43. Centering

Kent stayed in touch with all his contacts in the Region, looking for Fat Eddie and Grandma, but he wasn't allowed to spend the time up there he wanted to, taking their mugshots around to all the landlords in the area; he had to stay in his own district and play FTO, Field Training Officer, for his latest batch of newly graduated probationary troopers. It was an aspect of the job he enjoyed, building camaraderie and loyalty with the young officers, helping them learn good judgment in various situations, but not when a ten-year-old kid was missing. So he made phone calls and sent e-mails, and tried to remind himself to trust other departments to do their jobs.

But ten days went by, college baseball season started in Florida, where Purdue upset the #9 Huskies in the Big East/Big Ten Challenge, and Kent grew frustrated, missing all the action; he wanted to be in Hammond or, failing that, Tampa sure would have been nice.

Finally one night he said to Jamie, "Y'know, a month's come and gone on Michael. I wanted it done by now, but it ain't."

"You're doing everything you can."

"Let me ask you somethin'. I know you say you don't got an 'in' with God." Jamie looked at him seriously. "But I figure God's as interested as anyone in seein' Michael found, and anyone who tried to hurt him brought to justice."

"Yes."

"So why don't you try askin' God where he's at. See what happens. I ain't gettin' nowhere on this, Jamie, and here my boyfriend is good buddies with God. At the very least we can agree about that, you're pretty good buddies. Since God sees everything and knows everything, why don't you just try askin' him?"

Jamie frowned. "This is highly problematical, Kent."

"Why's that?"

"Well, let me get this right. You can't find Michael, despite your best efforts, so you pressure me to pressure God. Is that it?"

"I ain't askin' you to pressure nobody. I'm sayin' why don't you ask?"

"I really have to think about this. The one thing I will not do is put God to the test."

"What's that mean?"

"It's where a person goes to God and says, 'Okay, big guy, if you're so great, do me a miracle.' It's insulting to God, Kent, and it's faithless."

"There's some kinda crime in askin'? Is that what you're sayin'?"

"No; but you're looking for a shortcut."

"I'm lookin' to solve a crime here."

"Why don't you find a genie in a bottle somewhere?"

"Jamie, don't take that attitude."

"That's the way I hear it, Kent. Put the onus on God."

"Well, that ain't what I mean." They were silent a minute. "Work with me, baby."

Jamie thought awhile. "You could start with some humility."

"I got the ego goin', you're sayin'?" Jamie nodded. "Well, Lord, I don't mean that."

"The essential thing is realizing it's up to God, not us."

"Why wouldn't he cooperate?"

Jamie chuckled. "This is God you're dealing with, not an informant you can muscle around."

Kent smiled despite himself. "I ain't never prayed for a home run."

"Good. God doesn't care about your game. If there's anything that drives me nuts it's a basketball player crossing himself before he shoots a free throw. There was this one guy at NYU who used to do that every time. It made me furious—and it made me rebound."

"Help us get back on track here."

"There's nothing wrong with praying about this case. God does want Michael home. He does want the criminals caught. But we have to take the right approach. We have to ask, not demand. We have to open our hearts and tell God how much this hurts. A ten-year-old boy who never did anything wrong, who never missed school or church; but even if he was a terrible kid he doesn't deserve any of this."

"True."

"So we ask God for help, as we've been doing. We ask God to open our minds, to think of anything we've missed, any approach you haven't tried. We ask God to help us be active in solving this. We don't ask God to wave a magic wand because he doesn't have one; he wouldn't use it if he did. If we want something done we're the ones who have to do it; someone said, 'God has no other hands but ours.'

"And when we're done pouring out what's on our hearts, we shut up and listen."

Kent thought about that, then said, "I don't know how."

"Will you learn something called centering prayer? It's a kind of technique, Kent, and it's easy, anyone can do it. But we have to be taught how, they don't talk about it in church very much. Half the churches don't even know what prayer is. I didn't either when I was younger, but I'm learning. It starts this way: sit down and shut up. Forgive me for being blunt about it, but prayer does not consist of giving God marching orders, telling God what to do and whom to bless. You know what it starts with? It's painted right on top of Kessler Chapel. All they have to do is read, but they don't even bother."

Kent blinked, then said, "Let all the earth keep silence before him."

"Exactly. Want to try?"

"Yeah. Can't hurt nothin'."

"Let's go upstairs." They held hands and went to the new oratory. Kent looked around briefly; he'd only seen this room once since Jamie redid it, with the icons and altar and crucifix overhead. It looked sort of like the one in Dublin, except it was at Hickory Grove. Jamie said, "Have a seat." Kent sat, Jamie lit two candles on the altar, then turned out the overhead light. "We need a dimmer switch in here."

