Path to Promise

by Sherryle Kiser Jackson

Genres: African American Christian

Synopsis

Rebecca Lucas is on the run again, running from rumors, running from reality, and most of all, running from Will, her best friend and soul mate. This time Rebecca is ready to reclaim the life she left behind in Salisbury before the burial of her mother and the handling of her mother' s estate. Time away, however, has done little to alleviate her biggest problem-- her coworker Kenny Burke and the indecent proposal he pitched to her before leaving town. She' s back, and he uses every resource at his disposal to get her to go along with his plan. Will Donovan, the man left in the trail of Rebecca' s taillights and exhaust fumes, has a few problems of his own. His father' s secrets have left the senior Pastor Donovan ousted from his longtime position as leader of Grace Apostle Methodist Church, and Will with one foot in the door. As a mandate of the church board, Will must apply and compete for his dad' s job. His competition is the very charismatic and well-connected Danny Glass Jr., heir of a televangelist empire. Will seems to be the only one questioning why Danny is on his turf when he has his own father to succeed. He struggles with the integrity of his decisions in an effort to carve out his own identity in ministry. For Will and Rebecca, the Path to Promise is far from a utopian street paved with gold. Will their paths, marred with their own obstacles, cross and lead them to the promises of God?

Release date: November 1, 2013

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

Will had never liked board meetings, whether on the job or at church. Just like the term suggested, they were stiff and impersonal. He looked around at the three members on the executive board of Grace Apostle Methodist Church, who served under his father as pastor, and found the air particularly tense. He’d rather be at home in his jeans and tennis shoes than in a suit and tie, but his father had reminded him that his casual attire was not always appropriate for Kingdom business. If this meeting was called to do damage control for some kind of drama, he’d much rather be crammed in a crowded mall with all the gift returners and gift card redeemers and be reminded that he didn’t have anyone special to celebrate his holidays with. He had broken up with his longtime girlfriend in hopes of pursuing a relationship with his best friend, Rebecca Lucas. She had literally left him in the trail of her taillights and exhaust fumes.

“Anyone know what this is about?” Will asked as he casually banged his empty water bottle against his knee, trying to rid his mind of fleeting thoughts of her—the second or third time today.

“We’d prefer to wait until your father gets here,” Deacon Contee replied.

“Wait, my father didn’t call this meeting?” Will asked, tugging at his right earlobe.

Silence was his answer. Will took a chance on tossing his bottle, in hopes of making the wastebasket a few feet away. He had risen slightly to have better odds and had unbuttoned his suit jacket in the process. He looked around to see if anyone else was as stunned as he was when he banked the bottle on the first try. He didn’t have a good feeling about this.

His dad’s seat was reserved on the opposite side of the desk, and Will reflected on the month and a half he had filled in for his father. He’d rate his time a C-. He got a B, or even an A, when it came to the actual preaching, but managing the congregation brought his average down significantly. There had been that Bible study session that went astray, a funeral, a catfight, and Rebecca’s return to Easton, Maryland.

He had to admit that there had been some high times too. Finding a comfortable balance between church and work, and having an opportunity to minister God’s Word were blessings. The church anniversary, in particular, where he encouraged Rebecca to minister in dance alongside him, stood out as a milestone. He had felt as if he had hit a rhythm that would only get better, until his family hit a huge bump in the road—his dad’s secret indiscretion from the past and its eventual impact on the family dynamic.

Just then his dad, William Henry Donovan Sr., crossed his field of vision, ending Will’s introspection. Will stood as his dad draped his overcoat on the back of his chair.

“Gentlemen.” Pastor Donovan nodded to the others. “Son.” He shook Will’s hand. Their handshake, though formal for a father and son, was warmer than the mere murmurs from the others.

It was comforting for Will to see his dad behind his desk again. It had been determined that watch night was the night. He would be resuming his role as senior pastor, on top of his duties as school chancellor, after a topsy-turvy sabbatical. His father’s eyes and expression seemed to be communicating something that Will could not read.

Deacon Contee, his father’s right-hand man, and by all accounts, Will’s right-hand man while his father was on break, stood. He cleared his throat ceremoniously, and it became clear to Will who was running this particular meeting. Will knew that Deacon Contee didn’t mince words, so he knew he would not be left in the dark much longer about the details of this mystery meeting.

