And the Shofar Blew (52 page)

Paul spent hours working on his confession, writing out what he needed to say, going over it to make certain he hadn’t left anything out. When Sunday morning rolled around, he was exhausted. He spent an hour on his knees praying before he took his shower. His hand shook when he shaved. He nicked himself. If he wasn’t careful, he’d slit his own throat. He washed his face, used a styptic pencil to stop the bleeding, and dressed carefully. His tie felt like a noose.

The house was quiet when he came out of his office. The master-bed-room door was closed. So was the guest-room door. Timothy’s door was open, but he wasn’t there. Paul knew he had no right to expect his family to attend church with him, especially today of all days.

He arrived an hour early and alone, his carefully organized notes in a folder on the front seat. He wanted to be prepared. He needed to get it right this time.

The church was unlocked, the choir members practicing. They sounded great, but the words had nothing to do with the message Paul was going to give that morning, and nothing to do with the blood of Jesus Christ who’d saved them from eternal damnation.

Paul went into his office. The last time he’d been in here was the morning Eunice walked in on him and Sheila Atherton. His face burned as he straightened the cushions on the couch, put the chair back where it be-longed, and sat at his desk. He removed Sheila’s number from the speed-dial. He took Eunice’s picture out of his desk drawer and looked at it. He set the picture on his desk. He thought about Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, sweating blood because of what He knew He had to do.

He wept.

Help me do what’s right, God. For once, let me get it right. Oh, Lord, You’ve
seen my wandering. You watched me as I led these people astray. You were a witness
to every sin I’ve committed. I’ve been so busy making my way in the world
that I lost the way. Against You and You only have I sinned, and in doing so
brought immeasurable harm to others.

Cars were filling the parking lot. Ushers collected the bulletins in the outer office. He could hear them talking. He hadn’t even titled his sermon this time.

It was quieter now. Everyone would be finding their seats. He could hear the music playing, the kind that made everyone comfortable. A medley of songs. Not a hymn among them. He cringed as he remembered telling Eunice she would no longer be a part of the music ministry because she had dared to sing a song about the cleansing blood of Jesus.

He took a last look at his typed notes, tucked them into his Bible, and left his office. His heart pounded harder with each step. His stomach clenched. His palms were sweating. He entered the inner corridor to a small waiting area. Like a theater’s greenroom, he realized. The choir was singing.

“There you are!” One of the associates approached with a nervous laugh. “I was beginning to wonder if I should run downstairs to my office and pull out one of my old sermons.”

John Deerman met him at the side entrance to the stage and shook his hand. “I’ll be praying for you, brother.”

Everything was ready for Paul Hudson. The audience had been primed. It was time for the headliner to come onstage and wow them.

Everywhere he looked, Paul came face-to-face with what he had done over the last fourteen years. The congregation applauded as the choir members—dressed in red satin, white-trimmed robes—filed out in orderly fashion. “Glad to have you back, Pastor Paul,” several said as they passed.

One leaned close. “Boy, did we miss you last Sunday. It’s just not the same when we have a guest speaker!”

Paul crossed the stage and put his Bible on the podium. He opened it, took his notes out, and laid them out so he could glance down. It was the most important sermon of his life. He didn’t want to botch it.

It was suddenly so quiet, he felt the hair raise on the back of his neck. He raised his head and saw the sea of faces.

Eunice was sitting in the front row, head bowed. Timothy sat to her right, looking up at him the way he must have looked at his own father. His mother sat to Eunice’s left, her expression guarded. Was she preparing herself for another disappointment?

Row by row, he recognized the faces of people who had come to hear him talk over the years. Talk, not preach. Entertain, not enlighten.

He was surprised to see Reka sitting in the eighth pew. She clasped her hands and pressed them to her heart. Forgiveness and fellowship offered. His throat closed.

Two men stood in the open doorway of the sanctuary. Samuel Mason leaned heavily on his cane as he stepped into the last pew, moved down enough to make room for Stephen Decker, and sat.

Paul heard the soft rumbling of the crowd. They were uncomfortable with his long silence. They were used to him striding out onto the stage and letting out a booming “Good morning!” People looked at one another and whispered. He saw a few who prayed.