"Okay."

"I don't do electrical, Kent."

"Have Mr. Shuey do it, he prob'ly knows how."

Jamie sat too; they were silent for a minute, then he said, "Lord, you heard everything we said downstairs. We're worried about Michael; we're worried about the additional crimes being committed even today by Eddie and his mother. We know they're up to no good, and we know it's up to Kent and his colleagues to stop them. But we can't find them, Lord, and we need your help. So we come to you, admitting how powerless we are, and asking you to expand our minds and deepen our commitment. Help Kent and the other officers to do the work they need to do, to look in unexpected places, to think in new ways, so they can be your helpers. Remind us that your justice is what matters here, not our need for revenge or punishment; this isn't a game we're trying to win. Help these officers to keep your people safe. Make these officers instruments of your peace."

"Yes," Kent murmured.

"We know we're not worthy to ask, Lord. We know you're the one in charge of this world and not us. But if you can use this officer, Lord, please do. He wants to help. He wants to find Michael and the people who hurt him. He wants to protect the people being harmed today by these drug dealers, with all their violence and greed. If you can use some extra hands, Lord, Kent's got two.

"Now, we have confidence in your help. We know the love you have for all that you have made. You will be the one to solve this case. We know you'll do it, so we can be calm and quiet as you work.

"Help us to be centered and silent, and to listen to you. We live in a noisy world, but we're going to shut all that out now. We're going to let go of all our thoughts and empty ourselves so we can hear you. Help us to focus our spirits on your sacrificial love, as we behold your Son's gift of forgiveness and peace.

"Let 'peace' be the word we center ourselves on, Lord, in our silence. Every time a stray thought comes into our minds, thinking about food or hearing a noise outside, or whatever other thought comes to us, we'll let it come in one ear and out the other. We'll visualize those words coming in the left ear and going out the right one, and we'll silently repeat the word 'peace.'

"And though it may feel strange at first, just to sit here with you, not saying anything, listening to you, we'll let go of the strangeness too. We want to be with you, Lord. We're glad to be in your presence. And for once, we don't have to talk to you or tell you what to do. We want to listen instead. We ask you to guide us and show us the way.

"I'm going to set my timer, Lord, for 20 minutes, where we'll just be quiet with you. We thank you for being with us here. Help us let go of our thoughts, in one ear and out the other, as we become passive before you, with 'peace' as our silent watchword whenever we start to stray."

"Peace," Kent said softly.

"We'll let ourselves breathe deeply, so your Spirit can breathe in us. We'll let our bodies relax and our minds go blank, so we can hear you."

Kent realized that centering prayer was a little like hypnosis, which he believed in; a spiritual hypnosis with God as the guide.

Jamie set his timer and they were silent for 20 minutes. Candles flickered, saints prayed with them, and they listened for the word of God.


***

When the bell sounded, Kent opened his eyes and said, "I kinda liked that."

Jamie held his hand and stood up; Kent followed. Jamie moved his hand to Kent's back and they bowed together to the altar, which Kent had never done before. Jamie opened the door, then put out the candles, and they left the room, walking in silence back downstairs.

"Something to drink?"

"Iced tea?" Jamie got them some, then led the way to the front parlor. They sat in comfortable seats there, a novelty to Kent; Jamie's nice leather loveseat. Kent breathed. "Start a fire for ya, baby?"

"That would be nice."

They sat and watched the flames quietly. Kent put his arm around Jamie's shoulder.

"It's gonna happen," Kent said softly.

"I think so too."

"I don't got to worry about it so hard. Maybe that's where I was screwin' up."

"Just cooperate. Allow yourself to be led."

"This was kinda different from how Aunt Penn does it. But I liked it."

"It starts with the silence. And not having to fill it up."

"Cop Squad 101: If you're talkin', you ain't listenin'."

Jamie smiled, "Pretty basic."

"The 20 minutes was nothin'."

"I'm glad. You did very well."

"God'll take care of it."

"Every time I do this I think, the main message is, God is God and I am not."

"I don't gotta be the cleanup hitter." Kent looked at his lover. "Does that sound crazy?"

"No. That sounds right."

"Just stick with your teammates. Move the runners along. You don't gotta win it all by yourself." Kent snorted. "How many times have I said that to young kids? You'd think I'd never heard it myself."

"We're all nuts here," Jamie smiled. "I sure am. I get to thinking everything depends on me. But it doesn't."

