“But I support neither plan,” said Earl. His voice was quiet, but firm.
“But you have to!” The chairman, Gerald, sounded exasperated. “We all know you don’t like to argue, but you have to support one plan or the other. That’s how we decided to do this.”
“But I don’t. I don’t want either of these plans. Neither of them will work.” Earl didn’t raise his voice. It remained steady. Several of the men in the room assumed this meant that he wasn’t firm. Their approach was to raise their voices in order to sound more determined.
“We have a tie vote,” said Gerald again. “That gives you a duty to cast the deciding vote.”
“I vote ‘no’,” Earl stated to a round of angry voices from the room.
“The problem,” said Manfred in a louder voice, “is that you don’t have the courage of your convictions. You aren’t willing to be counted on either side. You don’t want to have to explain your choice to your opponents. What you’re missing is that both sides are going to be going after you for being so wishy-washy, for not taking a stand!”
“The problem,” Earl replied in the same tone, “is not that I don’t have the courage of my convictions, it’s that I don’t have the courage of yours. I do not support either plan.”
“But surely you can decide that one plan is better than the either. Show some courage! Make a choice!” Gerald was sounding a bit desperate.
“This controversy has been tearing our church apart for months now. How much money should we spend on facilities for the youth? How much on caring for the elderly? How much on outreach? It has been hard to pray or meditate anywhere in the church, because someone is always advocating for some part of one plan or the other.
“You say that I don’t have the courage of my convictions. I’m standing for my convictions right now. I have tried to say these things before, but I have been ignored. The assumption has always been that we’d either go with a more traditional view of ministry in our church, or with a more modern, forward-looking ministry.
“But I’m wondering what God wants. I’m wondering what mission we’re pursuing with either of these plans. Both plans maintain the grounds and the building. Both plans take care of social needs, proportioned for different groups of people, but still largely social.
“I have tried to say this gently. I came here assuming I wouldn’t get the opportunity, but God has provided me the opportunity with this deadlock.
“I don’t see God in either plan. I have heard prayers, all asking God to bless what we planned. What I ave not seen was any effort to understand and plan for a mission for the church. These plans look inward. They focus differently, but they look inward.
“Even more importantly, each plan ignores the needs of the advocates of the other. You’re all looking to beat the other side and get your vision of the church implemented. You’ve said anyone who disagrees can just get with the program or leave.
“I would only vote for a plan if it was one that considered everyone’s needs, everyone’s desires, and then took these to the Lord to see what we should do to honor God. Then I would vote for a plan.
“You may think I should have said more earlier, but none of you were listening. I did say these things, but you just assumed I’d go along. And that’s how it would have worked out. But God gave me the gift of a tie vote. I consider it a miracle.
“Now you all have an opportunity to look at these factions in the body and decide to be one Body of Christ, serving God in this neighborhood. I’ll vote for such a plan. But it won’t matter. If you find such a plan you’ll hardly need to hold a meeting to decide. You can just hold a praise meeting thanking God for his gift of vision!”
“You’re just a faction of one! You’re trying to destroy the church!” Gerald shouted. He pounded his fist on the table since he didn’t have a gavel.
“I wonder if it might work,” said Ruth, one of the active servants in the congregation. She didn’t manage to get anything more out before chaos broke out, and nobody could hear.
Clinging to the branch he’d grabbed, fighting for breath and focus, and looking at the blackness below him, Jack realized he really should have been afraid to walk through the mountain pass at night, with a storm brewing, after a night of drinking at the bar.
The old story-teller sat very still and seemed to be staring off into the distance.
The longer the old man stared, the more nervous Jared became. He remembered the words. “The old story-teller has never given his blessing to anyone on their first try.” But Jared had listened carefully to every story. He’d talked to any listener who would tell him why they went to hear the old story-teller. He knew he had all the elements.
After an interminable wait, the old man spoke. “What I am wondering,” he said quietly, “is where are you?”
Jared just stood there. He couldn’t find any words. He couldn’t understand the question, and he thought he should. He wondered why he knew there was a meaning just beyond his grasp.
Then suddenly it came to him. Such a common way of thinking it, but it simply came to him. He wasn’t overwhelmed. No light came from heaven. He doubted even that his face showed what had happened. He knew what was missing.