Was he going to speak to please the crowd? Or was he going to speak to the audience of One? Was he going to walk by fear or by faith? It all came down to that. Fear had made him focus on his problems. Fear had made him rebel and run the wide road his father had laid out for him, a road to prestige, popularity, prosperity—the road of pride and perdition.

What was it going to be? Half-turns and half-truths? Or an about-face?

Paul didn’t look at his notes. He didn’t need them. He needed Jesus. He prayed silently that the Lord would give him the words, and then he said, “I have given my resignation to the board, and I am removing myself from any leadership position in any church for the foreseeable future.” He saw their faces, heard the rush of whispers, and continued. “It is necessary that I do this because I have sinned grievously against the Lord.”

Broken and contrite, Paul Hudson bared his soul before his congregation, and as he did, the fear left him. He spoke openly of his struggle with truth, his surrender to pride, his headlong fall into sin, and the devastating costs to those he loved the most: his wife, his son, his friends, his brothers and sisters in Christ. After all he had done, even now, they were faithful and praying for him.

And then he talked about his Redeemer, Jesus Christ. He talked about the love of God, who gave His only begotten Son so that all who believed in Him would have eternal life. Even men like him who had failed on all fronts—as husband, father, friend, and pastor. As Jesus hung on the cross, dying, He said, “It is finished.” And so it was. Victory would not come through the efforts of men, but had already been achieved by Christ Jesus when He proved He had power over death, that only in Him would there be life.

“In this world you have tribulation, but in Christ, you have life. When you give yourself to Jesus Christ, nothing can separate you from the love of God. He will never let you go.”

Paul didn’t know what awaited him at the end of this service. He didn’t know what would come in the days ahead. What happened to him didn’t matter. These people did. He spoke without looking at the wall clock or trying to keep his presentation to fifteen minutes exactly because he might lose their attention. He said what had to be said, and prayed God would do something with it.

Whatever comes, Lord, whatever happens, keep me faithful.

“You have looked to me for answers over the years, and I led you astray. Today, for the first time in years, I have preached the true gospel of Jesus Christ, God the Son of almighty God. And now I must warn you. When I leave this position, another man will come and speak to you. And I tell you in all truth now, you will be held responsible for what you believe. Ignorance will be no excuse. And this is the truth: It is Jesus Christ you must follow! Jesus is the one who died for you. Jesus is the one with power over sin and death. Jesus is your Savior and Lord. There is no other way to salvation than through faith in Him.”

He had said everything God called him to say, and said no more. Not a soul whispered in the church. No one moved. There was no sound in the sanctuary.

Paul took one long, last look at his congregation and felt an overwhelming love for them. So many lost sheep. Tears filled his eyes. “Beloved, hear the truth. Take it into your hearts and be at peace. In Christ, you have nothing to fear. Without Him, you have no hope.”

Paul Hudson picked up his Bible and left the stage.

Dear Reader,

We hope you enjoyed this timely novel by Francine Rivers about relationships, the church, and God’s call on people’s lives. As always, Francine’s desire is for you, the reader, to get into God’s Word and discover His life-changing truths for yourself. We hope the following questions will help you to do that.

The shofar is a trumpet. It is usually a ram’s horn. In the Old Testament Joshua, Gideon, and Joab, to name a few, used the shofar to lead the children of Israel. It was used to announce, to alert or warn of danger, to call to battle, or to call to action. It is still used in Judaism to call the people to accountability on the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur). We read in Zechariah 9:14 that the Lord Himself will blow the shofar to call His people. In the New Testament, we read that angels will use the trumpet to announce the warnings for the “end times” and, ultimately, Christ’s return.

Today, the Holy Spirit and God’s Word, the Bible, call out to us in much the same way as the shofar: God’s voice warns us, alerts us to danger, calls us to action or to times of rest, and, most important, calls us to accountability. In
And the Shofar Blew,
we read about different ways people think they are hearing God’s voice—sometimes authentic, sometimes counterfeit—as well as different responses to Him. Sometimes He speaks in a “still, small voice”; other times, in a resounding blast. The questions begging to be asked are: Are we listening? Are we attentive to God’s voice? How will we respond?

May God bless you as you seek Him for the answers. For surely, the shofar will blow!

Peggy Lynch