"Let God be your manager." Kent grinned. "Sounds like the name of a book for minor leaguers."

"He still needs us to swing the bat."

"Me, I'm lookin' to make the catch."

"You will. Weren't you a Golden Glover with the Braves?"

"Two years."

"You'll catch them."

"Yup."

***

It was Wednesday, February 25. Jamie was aware of it all day; he'd told Kent about it well in advance, and again last night. Kent agreed and everything was set.

But he didn't get home until 7:22 p.m. As soon as he put down the garage door he saw Jamie hurrying toward him, bundled up in a suit, scarf, gloves, hat and overcoat. "Where have you been?"

"Baseball practice."

"You promised to be here at 6:30!"

"I did?" Kent blinked; he'd not only forgotten, he'd had a beer afterwards with the guys.

"You did. I told you about it two weeks ago, and again on Monday."

"Oh. What was I comin' home early for again?"

"To take me to church!"

"In the middle of the week?"

Daggers shot out of those eyes. "Kent, it's Ash Wednesday!"

Kent raised the garage door again. "Get in, then." But Jamie ducked under the door and got in the car before Kent could get the words out. He hustled back in too.

Jamie looked at the dashboard clock. "Seven twenty-four," he said through clenched teeth. "We'll never make it to Crawfordsville in time. They'll be done by now."

"When did it start?"

"Seven o'clock!"

"We can't get there a little late?" Kent backed the car out again.

"The imposition comes early, right after the Liturgy of the Word."

"I'm sorry, baby. What are you talking about?"

"Ash Wednesday! Even Methodists have heard of it. It's a holy day of obligation."

"Oh. Well, then, no problem. The Chapel's got Wednesday services, let's just go there. They don't start till 7:30." Kent headed west, not south.

"Will they have ashes? I'm sure mass is too much to hope for, but the least they could do is the ashes."

"It's Wednesday, Methodists know all about it, I'm sure they'll have what you're lookin' for."

Jamie sighed, "Well, okay. Are you sure?"

Kent wasn't, but he didn't say so. Two minutes later he pulled up at the Chapel. There were maybe eight other cars in the lot, but the lights were on inside. "Seven twenty-eight," he said, "two minutes early even."

"Well, that's good. I wonder what they'll sing."

"Does this mean I don't get no supper till after this is over?"

"The sweet and sour meatballs were done at 6:30!"

"Gee." Kent could use a few meatballs about now.

They got inside. The building was cold, of course. People were scattered among the pews, hallooing back and forth, louder than usual, calling across the room. Kent hustled Jamie up to the front with a hand on his back. Aunt Penn was there, but not Martha. They all whispered hello, then sat. Jamie began thumbing through a foreign book, trying to find Psalm 40.

In a couple of minutes Rev. Kirk appeared, dressed in a navy blue college sweatshirt and a pair of jeans; Jamie's heart sank. "Good evening, good evening!" Kirk cried. "Good to see everyone here again." He kept up his enthusiastic patter for a minute, then declared, "I thought we'd start out tonight with a good old-fashioned hymn sing! Just call out your favorite hymn number, Mrs. McClain is sure to know it, and we'll all sing it together! Just two verses so we can get to everybody, whatever you want to hear! Who's first! What's your all-time favorite hymn, just shout it out!"

Jamie's jaw dropped. He looked at Kent, and someone called out, "How 'bout 145?"

"One forty-five, everybody!" Kirk grinned, flashing 68 teeth like a TV pitchman. "One forty-five, let's see what we got!"

Number 145 turned out to be "Morning Has Broken," a pop song from 1971. Jamie told Kent, "This is about dawn. It's only been dark now for three hours."

"It's a hymn sing, Jamie." Mrs. McClain started beating out the chords on the piano up front. "We're liable to get anything tonight."

So they sang; old Kirk was mighty enthusiastic. He at least could carry a tune, unlike a screeching woman behind them. "Mor-ning Has Bro-ken, Like the First Mor-or-or-or-Ning…"

Next came "Jesus, Keep Me Near the Cross," which Jamie had never heard before, and "O Little Town of Bethlehem," the Christmas carol—Christmas, no kidding. The schmaltzy tune was the only one offered—the British one is halfway tolerable—so Jamie drew the line and would not sing a Christmas song on Ash Wednesday.

When somebody asked for "How Great Thou Art," he slapped his book shut, shoved it back in the rack, sat quietly and seethed.

He knew there would be no ashes tonight, certainly no Communion; probably no mention of Lent at all.

He could have exploded—especially if he'd known his husband was out drinking beer when he should have been home getting ready for a worldwide fast.

