If the Creek Don’t Rise-Chapter One, Anniversary Sunday

by Donna Poole

What am I even doing here? Pastor J. D. looked around the long table and sighed. Another board meeting for the books; he’d give this one the same grade he’d given the others, a C for effort.

And C for Cyrus. The minute I open my mouth that man’s ready to holler no. He hasn’t liked me since day one, and I’m not his biggest fan either.

He mentally checked off things he’d proposed but the board had voted down. The one that irked him most was their determination to continue Sunday and Wednesday evening services. Their reason? “Pastor Jim always said stopping them would signal the beginning of the end for Corners Church.”

Pastor Jim, Pastor Jim, Pastor Jim. If I hear my predecessor’s name one more time. . .. But I knew when I came it would be this way. A man can’t pastor a church for fifty years and not be loved, but I didn’t expect them to revere him as much as the Apostle Paul. I’m surprised his picture doesn’t hang behind the pulpit! At least they finally agreed to let me get a second job. I don’t know how Pastor Jim lived on that salary. Well, I sure didn’t come here for the money.

Why had J.D. come to Corners Church? The question made him uncomfortable. He’d like to say it was because God had called him, and he hoped that was true, but part of the reason was because he’d been running away. Running from everything that reminded him of Abby’s death and the hurtful way his Chicago church had treated him. Running from the responsibilities of a large church with its endless committee meetings that had kept him from Abby’s bedside and the hours with her he could never get back. Running from the bitterness that had followed him here.

The board members, seven men and three women were chatting as though the disagreement with him had never clouded the blue skies over the country church. J. D. stretched his long legs under the table and groaned as the knee pain hit.

Davey grinned at him from the other end of the table. “Work you too hard last week, Pastor J.D.?”

 “A bit.” He forced a return smile.

He wished Davey would take his side in board meetings instead of saying his constant, ‘abstain.” But he was the former pastor’s son. Davey had been on the board that had questioned him and had recommended him to the church. Davey had voted to hire him as pastor, but when J.D. preached his first sermon as pastor, Davey and family hadn’t been there. J.D. had asked Deacon Ken about it.

“Remember his dad was pastor here for fifty years, don’t you know. Davey feels like he might get in your way if he stays. Too bad, really. One of the best trustees this church has ever had, and he’s our Sunday school superintendent too. When he’s not here I have to lead the singing, and I can’t even sing. Do you….?”

Deacon Ken paused, looking hopeful

J.D. shook his head. “Can’t carry a tune.”

Ken laughed. “That makes two of us. I’ve carried many things in my time, but a tune isn’t one of them.”

“What should I do? Davey won’t get in my way. I need all the help I can get.”

Ken smiled. He’d really hoped for a young pastor with a big family, but maybe this lone widower wouldn’t be so bad.

“I’d talk to him if I were you.”

“Great! I’ll text him today.”

Ken shook his head. “Better talk face to face.”

J.D. didn’t do well with face to face. He much preferred text and email, but this country church didn’t. He’d talked to Davey, and Davey had stayed at the church.

Now Davey and the other board members were congratulating each other on getting their crops in before the expected rains. No one had mentioned his one-year anniversary at the church. Did anyone even remember? Probably not. Should I tell them I’ve been planting seed too for exactly a year today? It would be nice if someone would congratulate me.

The men were quiet now, but the women were talking about making dandelion and lilac jams. Finally, Deacon Ken said, “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but my stomach says it’s time to go home. All in favor to dismiss, please stand.”

J.D. noticed how difficult it was for Ken to struggle to his feet. He wasn’t sure of Ken’s exact age, but he had to be near ninety. As he listened to the man close in prayer, he could almost feel the presence of God in the room. God was knocking on a cold room of his own heart, but J.D. pushed Him away.

“See you all tonight?” Deacon Ken asked.

No one answered. Finally, Cyrus said, “Lord willin’ and if the creek don’t rise.” Everyone laughed.

J.D. forced a small smile. Lord willin’ and if the creek don’t rise. I don’t know if that’s borderline sacrilegious, but it’s terrible grammar and ridiculous. I’m tired of hearing it. What does it mean, anyway? The Lord is willing for Cyrus to come tonight, but I know he won’t. And what creek?

As everyone drifted off to homes and families, Deacon Ken hesitated.

J.D. hoped his irritation didn’t show. “Ken, why does Cyrus insist on using that ridiculous phrase?”

“Oh, you mean, ‘Lord willin’ and if the creek don’t rise?’ Guess all of us say it now and then. It means we plan, but God can change things by something as simple as a creek rising so a road becomes impassable. That used to happen in these parts.”

“What creek?”

“We call it a creek, but it’s actually the St. Joe River.”

J.D. shook his head.

“Give us time, Pastor J.D. And don’t sound so impatient when you preach. I’ll tell you something my dad told Pastor Jim when he was a young, sometimes angry preacher. ‘You can say anything to us if you say it with love.’”

J.D. put his laptop in its case and walked next door to the empty parsonage. So, Ken thought he was angry? A Bible verse whispered itself, “The root of bitterness springs up and defiles many.”

Who wouldn’t be bitter? After what that church did, not just to me, but to my sweet Abby when she was dying.

Time to fix another cold sandwich and eat another Sunday dinner alone. He’d turned down so many invitations the church people had finally gotten the idea. He almost tripped over the tinfoil wrapped casserole on the porch. It was labeled, “Darlene’s Sicilian Chicken.”

He laughed. “Well, sweet Abby, I have to follow Jim’s act, but at least you don’t have to try to measure up to Darlene. They say she was quite the woman, but I bet she wasn’t half the woman you were.”

He picked up the casserole. It was still warm and smelled wonderful. He’d eat and get a nap before the evening service. Right. The exciting evening service only a handful would attend, and most of them wouldn’t even be board members.