“Master,” he said. He had never addressed this man as “master” before, but it just came out now. “I am the man who carelessly ran across the log that spanned the creek. I fell in, and I died. Yet I did not die.”
“I am the man who wandered aimlessly, asking stupid questions, only to find out that he had wasted hours and hours, and his goal was beyond his reach.
“I am the man who came to the test, and never even knew what the test was. I am a failure, yet here I am.”
“You were a failure. Were. You are a story-teller.”
Let your voice be heard! Don’t hold back! Announce it with fanfare. Tell my people they’ve left, Veered right off the path.
Even so, they keep looking for me, as though they really like my way. They act like they’ve been righteous, Coloring inside my established lines. They want me to judge righteously, as though they really want to obey.
“We’ve fasted. Why don’t you reward us? We’ve humbled ourselves. Why don’t we get credit?” Because you fast for your own reward, and oppress those who serve you.
You fast to pick quarrels, To strike with your wicked fist. This kind of fasting won’t get you heard where I live!
Do I like a day used to showcase humility? Your head bowed down like a broken stem? You lying around in rough cloth with ashes on you? You call this a fast, a day I’ll accept?
No! Here’s the fast I choose — Removing unjust bonds Undoing burdensome yokes, Letting the oppressed go free, Even breaking the yokes!
Even more …
Sharing your bread with hungry people, Bringing the homeless into your home, Providing clothing to those who are naked, Being there for your kin.
When you do these things … Your light will burst like the dawn, You will be healed quickly, Your vindicator will lead, God’s glory will be your rear guard.
Even more …
You will call, and God will answer; You’ll ask for help, and God will say, “I’m right here!”
If you quit putting yokes on your people, No more pointing your finger, speaking evil, If you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of those who are suffering, Then your light will shine in darkness even your gloom will seem like a sunny noon!
God will guide you continually, satisfying your needs in the wilderness. God will strengthen your bones. You will be like a watered garden, like a water spring, one flowing year-round.
You’ll rebuild old, despairing ruins; You’ll restore ancient, strong foundations. You’ll be called the one who repairs broken walls and restores streets lined with homes.
If you don’t trample on my day of rest, not pursuing your own interests on my time; If you call that rest day delightful God’s holy time, worthy of special honor. If you show by your actions that it’s special, By not going your own way, serving your own interests, or doing your own stuff —
Then you’ll be delighted in your God, and God will make you ride on the heights. I, your God, will feed you as I fed your Ancestor. God, your God, has spoken.
I’m making two earlier Christmas stories from this blog sticky and linking them here. I may manage to write a new Christmas story, but these two have been on my mind today.
There are at least two ways of going off the rails with charity. One is becoming a scrooge–a stick in the mud, miserable person who can’t celebrate. The other is to become so charitable that you miss important things at home.
How Scrooge Got It All Wrong tells a different story of Scrooge than you’re used to, but one that leads more logically to the way Christmas is celebrated today.
Not a Christmas Carol tells the story of a woman who is so charitable she doesn’t have time for her daughter’s needs.
“I don’t see where I have anything to be thankful for,” said the 95 year old man grumpily as he trimmed roses in the garden of his suburban home, and looked across the yard at his wife.
As the committee meeting started to wind up, the chairman, Randall Cummings, a true elder in the church, turned to the young visitor and said, “Well, you haven’t commented very much. I take it you think these are good ideas or you would have told us.”
Virgil Moore had just turned 21, and was visiting his home church from college. He raised his eyebrows just a bit. But before he could start talking, the chairman continued.
“I’m glad you approve! People are complaining that we aren’t reaching the young people, so having you at this meeting is valuable, even if you didn’t have much to add.”
“Well,” said Virgil quickly, before the chairman could roll on. “I don’t think I’ve given you good reason to assume I approve.”
“You didn’t speak up about the critical proposals. In a meeting like this, silence means consent. You need to learn that before you leave college and enter the real world of business.”
“I wonder,” mused Virgil, “if you actually wanted my opinions. It didn’t appear so in the meeting.”
“I gave you every opportunity to speak up. If you had something to say, you should have said it.” His tone was growing sharper by the minute. He was a big fish in the small, local pond. He was used to people accepting what he said because of his reputation and authority.
“No, you didn’t.”
