A Lesson in Hope

Book 2: Hope

by Philip Gulley

Genres: Christian Fiction; Family Life; Humor & Satire

Synopsis

Sam Gardner has been pastor of Hope Friends Meeting for four months when a ninety-eight-year-old member, Olive Charles, passes away and leaves her entire estate--worth close to one million dollars--to the meeting. It's not long before this unexpected windfall creates a storm of conflicting opinions amongst the members of Sam's church as to how the money would be best used. But before the estate is released to the meeting, Olive's estranged niece, Regina Charles, turns up tipsy in Hope and threatens the church with a lawsuit over what she deems her rightful share. Sam soon finds himself in over his head while trying to lead his lively congregation, deal with Regina--and maybe even negotiate a raise.

Release date: September 1, 2015

Publisher: Center Street

Print pages: 273

Sample

1

Sam Gardner had been the pastor of Hope Friends Meeting a scant four months when Olive Charles, aged ninety-eight, drew her last ragged breath and, in the general consensus of Hope Friends, went to be with Jesus. Sam had no opinion on her destiny, having met her on only four occasions at the nursing home where she resided. She hadn’t said a word and had appeared dead then, truth be told. So when the funeral home had phoned Sam at 6 a.m. on a Monday, his day off, to report her demise, he hadn’t been at all surprised.

Her funeral was held at the meetinghouse that Saturday. She had never married, but did have one niece in Chicago whom she hadn’t seen in twenty years, who showed up at the funeral bawling her eyes out at the sight of Olive lying stiff in her casket. She recovered quickly, pulled Sam aside, and asked him if the will had been read. She reeked of alcohol and her speech was slurred.

“I have no idea,” he told her.

“Do you know if Aunt Olive had any other relatives? I’ve kind of lost touch with the family. Did anyone ever come visit her at the nursing home?”

“Just me and folks from the meeting,” Sam said.

“Did she say anything about money?”

“Not to me, but then she’d stopped talking about a year ago.”

“We were very close,” the niece said. Sam hadn’t caught her name—Ramona, Regina, Rowena, he wasn’t sure—and after only five minutes with her had no interest in learning it.

Ruby Hopper, the clerk of Hope Friends Meeting and its resident saint, phoned Sam later that same afternoon to ask if she could bring the message the next morning.

“You certainly may, if you feel led.”

“Thank you. Olive and I went on vacation together for many years. I’d like to show slides from our trips.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Do you think that would be all right?”

“It sounds like a wonderful tribute to a well-deserving member,” Sam said, more than happy to have Ruby man the pulpit since it meant he wouldn’t have to write a new sermon for the next Sunday.

There was a sizable crowd at meeting the next morning—the usual modest crowd plus a half dozen guests, a few of them on the verge of membership who hadn’t yet been tricked into joining. They sang several songs, and Sam prayed, then turned the pulpit over to Ruby.

“I wanted to take this opportunity to share about Olive Charles, whom we lost this past week. Olive was one of our founding members. Very kind. Very dedicated to the meeting. We vacationed together until three years ago, when her health turned. She was an absolute joy.”

“Smart, too,” Hank Withers added, when Ruby paused to breathe. “She was on the Building Committee when they hired me to design the meetinghouse. She would have made an excellent architect.”

Hank was a retired architect and thought it high praise indeed that Olive could have been similarly employed.

They watched slides, projected on the wall behind the pulpit. Ruby and Olive at Niagara Falls, Mount Rushmore, the Lincoln Memorial, and the Alamo. Halfway through, Ruby began to weep, so Sam finished the narration while Ruby sobbed beside him. She eventually recovered, and Sam prayed, thanking God for Olive, then Ruby hurried to the kitchen and began serving pie, a custom Sam had come to appreciate. The morning ended on a high note, with everyone admitting Olive had lived long enough, that it had been her time to go, and that it had probably been a blessing. Homemade pie could cast a positive light upon the most tragic event.

