From the way people stared when Oliver Hale and I walked into the church, one would have thought we were a pair of escaped convicts walking into a kindergarten class. The adults cast sidelong glances at us as we walked by. The teenagers stared for a few seconds, then turned and whispered amongst themselves. Only the children seemed blissfully unconcsious of the tense atmosphere. They smiled and waved to us, as they always did.
"We've really done it this time," I said under my breath.
"Just ignore them," Oliver replied. "We did the right thing."
Morally, perhaps. But socially? Apparently not. I knew Oliver was used to this sort of thing, being somewhat of a maverick. It certainly wasn't the first time he had caused a stir in the placid little congregation. My best friend in the church, he was three years older than I, and a good deal braver. Even now he was walking with his head held high and a defiant little smile on his face. I was glad I couldn't see what my own face looked like. Probably a nice shade of red.
We made our way to the pew where the youth group sat pretending not to notice us. "Hey, guys," Oliver said cheerfully. "Could you make some room for us?"
They made a lot of room for us, like the parting of the Red Sea.
We sat down in the middle of the pew, an island in an ocean of unfriendly faces. Sarah McCallister, a friend of mine, leaned toward me discreetly. "Well, if it isn't Gandhi and Malcolm X," she whispered, raising her dark eyebrows. "Everybody's talking about you, you know."
"We know," I said dryly.
"Okay, so I get that the whole stand-up-for-what-you-think-is-right thing is important to you two, but did you really have to go and post it on Facebook?"
"I did that; not her," Oliver said, with the air of a martyr.
"Yeah, well, it wasn't Oliver who made that big speech Wednesday night," Sarah retorted. "Half the youth group went right home and told their parents."
I squirmed uncomfortably. "I don't know what got into me."
She grimaced. "Whatever it was, they'll probably exorcise it out of you by the end of the service."
How right she was. One of the elders droned a lengthy prayer, throwing in some pleas for God to bring peace to His holy church and purge His people of sin. His eyes were closed the entire time, but I was pretty sure that if they had been open, he would have been looking straight at Oliver and me.
The sermon was even worse. "God will surely punish those who sow discord in the church, and question the words of their elders," the minister said, his head lowered like an angry bull's. "He who rebels against authority is rebelling what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgement on themselves. For rulers hold no terror for those who do right, but for those who do wrong."
Was that really true? When I was younger, I had believed that when you did wrong, you were punished. It was that simple. But now, listening to the minister subtly rebuke us and feeling the eyes of the congregation boring into the back of my head, I was coming to the terrible realization that one could also be punished for doing right, It all depended on the character of those in power. And I was beginning to seriously question the character of these ones.
* * * * *
The whole controversy had started out simply enough. It was a Wednesday night service that had started exactly the same as the hundreds of Wednesday night services that had proceeded it. After the congregation had sung a few songs, Mr. Carlson, one of the elders, went up to the podium.
"Our praise if beautiful to the Lord's ears," he had said, "because it is reverent and subdued, free from such distractions as dancing and instrumental music." His mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. "Take those black churches on the other side of town, for instance. To them, praise and worship is simply entertainment. They don't care about honoring the Lord; they just want to have a party, dance around for an hour or two, and then go home and have lunch."
The room shook with laughter.
I could hardly believe my ears. This guy had just made a completely false, racist allegation, and they were laughing about it. I turned and looked at Oliver. He was staring straight ahead, his jaw rigid. his eyes, usually gray, had gone bright blue. I had seen that look often enough to know it meant trouble.
The youth group met in the small building next door after the service. Oliver and I sat together, as we usually did, but he never said a word.
I listened with growing anger as the teenagers at our table--and even the young youth minister--laughed and joked about the elder's racist remark, and made several of their own. Allie Woods turned to me, an ugly little sneer on her pinched face. "Mr. Carlson finally said something worthwhile, huh?"
Something in me snapped then; I spoke almost before I thought. "No, he didn't. He was wrong."
She looked astonished, as did everyone else at the table.
I couldn't help myself. I pushed back my chair angrily and stood. "He had no right to say that. It was cruel, and racist, and absolutely wrong. What is he going to be suggesting next, that God only loves white people? That this church is the only one that's got it right? That the only people going to heaven are narrow-minded bigots who don't care about anyone but themselves?"
Other than a poorly concealed gasp from Allie, there was a dead silence.
Oliver stood up next to me. "She's right. You should be ashamed of yourselves, all of you."
I was a guest, so there wasn't much they could do to me; but the youth minister beckoned gravely to Oliver, and they disappeared into another room.
I wished I could rescue my partner in crime, but I knew any more heroics on my part would only make things worse. So I left, realizing too late what I had done.
The next day, Oliver texted me. He had posted his indignance at Mr. Carlson's statements and the congregation's reaction to them on Facebook. I groaned inwardly. Now there was no going back. He went on to say that he had gotten almost thirty comments on the post, and people from the church were calling him and his parents. A few applauded him; most condemned him. Even he himself admitted that it probably hadn't been the best idea. But I understood. He and I were alike in that we could not sit around and tolerate injustice. When we felt something was wrong, we had to speak out against it, no matter what the consequences were.
Several people stated that it was none of his--or my--business. (I wasn't even a member of the congregation!) Were our idealistic principles really important enough to disrupt the entire church? I even asked myself that. We had stood up (both literally and figuratively) for what was right, but at what cost?
* * * * *
I pondered this as I sat there in the church on Sunday morning. The authority figures judged us, but who judged them? Only God, but they were so certain He agreed with them, they probably wouldn't be listening even if He did judge them. The incident made me question the very nature of justice. In a perfect world, evil was punished and good was rewarded. But we lived in a real world.
I figured there were exactly two things that could get someone into trouble: doing the wrong thing, and doing the right thing.
I glanced from the members of the congregation, sitting rigidly in their pews, to Oliver, who smiled at me reassuringly.
And I knew we had done the right thing.
lol jk But I'm glad you liked it. (Oh, and it really is a true story.)