The short statement, spoken quietly but firmly, nonetheless exploded into the room. Pastor Jack (Brown, if anyone wanted his last name) looked mildly surprised, and for the first time in the meeting, almost awake. He was in his late fifties, but looked perhaps a dozen years older. He had said less than Virgil in the meeting.
Miss Joyce Summers
The Committee
Next to him was the youth pastor, known as Pastor Jerry, who hoped to be promoted out of that unimportant position to be a “real pastor.” He had validated a number of statements from the chair. It was well known that he hoped for favorable references from the worship chair and his colleagues, and he wasn’t all that subtle about it. Cummings simply accepted this affirmation as no less than his due.
Mrs. Jameson
Mrs. Sandra Jameson, who, unlike Miss Joyce, was known by “Mrs.” (never Ms.) and her last name, looked both shocked and outraged. Her picture at that moment could have been used as an illustration for definitions of those words. No caption would have been necessary. Maybe even no words!
Miss Joyce (last name Summers, but most had forgotten) was a fixture of the church and had been for decades. She took care of all the things that were rarely noticed, such as the altar vestments, and details of church cleaning and even some maintenance. Today, she’d come in for some serious criticism for having the wrong color of vestments one week in the past quarter, and had been admonished to be more careful. “Faithful in the small things,” Cummings had intoned in what he thought was an authoritative voice, but which was more condescending.
Then there was Mindy Andrews. Mindy was 15 years old, though she tended to look younger, and had been put on this committee because “we should give the youth a chance to learn.” She had attended this meeting, her second of the year, because Virgil would be there as a visitor. Her first committee had not gone well. This one had not gone well either. Her expression was one of interest. She had hoped Virgil would say something.
The silence in the room lasted about as long as it likely took you to read the descriptions.
Cummings Is Challenged
“I could whip your butt! Show some respect!” Cummings was trying to put on the “in charge” manner that had helped him dominate many business meetings, but the sense of outrage diminished the effect. In addition, Virgil Moore didn’t appear impressed.
“No, you couldn’t. And respect is a two-way street.” Virgil still spoke softly, but there was no uncertainty in his tone.
“Sir,” said Cummings. Nobody imagined he was addressing Virgil as sir.
Virgil just raised his eyebrows and looked Cummings straight in the eyes.
“You will address me as ‘sir’,” Cummings stated, raising his voice.
Virgil simply kept looking him right in the eyes.
“Well,” said Cummings after a moment, “I have no interest in hearing the opinions of a disrespectful, spoiled, entitled young pup.” He broke eye contact with Virgil and said, “I’ll entertain a motion to adjourn.”
“I move that we adjourn,” said Mrs. Jameson promptly.
“Do I hear a second?”
Pastor Jerry
“Second,” said Pastor Jerry.
“We have a second,” Cummings began, but he was interrupted, to everyone’s surprise, by Pastor Jack.
“No, you don’t,” he said.
“What do you mean?” asked Cummings.
“As you pointed out to me when I started bringing him here, Pastor Jerry is not actually a voting member of the committee. Neither am I.”
Pastor Jack Brown
“Oh,” said Cummings, taken aback. He hadn’t thought anyone would remember that. “Well, then, we need a second.” He remembered that he had told the pastor in no uncertain terms that pastoral staff did not have a voting position on church committees either, and decided quickly that if the pastor remembered that with regard to the youth pastor he doubtless remembered it for himself as well.
He looked at Miss Joyce. She looked back at him. He couldn’t be certain she knew what he wanted, but it would be very awkward to actually suggest it, and even worse if it turned out she didn’t want to do it. So he turned to Mindy.
She looked back at him with a steady and innocent expression.
“I need a second for Mrs. Jameson’s motion. You’re a voting member.”
“Yes, sir,” said Mindy.
“You say, ‘I second the motion,’” said Cummings.
“But I don’t second the motion, sir.”
“You have to.”
“No, she doesn’t,” said Pastor Jack. “She’s a voting member. She has to vote according to her conscience.” He turned to Mindy. “Do you want the meeting to adjourn?”
Mindy
“No, sir. I’d like to hear what Virgil has to say.”
Pastor Jack looked back at Cummings with an expression that said, “Well?” louder than his voice could have.
Cummings had to make a quick decision. If he kept trying to fight he’d look weak. The best thing to do was to bow graciously to the committee’s will. Well, bow at least.