Jamie could only guess how many times Oprah and Dr. Phil would be mentioned in tonight's sermon, and hope he didn't hear from Dr. Laura instead.

But slowly, as he looked at the simple architecture and the slogan above the sanctuary, "Let all the earth keep silence before him," he also considered where he was, and who he was with.

There he sat, fit to be tied and mortified on top of it. But he was a guest in these people's house, so he managed at last to calm himself and not storm screaming out the door. This was Kent's family church, and he wouldn't embarrass him. He might try to educate him someday, or perhaps not. What would be the point?

Good ol' Kirk used his sermon to quote Dr. James Dobson instead, one of the leading homophobic bigots in the United States—though mercifully he didn't go off about Gay people tonight.

Kirk tippy-toed around a bit before finally endorsing Dobson, endorsing corporal punishment for children, with a quote from Leviticus about spared rods and spoiled butts.

Jamie ventured to glance at Kent, who sat next to him listening, or appearing to.

If Jamie and his brothers had been physically abused, he'd have gone ahead and caused a screaming shoutfest right there and then. But they weren't, it was only psychological terrorism, so he sighed and let it go, until he flashed on that minister in Mud Pine quoting the Ten Commandments at Michael.

Kent looked at Jamie and shook his head slightly; he didn't seem to agree with Kirk and James Dobson. Jamie was sorry he'd made Kent come to this.

At the prayer time, the usual potlucks, nursing home stinkers and dogs with liver spots got mentioned. Then after a listless version of "God Be With Us Till We Never Meet in This Fucking Place Again," it was finally over, the longest 52 minutes in Christianity.

Jamie took Aunt Penn's hand and kissed her cheek. She told him how glad she was that they came to Wednesday service. He smiled and did not reply.

Kent kindly warmed up the car, while Jamie stood around in the old, cold, filthy, empty church, so his husband could fulfill his guilty promise to keep him safe and warm with that vaunted door to door service to a bunch of Christmas-singing Methodists in God-fucking-February. Jamie almost had to laugh, they were so bad.

He did remember, though, what Josiah etched on that arch.

He started thinking ahead. Maybe he could zap the meatballs if they weren't too dried out.

He never did complain about Ash Wednesday once they got home, but only because he made a decision not to be passive-aggressive. Left to his own devices, he knew for sure he'd have picked a fight. He tried to be gentle with Kent's feelings. "Let the whole earth keep silence" is good advice.

The meatballs weren't too awful, but they'd have been a lot better two hours earlier. Then Kent asked, "What's Ash Wednesday, anyway?" Like taking a match to a stick of dynamite.

Jamie just stared at him in disbelief. "Do I know you? Have we met before?"

"Look, I know I fucked up. But tell me anyway, what's Ash Wednesday?"

"The beginning of Lent."

"What's Lent?"

"A season of penitence and fasting."

Kent's lip curled up, "Why?"

"Because we're sinners, that's why!"

"It don't sound like much fun."

"Fun was last night. Mardi Gras, Carnival. When Ash Wednesday comes, the party's over."

"What does a season mean?"

"Forty days. The same amount of time Jesus spent praying in the wilderness before he started his public ministry. He was tempted by the devil, but did not sin."

Kent was silent for a time, then said, "Important day, huh?"

"Very. It's not grim, though; the soul learns to enjoy the period of reflection."

"Why's it called that? About ashes and all."

"The priest puts her thumb in a little pot of ashes, then makes the sign of the cross on your forehead. She says, 'Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.' It's a reminder of mortality, so let's use this time to live right."

"Ashes? From a cigarette, a fireplace?"

"No," Jamie smiled. "Specially prepared ashes, black as coal, from burning the fronds saved from Palm Sunday last year."

"I never knew what Palm Sunday meant either."

"The Chapel doesn't give out palm fronds a week before Easter?"

"I don't think so."

He'd only been going there for 27 years, you'd think he'd know by now. "Those poor kids. How can they learn if they don't get palm fronds?"

"It's a kid's thing, then?"

"No, the palms mean as much to adults as to children; but kids learn and remember the story when you hand out palm fronds to everyone."

"What story? I'm sorry, Jamie, I don't know."

Jamie was floored, unable to speak for a minute.

He reconstituted and said, "I understand; you've never been taught. When Jesus was done with his ministry, and the political pressure on him reached a fever pitch, he made a triumphant entrance into Jerusalem for Passover, riding a donkey. His followers gathered, waving leaves they pulled off the palm trees, and laying down blankets for his donkey to walk on. It turned into quite a procession, which only scared the authorities that much more. On Maundy Thursday, he held his Last Supper at the Passover meal with his 12 disciples; he washed their feet and instituted Holy Communion."