Sam took Monday off, and was in the office early Tuesday morning when the phone rang. It was Olive’s attorney, serving as the executor of her estate, phoning to inform Sam that Olive had left her beloved Quaker meeting her entire estate, consisting of one house and its contents, a 1979 Ford Granada with four snow tires, barely used, and a bank account a dab north of eight hundred thousand dollars. Sam had never cared for lawyers, but in that moment felt a general warmth toward the profession and probably would have hugged the man, had they been in the same room.

Ramona, or Regina, or whatever her name was, phoned a few minutes later, screeching about suing the church and everyone in it and coming down there and getting what was rightfully hers, since she’d been the only one who’d ever loved Olive. Sam let her rant a little while, excused himself, and hung up the phone.

Sam Gardner loved nothing more than to be in possession of a juicy morsel of news no one else knew, so he savored the situation for several minutes, sitting in the quiet of his office, then phoned the members of the church, summoning them to an emergency meeting that evening. He couldn’t tell them over the phone. He had to tell them in person, all at once, so they would hear the same thing. He would see them at seven.

“Should I bring a pie?” Ruby Hopper asked.

“Several,” Sam said. “Can you make one of those apple pies with the crumbly things on top?”

“A Dutch apple pie? I certainly can.”

It was shaping up to be the finest day Sam Gardner had ever had in all his years of ministry.

His wife, Barbara, was at work, at Hope Elementary, where she served as the librarian. Sam walked the five blocks there, caught her in between classes, and told her what had happened.

“That’s two hundred thousand dollars a visit,” he pointed out. “Not bad for an hour’s work.”

“Sure beats library pay,” Barbara said.

“Her niece is madder than a wet hen. She called to tell me she’s going to sue the meeting and everyone in it.”

“This is the niece who hadn’t seen her in twenty years?” Barbara asked.

“That’s the one.”

“They come out of the woodwork when they sniff a little money, don’t they?”

Sam was too distracted to work, and spent the rest of the day fending off curious church members who’d happened to be in the neighborhood and so dropped in to visit.

Wilson Roberts waddled into Sam’s office and plopped down on the couch. “Is the yearly meeting going to throw us out?” he asked. “They better not, that’s all I can say. Not five years ago, I donated a brand-new toilet and sink for the superintendent’s office. They throw us out and I’m going over there and taking them back.”

“No, the yearly meeting isn’t throwing us out,” Sam said.

“Then why did you call a meeting?”

“You’ll find out tonight, along with everyone else. I don’t want to have to tell the story a dozen different times. You’ll have to be patient, Wilson.”

When Wilson realized he couldn’t wear Sam down, he took his leave. No sooner had he gone than Wanda and Leonard Fink stopped by. Sam’s phone call had wakened them, they had been speculating ever since, and had concluded Sam had become an atheist and was announcing his resignation, which didn’t trouble them in the least. Indeed they were relieved, and not at all surprised, because they had seen a book on his office shelves entitled The Pastor’s Secret: The Rise of Doubt among Clergy.

“We know what the meeting is about,” Wanda Fink said, cutting to the chase.

They probably do, the big snoops, Sam thought.

“I would prefer not to discuss it right now,” Sam said. “I only want to tell it once.”

“I never thought I would live to see the day when something like this would happen,” Leonard said. “Have you given any thought to what this will do to our church?”

“I’ve been thinking of nothing else,” Sam said. “It will be a test for us, that’s for sure. But I prefer not to say anything more until tonight, when everyone is present.”

“How can you sit there and be so calm?” Wanda said. “It’s like you don’t even care.”

“I care a great deal. I just don’t think it’s anything to get all worked up about. It’s happened to other churches and they dealt with it. So will we.”

“We? What do you mean we? You’re not planning on staying, are you?”

“I most certainly am,” Sam said. “The meeting needs steady leadership at a time like this.”

Wanda and Leonard stormed from the office. As long as he lived, Sam would never be able to figure out some people.

2

I wonder if I’ll get a raise,” Sam said to Barbara over supper. “Remember when I interviewed? They said they’d love to be able to pay me a higher salary, but that they didn’t have the money.”

“That would be nice,” Barbara said. “College isn’t getting any cheaper.”

“I sure am glad you got your librarian job at the school. I don’t think we could make it without that.”