He looked at Virgil. “Well, despite your disrespectful tone, it appears the committee wants to hear you. Like everyone else, I have to follow the rules. It’s something you should learn.”
Virgil was actually amused. He had long been aware of how Cummings and his network ran the church. Rules were there to keep everyone under control. He wasn’t surprised by the tactics. He was surprised that the pastor had torpedoed them. He had thought the important members had the pastor under control. He was even more surprised that Mindy Andrews had had the guts to stand up to the chairman.
Virgil Explains
“What decision of the committee today do you disagree with?” Cummings spoke again.
“The problem is identifying any actual decision the committee has made. You indicated when you invited me that you had a problem with reduced attendance by young people and that you’d like my thoughts. But I don’t see any decision taken that would address that issue. The small number of decisions made did not even require a vote of the committee.”
Cummings was about to speak. He looked angry. Pastor Jack interrupted. “I’d like to hear what you think about our problem with diminishing youth and young adult attendance and an aging congregation.”
“We do not have an aging congregation,” said Cummings, raising his voice.
“The facts are against you,” said Virgil.
“What facts?” asked Cummings.
“The ones in this report you provided to the committee.”
“Those are just statistics. There are lies, damned lies, and statistics,” said Cummings, smiling. He had won with that line so many times. Everyone laughed and dropped citing statistics because either they didn’t know how to answer him or they knew it would do no good. That made him confident.
“So let me ask you this. Is the church’s management software state of the art?”
“Of course it is! Only the best for God’s church!”
“Is the data properly maintained?” This was a booby trap. Cummings’ wife maintained the data and everyone knew she demanded perfection. She had been known to take her own attendance count and question the official count if it differed.
“You know it is,” growled Cummings.
“So we have a report produced by what I know is not only state of the art software, but is the best in the industry, based on data that has been maintained to the highest standards possible–you didn’t say it, but I’m going to add it, Mrs. Cummings is unparalleled in her data maintenance–and yet you’ll imply that the contents of the report are to be seen as less valuable than ‘damn lies’?”
“Data is easily manipulated,” said Cummings.
“So as I cite this data, you can point out in what way I’m manipulating the data in this report.” He paused a moment. “According to this report, your membership has dropped nearly 30% in the last four years.” As Cummings opened his mouth, Virgil raised his hand and plowed forward. “Your youth group had a regular attendance that averaged about 30 four years ago, but now that average is about 10. The average age of the congregation increased about two years for every year, and is now just short of eight years older than it was four years ago.”
“Did you figure out all of those numbers on the fly? I question your calculations.” Cummings was again using a well-worn way of shutting things down.
“Turn to page 3 of the report,” said Virgil, “and look at the chart starting 10 lines down the page. This lists the membership figures and the percentage of change for the period of the report.” Virgil noted that everyone was looking at their report. So did Cummings. Cummings wasn’t happy.
Virgil continued through the report, citing line by line the sources of the information he had cited. When he was done, nobody in the room had failed to see those numbers. The pastor knew them instinctively, but he’d never seen them outlined so clearly. It was the picture of a dying church. The positive note was that there were churches in town that were dying faster.
“Well, numbers don’t tell the whole story,” said Cummings. “Sometimes we’re called on to fight the culture for God. Other churches may be doing better, but they’re compromising with the world while we’re standing up for God and for Truth.” Everyone heard the capital ‘T’ on Truth.
“I visited with the head elder of the Community Church downtown and I also saw their numbers. They don’t have these problems. In fact, they’re growing rapidly. The church I attend at college is not growing that fast, but that’s because it has created three new church plants in the three years I have been there.”
Compromising on Truth
“I stand by what I said. Churches that refuse to compromise on Truth will suffer in numbers.”
“I’m a facts person,” said Virgil. “Please tell me which ‘Truth’ Community Church has compromised on.”
“How should I know? Those big city churches with their guitars and drums and light shows are always compromising with the culture.” Cummings spoke dismissively, as though stating the obvious.
“Could you support from scripture the idea that ‘guitars and drums and light shows’ compromise the gospel in any way, please?”
“I’m not going to get into a theological discussion with you. This is a worship meeting, not a theological debate.”
“But you’re concerned with diminishing church attendance. Do you think what we believe about God has no impact on that?”