“In light of recent . . . discoveries, it has been decided that Pastor Donovan should retire as both pastor and chancellor of the school at Grace Apostle, effective immediately.” Deacon Contee’s eyes were unapologetic; his demeanor suggested he was ready for a rebuttal.

Will looked at his dad. They were both temporarily frozen in place. Recent discoveries equaled one thing: his dad’s long-term affair with Madame Ava Lucas. His dad hadn’t made an all-out confession, like famed televangelist Jimmie Swaggart’s tearful televised admission to the like in the late eighties. His father had simply walked Gail, his daughter and the product of that affair, down the aisle recently at her modest wedding, held at the church. Although an early retirement was the same sanction Will had suggested, out of anger, be imposed on his dad when he first found out that his dad had cheated on his mother and the late first lady of the church, this dethroning felt more like a beheading.

“Hey, wait, I am missing something, like when this decision was made and by whom,” Will remarked. “Doesn’t the person retiring usually deem when he is no longer able or no longer desires to hold the position? I mean, c’mon. My dad has been a dedicated pastor, colleague, and friend to this church community for nearly fifty years.”

“The pastor kept an extramarital affair a secret from this board and the entire church body. He deceived us all,” replied John Lyons, the former chairman of the deacon board, which was held in emeritus standing now.

Will tempered his words for this patriarchal figure, whose history with the church dated back to his dad’s early days as pastor. “The pastor is your friend. Isn’t he?”

For an older man, Deacon Lyons was quick with his reply. “So was First Lady Donovan a good friend to Ethel and me. All the women of this church would see his infidelity, his secret, as an act of treason even after all this time.”

Will dug his heels into the floor where he sat. When his mom died a little more than fifteen years ago, he had felt very much like the ground had given way from under him. He had struggled for a long time to regain his sure footing. Finding out about his dad’s affair had shaken his foundation again and had left him with the same feeling of uncertainty and vulnerability.

“No one can claim ownership over this—the shock, the hurt, the grief. It didn’t hit anyone the way it hit me,” Will asserted, a little too passionately for the case he was supposed to be making.

“The fact is your father stood up there in the pulpit and preached against adultery and promiscuity when he was doing that kind of thing all this time. I think he ought to stay out of the pulpit,” Deacon Contee said, chiming in.

Will was taken aback when he heard what was really an echo of his own words. He had heard of war room sessions with church elders that ended with a recommendation and a final say on the pastor’s penance. Men were fallible. There would always be sin. Was there no one present who was willing to give his dad a second chance besides him?

Charlie Marks, the head of the six-member trustee unit, spoke. “This is a church, for heaven’s sake. There is a certain standard for its leaders. I mean, my marriage is not perfect, but I’ve never gone outside it. Never will.”

Deacon Contee continued making the board’s case, painting a picture that Will wasn’t sure as interim pastor was objective or his own projection. According to Deacon Contee, whispers of Pastor Donovan’s indiscretion would surely turn into sparsely attended services, cries of concern throughout the congregation, all-out outrage, and calls for his removal. This was the only way for him to bow out gracefully. They would allow him to announce his retirement and accept an honorable discharge.

Will was thinking aloud. “This is a church, like Trustee Marks just pointed out. Forgiveness and restoration should not only be taught but also applied—”

“Forgiveness begins with the truth, Will,” Deacon Contee said, cutting him off. “An admission, an apology.”

Everyone looked to Pastor Donovan, who had stood silently throughout this whole crucifixion. Will didn’t know who his dad’s publicist was, but obviously he had advised his client to plead the Fifth. His dad was expressionless, and it angered Will. Jesus, Will murmured in his heart. He was working through his own process of forgiving the man, but his dad wasn’t making it easy by being elusive about the details that could possibly exonerate him or at least convince this board to be lenient with him. He wanted more than anything to know the depth and breadth of his dad’s affair with Madame Ava. When did it start and end? How did he reconcile his transgressions with God and his calling? Why wasn’t his father trying to make a heartfelt plea for his integrity, for his ministry?

Will was done talking. Obviously, there wasn’t anything worth fighting for anymore. He thought of Rebecca yet again. He didn’t know what was worse, his dad giving up so easily on a ministry he had been in charge of all his adult life or Rebecca giving up on them before they had begun. Sure, folks would talk about him and Rebecca hooking up. Loving Lucas women apparently was a part of his hardwiring. Will knew one thing. He was tired of agonizing over things he and his father could have changed or done differently. His dad had strayed, and he couldn’t have made Rebecca stay. If and when she came to miss the water out here in Easton, he’d tell her she had her own well willed to her by her mother, not to mention his love spring that she had left behind.