Levi, their older son, was at Purdue University, where he had switched his major four times in three semesters. Engineering, then sociology, then back to engineering, and he was now, to his parents’ dismay, studying theater. Yet another college major that assured a future of want.

Addison, their youngest, was in the Army, had made it through basic training in Oklahoma, and was stationed in Texas, where he was learning to kill people with a chop to the throat.

“I hope they don’t put the money in a bank and never do anything with it,” Barbara said. “It could do so much good.”

“I hope they don’t fight over it,” Sam said. “The Finks stopped by the office and they’re already worked up about it.”

“How did the Finks know? I didn’t think you were telling anyone until tonight.”

“Oh, you know them, they’re nosy. They probably sniffed it out.”

“I wonder how someone manages to save up eight hundred thousand dollars,” Barbara said. “I can’t imagine having that much money.”

“According to Ruby, Olive lived simply, never married, and never had children. She only had the one brother, but he died young, before her parents, so she probably inherited all the family money.”

“I wonder why she didn’t leave anything to her niece.”

“Because she has a drug and alcohol problem,” Sam said.

“Oh my, that’s terrible.”

“At least that’s what the lawyer told me. He said, and I quote, ‘Apparently, Olive had a niece, but declined to leave her any money because of her history with drugs and alcohol.’”

“That is so sad. I would be sick if our children ever did that. Maybe the church should give her Olive’s house.”

“So she can sell it and buy more drugs and booze and kill herself,” Sam said. “Not a good idea.”

“What in the world is the meeting going to do with Olive’s house?”

“Sell it, I imagine,” said Sam.

“That means we’ll end up with close to a million dollars,” Barbara said.

They discussed various possibilities for the money, getting themselves worked up at the thought of it. Sam was imagining an office suite with an administrative assistant and an associate pastor to do the visitations so he wouldn’t have to. Barbara had in mind more virtuous endeavors, such as feeding the hungry and helping children born with extra arms or cleft palates or things such as that.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay home from tonight’s meeting. I don’t want to see a bunch of Quakers bicker over money,” Barbara said. “But take good notes. I want to know what everyone said.”

“Will do.”

Though the meeting wasn’t until seven, everyone was there by six thirty, chomping at the bit.

“What do you have to tell us, Sam?” asked Hank Withers, not giving Sam even a moment to shed his coat.

“He doesn’t believe in God, that’s what he’s going to tell us,” Wanda Fink said.

“And he still wants to be our pastor,” Leonard Fink added.

While it was true Sam had occasional misgivings about God, he had been feeling rather positive about their relationship, especially since that morning.

“Let’s meet in the kitchen, where the pie is,” Sam suggested.

They clustered around a folding table, including Dan and Libby Woodrum, who hadn’t yet joined the meeting, but were under intense pressure to do so, which was why Sam had invited them. Even Ellen Hadley, the clerk of the church’s pie committee, was present. She hadn’t attended worship services for three years, but still felt free to make her opinions known.

“I heard from Olive Charles’s attorney this morning—” Sam began.

“Oh, Lord, we’re getting sued,” Leonard Fink said. “That’s it. We might as well close our doors. This is terrible, just terrible.”

“We’re not getting sued,” Sam said.

“Do they expect us to pay her nursing home bills?” Wayne Newby asked. “We can’t do that.”

“Wayne, put a cork in it,” Ellen Hadley said. “Go on, Sam.”

Sam was starting to appreciate Ellen Hadley.

“As I said, I received a phone call this morning from Olive’s attorney. He is serving as the executor of Olive’s estate. Apparently Olive has left eight hundred thousand dollars to us, plus her house and furnishings, and her 1979 Ford Granada.”

They stared at one another in stunned silence.

Wayne Newby was the first to speak. “I’ll take the Ford Granada.”

“Why should you get it?” Leonard Fink asked. “Did you ever think someone else might need a car?”

“Let’s not bicker,” Ruby Hopper said. “We need to give this a great deal of thought. Could we please enter into silence and center ourselves?”

It was a noble thought, which everyone but Ruby ignored.