Mindy Has Some Thoughts
Time for diversion, thought Cummings. “Mindy, Virgil here thinks I kept you from commenting during the meeting. I didn’t. You know that, don’t you?”
“Actually,” said Mindy.
Cummings cut her off. “See,” he said, looking at Virgil. “She doesn’t agree with you on how I manage the meeting.”
“Actually,” said Mindy again, “I do agree with Virgil. In fact, you just did it. You cut me off in the middle of a sentence, and then finish it up as though I agree with you.”
“I’m just helping you get your thoughts into words.” This time Cummings looked genuinely surprised and aggrieved.
“But you don’t know what my thoughts are!” Mindy exclaimed. It was noticeable. She was normally very quiet and polite. Everyone was surprised, even Virgil. Pastor Jerry was stunned.
“Mindy,” said Pastor Jack, “Tell us what you think is wrong with this church that we’re losing members, especially younger ones.”
“I like this church …”
Cummings cut her off. “See? You’re making stuff up. She likes the church!”
“Randall!” Pastor Jack raised his voice. It had been at least a decade since anyone had heard him do that.
Cummings was stunned into silent.
“I was saying,” Mindy continued, “that I like this church. I like this building. I like lots of people here. It’s getting hard to enjoy the services and the youth activities. There’s nothing substantial. I’ve been thinking of not coming here to church any more.”
“So you’re complaining, but you don’t have anything substantial behind your complaints?” Cummings had a “gotcha” expression on his face.
“No, sir, that’s not what I said. My complaint is that there is nothing substantial. Three years ago when I did confirmation classes with Pastor Jack, I got excited about Jesus and about the church. I thought there were things there that I could really believe, that I could make something out of, and live my life so that it would make a difference.”
She paused, looking back and forth between Cummings, Pastor Jack, and Pastor Jerry. It seemed she was making a decision.
“But since that time, it’s like someone let the air out of a balloon. Pastor Jerry does lots of fun things with the young people, but nothing important, ever.”
Laughing at Your Elders
“You shouldn’t criticize your youth pastor that way. You’re too young!” Cummings took on the look and tone of someone on such solid ground as to unassailable. “I’m going to talk to your father next time I see him and tell him he needs to teach you to respect your pastor.”
Mindy started laughing.
Virgil, Miss Summers, and Pastor Jack were looking at Mindy with some interest. Pastor Jerry and Cummings were looking stunned. Cummings was moving his mouth, but no sound came out.
“Why is she laughing?” Cummings asked, looking at Pastor Jack.
“Think about it,” he replied.
“I am thinking about it. It’s rude! It’s disrespectful! You should stop her!”
“I think expecting her not to laugh would be unreasonable.”
“I don’t see why!”
“You mean you aren’t aware that Mindy’s parents quit attending? That they haven’t been here for months, and that Mindy attends alone? She rides the bus to get to church. I don’t know how she persuaded her dad to allow it, but she does.”
Cummings was stunned again.
“And you wonder why the church is losing members,” said Virgil quietly, breaking the stunned silence.
“That’s not the only reason,” said Mindy. This time people turned to her attentively. “Pastor Jack, when was the last time you preached a sermon on salvation by grace through faith?”
“You don’t even know what that means,” said Cummings, in a voice just short of a yell.
“It means we’re saved by God’s grace, given through Jesus, and received by faith. We’re not saved by what we do. Not by works”
“You aren’t teaching the young people that! They’ll think they can go out and do anything! It’s good for a young person to feel a bit of the flames of hell. Keeps ’em straight!” exclaimed Cummings, looking at Pastor Jack.
What Pastor Jack Was Called to Do
“I did. It’s what I believe. And it’s the best way I know to keep them straight.”
“Then why did you quit preaching it?” asked Mindy.
Pastor Jack looked straight at Cummings. “I stopped because you told me to. You said my preaching was too soft. You said I needed to preach more about sins and hell.”
“But you aren’t doing that!” It was Mindy’s turn to exclaim. “Well, except once. You preached about what a sin it was that we treated homeless people so poorly in this city. I don’t recall anything since.”
Pastor Jack was still looking at Cummings. “You told me to stop that as well.”
“I wanted you to preach about homosexuality, premarital sex, disrespect for elders, and other things that are destroying our society.”