Will realized the conversation was circling around him while he entertained those thoughts. His dad’s voice brought him back to the conversation.

“The ministry, I understand. But why the school?” Pastor Donovan asked. “I may not have founded this church—or, in your eyes, upheld its ideals to the best of my ability—but I can say that I did lay the foundation for this school.”

“Who saved it come audit time?” Deacon Contee was fast to say.

Pastor Donovan pursed his lips. “You called a friend of a friend, who tightened up our books. Anyone could have done that, Contee.”

“You didn’t, Pastor.” A flash of anger came from Deacon Contee’s eyes. “You know full well what we went through to get the accreditation and the state vouchers that help to fund the school. We can’t risk any of that. If the state even got a whiff of a scandal, it would be over like that.”

“The only way they would get a whiff is if someone is airing dirty laundry.” Pastor Donovan plopped down and looked around, as if he was already resigned to the fact that it would be the last time he would sit there as pastor. “Huh, we all know how easily that can happen, don’t we, Contee?”

“You ran off our biggest contributor in Madame Ava Lucas when you played Casanova in her household,” Deacon Contee said. “No wonder that woman went to her grave despising this place.”

In an instant, Will’s dad was up out of his seat again. Will felt the need to step in between the two opposing sides to avoid a scuffle.

“Don’t you dare spout my circumstances like you care about another living soul except yourself in this matter. You don’t know the burdens I bore because of this, and you certainly wouldn’t comprehend the grace I’ve been shown.” Pastor Donovan stopped only to wipe the spittle from his lips. “A righteous man repents to his God. I recommend you start.”

Will was seeing a side of his dad and Deacon Contee that he had never seen before. How long had he and his father been feuding like the Hatfields and the McCoys? His dad had created a monster, as Deacon Contee had apparently become really comfortable filling in as chancellor. Will was sure that Deacon Contee was ready to do that job permanently.

“Gentlemen, let’s keep things decent and in order,” Deacon Lyons remarked, his voice doing more to temper emotions than Will’s physical barrier when he stood between the feuding men. He propped both of his arms on the arms of the chair to raise himself upright with authority. “Who will take over?””

“Let’s not forget, I’ve groomed my son. He’s faithfully fulfilled his basic training and served here. My reputation shouldn’t ruin his chances,” Pastor Donovan was quick to add.

“Will may fill in as interim pastor, but we will look for anyone else who would like to be a permanent replacement, to be fair.” Deacon Contee looked around at his cohorts for support. Then, turning his attention to Will, he continued, “At that time, if you, in good faith, want to continue to serve in the capacity of pastor, you must apply like the rest.”

Will was reeling from the fact that the all-out feud had shifted suddenly to this all too-casual conversation about his future in the ministry, and he was unable to respond before his dad interjected, “Who do you have in mind to run the school? Will a board decide that? A vote? Who?”

Deacon Contee paused in mock reluctance. “I guess I am the only one who has experience. We’re in the middle of a session. It would be too disruptive to bring in someone new and teach them the day-to-day operations now.”

“Of course,” Pastor Donovan said, turning suddenly and grabbing his coat. “I guess everything has been decided. Good day, gentlemen.”

Will made haste to follow his dad out the door and catch him as he entered the outer office. For a man of seventy-five, Pastor Donovan was extremely quick. Will made sure to close the office door behind them before grabbing his dad’s arm, which was stiff now with indifference. “Wait, Dad. I know this is . . . ridiculous, but let’s let them say their piece.”

“There is nothing more I need to hear. Contee has been undermining me for a while now, but just like he said in there, we never had time to train anyone else. You were always working. I could barely get you here on Sundays to preach. I think they made themselves clear. I’m out after fifty years, and you’ve barely got your foot in the door right now. After all this family has sacrificed for this place, huh? You can sit and listen to their stipulations if you want to. Grace Apostle apparently is no longer my affair.”

Wrong answer, Will thought. His father couldn’t have chosen a poorer set of words, and Will couldn’t resist the jab. “Tell me this wasn’t just an affair or about the one you shared with Madame Ava, that your ministry and the sacrifice you talked about in there, and all that I’ve tried to emulate through the years was about Christ, right?”

