fatal.
“Now, dear, I’m only looking out for your best interests. You’re far too young and inexperienced. Besides, taking on these responsibilities would leave you with no time for what little social life you do have.” She pauses. “Oh dear, I mean—”
“Thank you, Edna, but this decision has nothing to do with Betsy’s social life.” Thin, balding Ed looks around the table too, eyes narrowed and lips pursed as if he’s checking temperature gauges at fifteen paces. He’s the only one who would dare contradict his sister. “The bottom line is that Dr. Black’s contract gives him the right to retire on short notice. It also requires us to pay his salary through the end of the year.”
Pay his salary through the end of the year? My jaw drops, and I have to tell the muscles in my face to pull it closed. I knew senior ministers had a little more butter on their bread, but this is the whole cow.
Gus Winston, the chair of the stewardship committee, clears his throat behind the restriction of his bow tie. “We don’t have the reserves to pay three ministers for that length of time. Our debt load on the new activity center is too high.” He’s referring to the addition we built in a last-ditch effort to attract some members not eligible for AARE It’s now shuttered and silent, and it isn’t even paid for.
Ed nods. “That’s why Betsy’s the perfect solution. She can fill both chairs. In the meantime, we’ll start a search committee. We can have a new senior pastor in place by next January.”
I snort with laughter, and their vulture-like heads swing my way. “Um, sorry, it’s just that a search process normally takes at least a year. Sometimes eighteen months. Isn’t it a little … um … ambitious to think a new minister would be in place by January?”
Ed frowns at me. “That’s really up to us, Betsy. We just need you to hold the fort through the end of the year. It’s not that much to ask, really, considering what we’ve done for you.”
What they’ve done for me? He’s got to be kidding, but there’s not a hint of humor in any line on Ed’s face. This is the church that put me up in a Motel 6 when I came to interview, refused to pay my moving expenses unless I rented a U-Haul and carted all my stuff myself, and makes me pay the church hostess for any leftovers I take home from fellowship dinners.
“I don’t think—”
I never get a chance to finish the sentence. Judge Blount clears his throat in preparation for rendering a decision. As the chair of theelders, he represents the spiritual leaders of the church. On cue, the others swivel their heads toward him and wait in respectful silence.
“We don’t need a real senior minister for this interim. Just someone to preach and make hospital visits. Betsy can do that, which leaves our bottom line intact.”
I wouldn’t be surprised to see steam coming out of my ears. If these people valued me any less, they’d have me typing up the Sunday-morning worship bulletins and sticking address labels on the weekly newsletter.
“I’m not sure—”
Marjorie Cline, who’s sitting next to me, sets her knitting down on the table and reaches over to pat my hand with her gnarled fingers. “I’m sure our Betsy will be delighted to do what we ask. She knows we couldn’t get along without her.” Marjorie says it so sweetly, with such trust, that I can’t do anything but stammer.
“That’s settled, then,” Ed says. He nods at me. “Betsy, we’ll have to ask you to excuse yourself so we can talk about starting the search process. Thanks for coming.”
Just like that. In less than ten minutes, they’ve decided my fate, and all I’ve managed to do is splutter out a few half-formed sentences of protest.
I try to form the word no , but my lips won’t move. Not because I don’t want the job and I’m afraid, but because suddenly I do want the job. And I’m very afraid.
I love preaching. I love visiting people in the hospital.
“Now, dear, I’m only looking out for your best interests. You’re far too young and inexperienced. Besides, taking on these responsibilities would leave you with no time for what little social life you do have.” She pauses. “Oh dear, I mean—”
“Thank you, Edna, but this decision has nothing to do with Betsy’s social life.” Thin, balding Ed looks around the table too, eyes narrowed and lips pursed as if he’s checking temperature gauges at fifteen paces. He’s the only one who would dare contradict his sister. “The bottom line is that Dr. Black’s contract gives him the right to retire on short notice. It also requires us to pay his salary through the end of the year.”
Pay his salary through the end of the year? My jaw drops, and I have to tell the muscles in my face to pull it closed. I knew senior ministers had a little more butter on their bread, but this is the whole cow.
Gus Winston, the chair of the stewardship committee, clears his throat behind the restriction of his bow tie. “We don’t have the reserves to pay three ministers for that length of time. Our debt load on the new activity center is too high.” He’s referring to the addition we built in a last-ditch effort to attract some members not eligible for AARE It’s now shuttered and silent, and it isn’t even paid for.
Ed nods. “That’s why Betsy’s the perfect solution. She can fill both chairs. In the meantime, we’ll start a search committee. We can have a new senior pastor in place by next January.”
I snort with laughter, and their vulture-like heads swing my way. “Um, sorry, it’s just that a search process normally takes at least a year. Sometimes eighteen months. Isn’t it a little … um … ambitious to think a new minister would be in place by January?”
Ed frowns at me. “That’s really up to us, Betsy. We just need you to hold the fort through the end of the year. It’s not that much to ask, really, considering what we’ve done for you.”
What they’ve done for me? He’s got to be kidding, but there’s not a hint of humor in any line on Ed’s face. This is the church that put me up in a Motel 6 when I came to interview, refused to pay my moving expenses unless I rented a U-Haul and carted all my stuff myself, and makes me pay the church hostess for any leftovers I take home from fellowship dinners.
“I don’t think—”
I never get a chance to finish the sentence. Judge Blount clears his throat in preparation for rendering a decision. As the chair of theelders, he represents the spiritual leaders of the church. On cue, the others swivel their heads toward him and wait in respectful silence.
“We don’t need a real senior minister for this interim. Just someone to preach and make hospital visits. Betsy can do that, which leaves our bottom line intact.”
I wouldn’t be surprised to see steam coming out of my ears. If these people valued me any less, they’d have me typing up the Sunday-morning worship bulletins and sticking address labels on the weekly newsletter.
“I’m not sure—”
Marjorie Cline, who’s sitting next to me, sets her knitting down on the table and reaches over to pat my hand with her gnarled fingers. “I’m sure our Betsy will be delighted to do what we ask. She knows we couldn’t get along without her.” Marjorie says it so sweetly, with such trust, that I can’t do anything but stammer.
“That’s settled, then,” Ed says. He nods at me. “Betsy, we’ll have to ask you to excuse yourself so we can talk about starting the search process. Thanks for coming.”
Just like that. In less than ten minutes, they’ve decided my fate, and all I’ve managed to do is splutter out a few half-formed sentences of protest.
I try to form the word no , but my lips won’t move. Not because I don’t want the job and I’m afraid, but because suddenly I do want the job. And I’m very afraid.
I love preaching. I love visiting people in the hospital.
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