“You did. But you see, I don’t know how to preach about all those things without also preaching about Jesus. If I preach about sin, I also have to preach about forgiveness, redemption, and divine healing. But I didn’t. I started preaching empty sermons.”
There was complete silence. Nobody knew what to say.
“God help me, I gave in, and quit preaching the gospel, the one thing I was called to do. I did it to keep my pension. I’m too old to find another pulpit.”
There was another awkward silence.
Pastor Jerry Gets a Job Offer
Then years of business experience came to the rescue of Chairman Randall Cummings.
“Pastor Jerry,” he said, “I think it’s time we promote you to senior pastor and get rid of this has-been. We need a real pastor.”
“Amen,” said Mrs. Jameson.
But Pastor Jerry just sat there.
“Come on,” said Cummings looking at Pastor Jerry. “I’m a church trustee. I have the keys. The decision of the elders is just an afterthought. You’re as good as Senior Pastor right now.”
“I don’t think so,” said Pastor Jerry slowly. “I too was called to preach the gospel. And I gave it up to pursue a career. You’ll have to find someone else.”
Locking the Building
Cummings had regained his decisive edge. He looked at the clock. “I’m locking the building at 10 o’clock, and won’t be opening it again until after we’ve chosen a new pastor, at least an interim.”
He stalked out of the room, and Mrs. Jameson followed.
Those left in the room looked at one another. “What do we do now?” asked Pastor Jerry.
Questions for Thought and Discussion
Are you fired up about anything? About the gospel?
Are the two pastors up for a fight?
Are there others in the church who will back them up?
What should they do?
Some Books to Help You Get Your Church on Track
(Graphics created with Adobe Express with Generative AI and some stock imagery.)
“We’re here to install your new Complete Health Solution,” announced the cheerful voice.
“But I didn’t order any such thing,” said the old man.
“You didn’t have to! This is all paid for by the Department of Health. There will be no cost to you, and you can pretty much forget doctor visits and taking medications.”
“But I didn’t order it,” said the old man, again.
“You didn’t have to!” Less cheerful now. “The Department of Health orders it for you. They pay for it. We install it. It makes your life better.”
“But I didn’t order it.”
“Please listen to me! You don’t have to order it. It’s provided to you free of charge. You don’t have to pay a thing or do anything. I install it. It makes your life better.”
“I am listening to you, but I didn’t order that thing.” The voice was very steady for an angry man past 100 years old.
“Listen, please! Ordering doesn’t matter. It’s yours, courtesy of the Department of Health. It monitors your vital signs, looks for medical problems before they happen. It puts any required medications into your food and water for you. It does everything! It’s a wonderful machine. Now just sit down over there in your recliner while I install it for you.”
“But. I. Didn’t. Order. It. Since you’re obviously mentally impaired, that means I. Don’t. Want. It.”
There was silence for a few moments.
“But it’s good for you! It’s a wonderful gift the Department of Health is just giving to you. Companies that make pills and pharmacies that dispense them will soon be a thing of the past. All your medication will come through one of these machines. You won’t have to worry about taking pills ever again.”
“I don’t take any pills. I didn’t order it.”
“Well, we’re providing it to you in any case. Please, just sign right here acknowledging acceptance of this wonderful gift.”
The old man looked at the text on the tablet screen. He read it carefully. He wondered if the cheerful installer had ever actually read the text, of if he just handed it out expecting a signature.
“I didn’t order it. Therefore, I won’t sign for it.” He handed the tablet and stylus back.
“But you can’t do that!”
“Actually, I can. Read it yourself. I didn’t order it. I won’t sign for it. I don’t want it.”
“If you die, it’s all your fault!” Not cheery any more.
“So true, young man, so true.” And the old man grinned.
(Featured image generated by Jetpack AI, in an ironic twist, considering the topic.)
The itinerant storyteller was old and gray, but while they showed the wear of travel, is clothes were of good quality, and he carried a sword and bow that were much above the average in the village. Such was expected of a successful storyteller.
So there was a huge fire that night in the center of the village, along with a fine feast, and a certain amount of beer, one of the products of the town. With the certainty of a law of nature, the visiting storyteller was invited to tell a story.
The children gathered near the old man, while the youth and adults crowded around, pretending they were less interested, but making sure they could hear.