Pastor Donovan lifted his arms and let them fall in exasperation. They slapped loudly against his sides. He turned to leave as hastily as before.

Will felt a tug of allegiance to his dad, despite all they had been through. Walking away from Grace Apostle did not compute to him. This was his dad’s church. What were they going to do at Grace Apostle without him? “Dad, you’re the very fabric of this church. I know that, and they know that. You’re still very much in this. I still consider you my pastor and mentor. What do you want me to do?”

Pastor Donovan turned. With glassy eyes, he approached Will, coming to within an inch of his only son, as if he was going to hug him. He spoke at a low volume so that only Will could hear, even if the door to the inner office were open. “Give ’em hell. Remind them it is a very real place. Study. Preach your heart out. I mean, come out swinging, Will, because they already have. If you ever dreamed about being a pastor, it’s your time. This is your time, son.”

Rebecca Lucas needed to move. She wondered if she should pull out of her apartment’s lease now, since some of her bags were still packed from an extended stay in her hometown of Easton. It was Thursday night—the official beginning of the weekend to the neighbors in her apartment building. Without a doubt, cash would be pooled together, a keg or two would be shared, and something would come crashing down, including a few partiers who had trouble navigating the stairwell. Rebecca remembered depending on her youthful complexion nearly ten years ago, pretending to be starting graduate school, when she leased the second-floor, rent-controlled unit, used for off-campus housing at Salisbury University. She had been in two similar units before, when she actually was in college: one in the community called College Park and the other in a subdivision called Merrifield. Her propensity to pay three months at a time and to stay out of trouble protected her middle-aged hideout. When she’d asked the landlord if the local university was a party school, trying to gauge the habits of the other renters, he’d told her that any school was a party school when the alcohol was flowing.

The alcohol was certainly flowing tonight. The ear acid of heavy metal came seeping through the ceiling from the floor above as Rebecca set cartons of Chinese carryout in front of her for a late dinner. She went for the fortune cookie first, as she contemplated calling the police and issuing a “disturbing the peace” complaint. It was only 9:30 p.m., so the three guys above her were starting earlier than usually with their inconsiderate antics that affected the entire building. Maybe she felt more bothered because she was getting older and less tolerant. She needed time to get some food in her, pop an aspirin, and find a boulder to sleep under. She cracked the cookie at the fold to extract the fortune, as if to find a solution to her dilemma. What the fortune said caused her hand to be suspended in the air and her mind to be plagued by recent events: There is a difference between running scared and running free.

Running was what she felt she had done when she returned to Salisbury a week ago from Easton: running from rumors, running from reality, and most of all, running from Will. Rebecca hadn’t expected to get so close to her best friend, Will Donovan, in the four and a half weeks she had been at home to bury her mother. Having him near had her seriously contemplating staying. They had always been so close that they were practically brother and sister. Then their feelings for one another started to grow. On the verge of an ill-conceived love affair, the two of them found they shared a mutual sister, which set Rebecca’s exodus from her family home in motion. That was too close for comfort for her.

Rebecca and Will’s relationship had eerie similarities to their parents’ relationship, her mom and his dad’s adulterous affair, which went on for decades. Although neither she nor Will were married, Will was in a relationship when their feelings began to bud. Their parents’ secret had imploded like an air bag that couldn’t be stuffed back in. Rebecca and Will had survived the impact, but she had run before they could assess the damage to the future of their relationship. She had vowed to stop playing with him, to create the space that would keep them from toying with the idea of taking their friendship to another level. She was alone at Christmas.

Now Rebecca was going back to work after a mixture of her bereavement, sick, and personal leave had been exhausted. She would be trapped in the nine-to-five grind again. The thought made her toss the fortune and the cookie aside and wolf down the lo mein noodles from the carton. Nearly five weeks had passed since she stepped foot into Sanz, Mitchum, Clarke, and Associates. She picked Friday to get reacclimated to her work environment. It was exactly one week before many of the attorneys would claim their own time off for New Year’s. As far as her caseload and trial prep went as a paralegal, she wanted to hit the ground running, set things in order for the New Year.

The next day Rebecca clung to her sixteen-ounce Colombian roast as life support to get her through the da. . .