strengthen his point, expounding on how each one fit the country’s current situation. The minutes slipped by. Then, pushing his notes aside, he said, “Locally, we are also involved in a battle. Not for territory, but for the moral purity of our citizens.”
The group at the back sat up straighter, giving him their full attention. Beldon’s chin jutted into the air and he folded his arms across his chest.
Matthew faltered at the hostility in the man’s eyes. He hadn’t planned to add these comments to today’s sermon. Somehow, they were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He put both hands on the sides of the pulpit and leaned toward the congregation. “You have less than a week to make up your minds about this . . . performance that’s going to take place at the hotel.” He invested the word “performance” with as much scorn as he could. “Will you go the way of the flesh, or will you resist the devil?” He flipped to another verse in Joshua and concluded, “‘As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.’” Closing the Bible, he slapped the cover for emphasis. When Matthew knelt to deliver the closing prayer, he heard feet shifting and throats clearing at the back of the sanctuary.
Ruby was the first person to reach him after the service. “Matthew! How could you ride roughshod over those folks? They’re visitors, for pity’s sake.”
He stared at her. “What do they have to do with anything?”
Instead of answering, she took his arm and tugged him toward the back of the church. A group had already formed around Marcus Beldon, seeming to hang on his every utterance. The five men who had entered with him stood to one side.
Ruby marched over to the dark-suited one Matthew had noticed from the pulpit. “Reverend Craig is my niece’s husband.” She sounded apologetic. “Matthew, this is Sorrel Forsythe. He and these other gentlemen are here to present Macbeth to our community.”
Matthew had already put out his hand when she began her introduction. It hung in the air between himself and Sorrel Forsythe a moment too long.
“A distinct pleasure.” Forsythe took Matthew’s hand and gave it a limp shake. “We’ve heard much about you from Marcus, and now we finally meet.” His hand felt soft, like a child’s.
Glancing up, Matthew saw that Beldon and the other four actors had gathered behind Mr. Forsythe. Beldon watched him with a smirk on his face.
As he cast around in his mind for an appropriate response, Mrs. Beldon joined the group. To his surprise, her brown eyes conveyed sympathy.
“Thank you for giving us such a thought-provoking look at the conflict with Mexico.” Her voice rang out clearly enough to be heard beyond their small gathering. “I can tell you’ve given it much consideration.”
Her husband’s face was a study in confusion. “Mexico? I thought he preached on the evils of Shakespeare.”
She tapped his arm with a crooked forefinger. “You hear what you want to hear, Marcus.”
Matthew took her hand. “Thank you for the kind words, Mrs. Beldon. Mexico is a subject that has come close to our family these past weeks.” He nodded at the coterie surrounding her husband. “Gentlemen. So glad you came to hear God’s word.”
As he walked toward his wife and children, Matthew heard Beldon snort, “Craig’s word is more like it.”
Trembling with suppressed anger, Matthew joined his family gathered next to the woodstove. His sermon sounded hollow to him now. Trust in God and he will give the victory? I’m
Looking over the congregation as he spoke, Matthew saw Karl take Molly’s hand. His gaze again drifted toward the strangers seated in the back.
Quickly, so he wouldn’t be caught staring, Matthew returned his attention to the notes he’d placed next to his Bible. “The thing I want you to remember from this portion of scripture is that God gives the success. We don’t do it on our own.” He quoted other verses in Joshua to strengthen his point, expounding on how each one fit the country’s current situation. The minutes slipped by. Then, pushing his notes aside, he said, “Locally, we are also involved in a battle. Not for territory, but for the moral purity of our citizens.”
The group at the back sat up straighter, giving him their full attention. Beldon’s chin jutted into the air and he folded his arms across his chest.
Matthew faltered at the hostility in the man’s eyes. He hadn’t planned to add these comments to today’s sermon. Somehow, they were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He put both hands on the sides of the pulpit and leaned toward the congregation. “You have less than a week to make up your minds about this . . . performance that’s going to take place at the hotel.” He invested the word “performance” with as much scorn as he could. “Will you go the way of the flesh, or will you resist the devil?” He flipped to another verse in Joshua and concluded, “‘As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.’” Closing the Bible, he slapped the cover for emphasis. When Matthew knelt to deliver the closing prayer, he heard feet shifting and throats clearing at the back of the sanctuary.
Ruby was the first person to reach him after the service. “Matthew! How could you ride roughshod over those folks? They’re visitors, for pity’s sake.”
He stared at her. “What do they have to do with anything?”
Instead of answering, she took his arm and tugged him toward the back of the church. A group had already formed around Marcus Beldon, seeming to hang on his every utterance. The five men who had entered with him stood to one side.
Ruby marched over to the dark-suited one Matthew had noticed from the pulpit. “Reverend Craig is my niece’s husband.” She sounded apologetic. “Matthew, this is Sorrel Forsythe. He and these other gentlemen are here to present Macbeth to our community.”
Matthew had already put out his hand when she began her introduction. It hung in the air between himself and Sorrel Forsythe a moment too long.
“A distinct pleasure.” Forsythe took Matthew’s hand and gave it a limp shake. “We’ve heard much about you from Marcus, and now we finally meet.” His hand felt soft, like a child’s.
Glancing up, Matthew saw that Beldon and the other four actors had gathered behind Mr. Forsythe. Beldon watched him with a smirk on his face.
As he cast around in his mind for an appropriate response, Mrs. Beldon joined the group. To his surprise, her brown eyes conveyed sympathy.
“Thank you for giving us such a thought-provoking look at the conflict with Mexico.” Her voice rang out clearly enough to be heard beyond their small gathering. “I can tell you’ve given it much consideration.”
Her husband’s face was a study in confusion. “Mexico? I thought he preached on the evils of Shakespeare.”
She tapped his arm with a crooked forefinger. “You hear what you want to hear, Marcus.”
Matthew took her hand. “Thank you for the kind words, Mrs. Beldon. Mexico is a subject that has come close to our family these past weeks.” He nodded at the coterie surrounding her husband. “Gentlemen. So glad you came to hear God’s word.”
As he walked toward his wife and children, Matthew heard Beldon snort, “Craig’s word is more like it.”
Trembling with suppressed anger, Matthew joined his family gathered next to the woodstove. His sermon sounded hollow to him now. Trust in God and he will give the victory? I’m
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