Hank Withers said, “Friends will no doubt remember that when we built our meetinghouse the original design called for a slate roof, which we couldn’t afford at the time. Our roof is the original roof, and desperately needs to be replaced.”

“As the clerk of the roof committee, I would support that suggestion,” Wayne Newby said. “And as long as we’re on the topic, I’m willing to pay the meeting four hundred dollars for the Granada.”

“It’s worth every bit of two thousand,” Leonard Fink said. “You trying to cheat your own church?”

“Now that I think about it, we shouldn’t have to pay for a new roof,” Wayne Newby said, smoothly changing the subject. “I think we have hail damage. We can get insurance to buy us a new one.”

“I was up on the roof just last month. There’s no hail damage,” Hank Withers said.

“There can be,” Wayne Newby said. “All I need is a broomstick and a couple of hours.”

“We’re not going to cheat our insurance company,” Ruby Hopper said.

“They expect it,” Wayne said. “It’s figured into the cost of insurance. It’s not cheating if they expect it.”

“We ought to give serious thought to a fellowship hall,” Hank Withers said. “Our original plan called for it. We could do a lot more things if we had a fellowship hall.”

“We need a new stove in the kitchen. A gas one this time,” Ellen Hadley said. “Those electric stoves are worthless. And it should be commercial grade, like they have in restaurants.”

“The women’s restroom needs a new countertop,” Wanda Fink said. “Someone used the wrong type of cleaner on it and it’s all scratched up.”

“Just the other day on the Internet I saw a Ford Granada going for a thousand dollars. I guess I could pay that much for it,” Wayne Newby offered.

“Let’s all settle down,” Sam said. “We don’t even have the money yet. The executor said it might take up to six months, maybe a year, to settle the estate. And that’s if no one sues. Her niece phoned this morning and threatened to do just that.”

That threw a bucket of cold water on the matter.

“Well, whenever it gets settled, I have dibs on the Granada,” Wayne said.

Leonard Fink frowned. “Why should you get the car? Maybe I wanted to buy it. Did you ever think of that?”

“No one has dibs on anything,” Ruby Hopper said. “We must establish a process and follow it. As the clerk of the meeting, I recommend we appoint a committee to decide the best use of this unexpected gift. Do Friends approve?”

“Approved,” they rumbled.

“Who feels called to serve on that committee?” Ruby asked.

Fifteen hands went up around the table.

“You’re not a member yet, Sam,” Wanda Fink pointed out. “Only members can serve on a committee.”

“I’ve applied for membership,” Sam pointed out. “We’re just waiting on a letter of transfer from Harmony Meeting.”

“The Woodrums aren’t members, either,” Leonard Fink observed.

Dan and Libby studied the floor, embarrassed.

“We’re sorry, we just wanted to help,” Libby said.

They bickered about membership for a while, half of them arguing it shouldn’t be a requirement for service, the other half fighting to the death to preserve a tradition they hadn’t given a moment’s thought before.

“I’ve been a member of this meeting since it first started,” Wanda Fink said. “My parents were members of their meeting, and their parents before them. Now you’re telling me membership doesn’t matter. I don’t even know if I can go here any longer.”

The rest of them sat quietly, contemplating the happy prospect of Wanda Fink’s departure.

The meeting broke up at nine o’clock, with Wanda threatening to bolt, and the committee membership still undecided.

If Olive Charles had still been alive, Sam would have wrung her scrawny little neck for donating so much money to the meeting, and said so to Ruby Hopper after everyone had left.

Ruby chuckled. “Don’t you worry, Sam. They’ll settle down. But next time someone leaves the meeting almost a million dollars, let me know first, so we can present this in the right way. You just can’t dump something like this on everyone all at once.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have told you first.”

“Well, it’s nothing we can’t work through. I’m sure everything will turn out all right.”

Which, for a woman of Ruby’s intelligence, was a terribly naïve sentiment. And, as it turned out, a great miscalculation.

3

Sam arrived early at the meetinghouse the next morning. He’d spent the previous day preoccupied about the money, so was now behind in his work. He was compiling a list of recent visitors, following up with handwritten letters inviting them to return. An hour or so into . . .