“It is well-established that nobody can go through Entehrenac, which you may know as the pass of demons, during the months of winter,” he began.
He paused, waiting for a response. “Of course,” said an older boy. “Everybody knows that.”
“It is possible,” said the storyteller, “for everybody to be wrong.” There was a gasp from the crowd. This sounded like a dangerous statement. But storytellers were given great latitude in their culture. Besides, if this man would break with custom, the evening would be far more interesting than normal, say, if the storyteller told a traditional tale demonstrating the importance of living according to tradition and the decrees of the town elders.
“Long ago, so long ago that I had not even been born, a young woman lived with her family in a village just south of Entehrenac. Her name was Imeril. She was in her mid-teens and was a very unremarkable girl. She kept to herself mostly, other than helping her mother keep their house and care for younger brothers and sisters.
“Her father was a rich man. Some said this was because he was blessed by the gods. Others said it was because he was just plain lucky. Some admitted he had a way of finding gems and gold nuggets in the streams around their town. But others said he was a violent man and a thief, and that his riches were the result of theft, but nobody had been able to prove anything for years.
“Then one day an accuser arrived to claim that Imeril’s father had entered his house when he was not there, robbed him of gems he had stored there, and assaulted and killed his wife.
“The people gathered around the town shrine — it was much too small of a town to have a temple to any particular god — and the town priest, was asked to consult the gods. Nobody actually recalled how the man had become a priest, nor anything miraculous he might have accomplished, but it was well established,” the storyteller paused here for a moment, “that he was a priest and could, at need, determine truth.
“The priest required the sacrifice of a goat, which he examined carefully, and also rattled some bone dice around and read them with a knowing look on his face. Then he announced that the gods had spoken clearly in multiple ways, and they, the gods, declared Imeril’s father guilty as a murderer, thief, and also a rapist.
“Some further augury was required, this time costing two chickens.”
At this point some people noticed that the local town priest was looking frightened. Well, perhaps it was blasphemous to say the priest was frightened. Even in their thoughts, people changed that to “concerned.”
As well he should be! This way of describing priestly rituals was likely to cause people to question the value of the village priest. If they did that, they might question his rulings. If the did that, they might question the gods themeselves!
But the storyteller continued.
“Once the entrails of the chickens had been duly examined, and the dice again rattled and rolled, the priest announced the sentence. ‘This man and his entire household must be burned alive in the town square so as to cleanse our village of this evil.’ Some of the people were disturbed, wondering how it could be that a man they had known all their lives, even if they hadn’t really liked him, could be so evil that his sin must be expiated in such a dramatic and nasty fashion.
“But most of the villagers considered that the proper forms had been followed, and that the gods must have spoken, and almost immediately set about seizing the convicted man, his family, and even his slaves, of which he had two. The priest informed them that they were to create a huge bonfire just outside the town and burn the man and his household alive. This was, he told them, the will of the gods and what was required by tradition.
“Now Imeril, as a girl child, was supposed to be waiting for the results at home. In fact, a guard had been left to make sure nobody could escape, or, more importantly, carry out any valuable items from the house. She was certainly not supposed to hear the ceremony.
“But Imeril, though often quiet, was intelligent and observant. She thought this was not going to go well. She packed some things that might be needed in order to run, just in case, and then she took her six-year-old brother, a favorite of hers, climbed out a window in the back, and found a hiding place from which she could observe.
“It is, I must add, a very bad comment on the guard that she could do this. It says something about how alert the village people were that she could observe and listen with nobody noticing. It says something about the trust of a little brother that said brother remained totally quiet.
“When the verdict had been rendered by the priest, Imeril took her little brother, went to where she had hidden her supplies, and fled the village. It was winter, though spring was near. She decided the safest option was to go through Entehrenac, despite its reputation as the pass of demons, and the established fact that nobody could go through the pass in winter.
“It was perhaps, though not certainly, unfortunate that she was not as good at hiding her tracks as she had been at the other parts of her plan. A girl was not expected to learn how to travel quietly through the mountains while not leaving a trail.
“The people of the town gathered the household into the town square. Some of them were hesitant, but it only took a few mentions of the curse of the gods if they didn’t do precisely as those gods demanded to shut them up. The mob was getting quite stirred up enough to burn an entire household alive.