"Oh."

"Then later that night he was betrayed to the cops by Judas Iscariot. The next morning at noon, Christ was crucified."

"Pretty important events, huh."

"Yes. And the season that leads up to them is called Lent, which starts on Ash Wednesday."

"I'm real sorry, babe."

"You're my guy, Kent. It's not your fault, it's Kirk's. Who hired that ignorant, unqualified jerk?"

"Uh, my Dad."

"Your father had the power to hire the minister by himself?"

"The Trust owns the Chapel, Jamie."

"Oh my." Jamie swallowed. "Not the bishop? Methodist bishops have the power to hire and fire, move people around. It's a vestige of Wesley's circuit riding that Methodists are… stuck on." Episcopalians would burn down cathedrals if their bishops tried that.

"Well, all I know is the President of the Trust has the power to hire and fire."

"Whatever did your father see in Kirk?"

"Well, we're tryin' to grow the church by startin' a sports ministry. We figure that's how to get more kids from the Town of Friends, by offerin' sports."

"Smart idea; but why him?"

"He played football at Hanover, a pretty good athlete."

"Is the strategy working?"

"Well, it's been kinda slow up to now. We do offer soccer teams in the summer, that brings some kids out. Everyone gets to play regardless of their skill level. But there's more we could be doin', I don't know why some of it hasn't happened. I don't go to the deacon's meetings, I guess I figure bein' Sunday School superintendent is enough."

"Is Kirk ordained? Did he go to seminary?"

"Well, Dad would know."

"How long has Kirk been here?"

"Five years. I know you don't like him."

"It's not that I don't like him; I don't consider him competent. If he was hired to set up a sports ministry, and all you've got after five years is a soccer league, no wonder there isn't any growth." Jamie rubbed his face. "Listen, it's not up to me to tell you how to run your church. But I don't want to go there. I've sat through two sermons now and that's plenty."

"Well, I didn't think too much of tonight myself."

"O Little Town of Bethlehem." Jamie burst out laughing.

"It's February, Christmas is over."

"A hymn sing is a great filler when you don't have anything to say. Kirk doesn't even sound like a Christian, much less a seminary graduate. He could have read Evening Prayer if he was that desperate, but he probably doesn't know what it is."

"Well, we disappointed you again, huh."

"He never mentions God in his sermons. He should be out on his ass."

"Well, that'd be sayin' Dad made a mistake."

Cardinal sin. "No; let's say Dad did good, because a sports ministry could be a real strategy. But if it's barely been implemented after five years, maybe you're the one starting to make the mistake, if you keep Kirk on. I'm sorry, Kent, that's how I feel. Why does the family own the Chapel?"

"It's our land. Josiah built the structure. We're buried there, it's our place."

"I can't believe a Methodist bishop would put up with it."

"Well, Aunt Penn could tell ya. I just know I can hire and fire."

"Does Kirk have a contract?"

"Runs out June 30th."

"Then examine him. I hate to say it; this is a man's job here. But he doesn't seem equipped, Kent, he never mentions Jesus; maybe you have to move him out. He isn't performing, Kent. In any other church there'd be massive complaints about him."

"Well, I don't know. Nobody's complained to me. Most people like him pretty good."

Jamie sighed, "Okay. I've made my views known. From here on it's up to you." He stood, started clearing the table. "But from now on it's fish on Fridays, buddyboy. And Evening Prayer every freaking night."

"I like fish."

"Good. You're getting it for seven straight weeks."

"We pray before supper or after?"

"It depends on when you get home."

"Well, that won't be bad at all."

Jamie looked at his lover and considered. "Then we'll have to find a way to make it less easy. No meat on Friday; not breakfast, not lunch, not dinner."

"Why not? Jamie, you're gettin' mean."

For the first time Jamie realized Kent always started whining when he knew he was getting beat. "To remind us that Christ was executed on Good Friday!"

Kent frowned but didn't say anything more. Soon he jumped up to help clear the table, before Jamie asked him why he came home with beer on his breath.

Jamie didn't want his Facebook friends finding out he spent Ash Wednesday listening to "O Little Town of Bethlehem."

As for the rest of the music, the fastest way to get Episcopalians hopping mad is to make them sit through "How Great Thou Art." Sometimes they turn violent; they'll lock your ass up in the Tower of London and you'll never be heard from again—at least till the BBC miniseries.

Kent was just glad he escaped.++



© 2011 Josh Thomas, All Rights Reserved.