“Then suddenly someone noticed that Imeril was missing. They must have the entire household! If anyone escaped, the town would be under a curse. Nobody was sure whether the priest started this story, but he certainly agreed to it when asked.
“So a group of men from the village grabbed their hunting bows and hunting knives–swords were unknown in that village–and they proceeded to hunt for Imeril and the little boy. They almost missed some of the obvious clues that Imeril had left due to her complete lack of experience at traveling through the forest.
“Soon they realized that she was headed for Entehrenac. There was some discussion. But in the end, they decided they had to continue. After all, it takes considerable anger–real or contrived–to decide to burn an entire household.
“Imeril was well up into the pass by the time they caught up enough that she noticed them. While she was inexperienced, she was in good shape, and she moved fast. She was, I must add, very much motivated!
“She could tell that her pursuers were gaining on her, even though she was pretty sure they hadn’t noticed her yet. She was also slowed by the burden of a six-year-old child. She never considered leaving him behind.
“Then she saw her chance. There was a rock, the remnant of an earlier rock slide, that was near the edge of the path, which looked like it was about to fall in any case. Using a handy branch, she set about to send it over the edge to the trail behind her, which meant ‘below’ as well, to stop her pursuers. She was really thinking of blocking their path.
“But rocks in mountain passes that are subject to avalanches may have unexpected effects–never forget that should you be in a mountain pass–and it was just at the start of spring. The rock went over the edge almost as soon as she touched it with her branch, and it bounced against several other rocks and trees. At the end, it hit a log that was the last thing holding back tons of snow, rocks, and dirt, and set off a spectacular avalanche.
“The ground shook, and Imeril thought they would be carried away. In fact, the path a hundred feet behind her disappeared, but the path where she was and ahead of her remained in place. When the noise and shaking stopped, she could see nothing of her pursuers.
“She nearly died from cold crossing the rest of the pass, but a teenage girl emerged, barely alive, to find refuge with a farmer. The people on the north side of the mountain, as you know, are generally farmers.”
The storyteller paused, and let some of the children work themselves up to say, “Don’t stop there!”
Some of the adults hoped he would. They wished he had never come to town. Good stories were supposed to reinforce obedience and good behavior. Sure, the sentence had been harsh, but if people started arguing with the gods, where would it end?
But the storyteller was not finished.
“A few weeks later, some of the regular summer merchants got together the first expedition to go south through the pass. There they would bargain with the mountain dwellers for gold, silver, and gems. The first passage was always difficult, often requiring making new sections of trail, especially if there had been particularly bad avalanches.
“The merchants had heard of the girl who came out of the pass, but she had hired on with a merchant caravan weeks before, and besides, most of them didn’t believe she had come through the pass at all. It was an established fact that that was impossible.
“So they traveled through the pass, and they came to a place where they could see signs that the a stream had been blocked by an avalanche and then the blockage had been removed when enough snow and ice had melted. It looked bigger than any such catastrophe they had seen before, but they didn’t really understand just how big.
“Not until, that is, they got to where the village had been. That village was simply gone. They found just a few remains that might have been part of a village, but they might have missed them if they hadn’t been looking diligently.
“When word of this got back to people who had heard Imeril’s whole story, there were quite a number of explanations.
“Some people believed that Imeril’s father had been falsely accused, and thus the village had been cursed, and Imeril had miraculously survived.
“Others thought the village had been cursed by their carelessness in allowing someone under the condemnation of the gods to escape punishment.
“Others maintained that the entire story was made up.
“There were a few oldtimers who said, ‘Why do we need to invoke the gods? That’s the way villagers, village priests, mountains, snow, avalanches, and floods work. It’s a tough universe.’
“Imeril’s brother became rich and famous and is known as Galdor the Sailor.
“Imeril always tried to reenforce the first option, that her father had been falsely accused. It was the one that had kept her alive.
“But when I was old enough to understand my mother told me that was all nonsense. ‘Your grandfather was indeed a murderer, thief, and rapist. I escaped because I knew that, and assumed the gods would declare him guilty.”
It was a good thing the storyteller had such a good sword and knew how to use it.
“Your body maintenance nanotech package has been infected by a virus,” said the laughing voice via my virtual reality streaming implant, as I gasped for breath and felt my consciousness slip away.
(In a possibly ironic twist, the featured image was generated with AI.)
