Chapter Eleven

“No, that is not the right squadron patch. I need the 55th”, Gus mumbled. He was walking up and down the aisles in the Base Exchange looking for the right collection of patches for both the stripes for his rank and to identify his unit. He would need new boots, and five new sets of fatigues in his size. He needed a cap for when he was outdoors. Five sets of undershirts, which were required under the fatigues. He found the elastic bands that he would need to keep his pants up off of his boots on the endcap of the next aisle. He hated those things because they cut into his leg and left a mark. This wasn't working, and Gus was starting to panic. How would he get the stripes and patches sewn on all five sets of fatigues in time to report to his unit in time for his Chief Master Sergeant to not chew him out? And why had he gotten called back into duty in the Air Force anyway? He was running out of time...

The alarm on the nightstand next to his bed began to blare loud music from the rock station the previous guest had set it to, and Gus reached over and slapped the snooze button. Hard. He drifted back to sleep for the nine minutes that the snooze function allowed him, and then hit the button harder this time. Gaining consciousness, he opened one eye and sought out the red LEDs that would orient him in time on the planet. 9:10 am. What day? Sunday, he thought. Sunday? Yes, Sunday. His awakening mind slowly sorted it all out as he stretched and pushed off the thin comforter with cigarette burns in it. Friday was the bad night, tattoo and all. Saturday – was that just yesterday? - was the long day where he met up with Carlo and went shooting. He looked down instinctively to see the yellow and black bruise on his right shoulder where the rifle had kicked him on the first shot. Sunday. Today is Sunday. 9:15 now. Church would be in an hour. Better get moving, he thought sluggishly.

Sitting on the edge of the bed with the fog of sleep slowly clearing from his brain, Gus relived the dream that he had just woken up from. It was an old familiar dream that he had woken up from on many mornings, increasingly so in the last year. It was one of his two 'stress dreams', and he hated them both. This one had him getting called back into military service and floundering to get uniforms together to report for duty in. It was painful, a stress-filled night of failure, as was the other dream. That one had him running fruitlessly around a college campus trying to locate the lecture hall that his midterm exam was being held in. That one had actually happened to him and must have been traumatizing enough that it seared into his brain and resurfaced periodically to torment him when he was under stress.

Am I under stress, Gus thought? He thought about that while he was heating a pack of weak instant coffee at the bathroom vanity. This room was cheap, but at least it had a coffee maker as an amenity. He stirred in two packets of sugar substitute, and sat down on the chair beside the bed. Gus didn't want to think very often about the stress level that he was experiencing, but the stress dream did not lie. Nor did the tattoo, and the message of the verse that he had chosen.

“God is close to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

Sitting there in the chair sipping coffee in the cheap motel, alone, Gus admitted to himself that he was both of those things. Brokenhearted. Crushed in spirit. He hadn't really talked to anyone since Kurt had died in that car accident about how crushed he was. Talking about it yesterday with Carlo had brought it all back. He couldn't hide from it this morning here alone with his thoughts and his stress dream. There was so much stress with his children's issues before the accident. But hey, everyone deals with family problems. Right? His were tough, but weren't special. They wore on him. Wore on his wife. But didn't everyone have trials and tribulations? Wasn't that just life? That's what he told himself to get through. To keep going. But burying your child, well that will just take you down. Lord, how do you carry on brokenhearted and crushed in spirit? Gus picked up the tin of tattoo wax and rubbed it in slow circles deeply into the fresh tattoo on his left arm. Not a lot of people he knew would believe that he had gotten one.

Glancing at the clock again, Gus gave quick thought to skipping church this morning. He wasn't feeling particularly sociable this morning, and the thought of greeting people and putting on the “I'm okay” smile wasn't appealing. He hadn't been attending Sunday School class for a very long time, and no one would miss him there. He hadn't been very active at church at all for a while now, for that matter if he was being honest with himself. But then he wasn't being very honest with himself at all either. He was just surviving. He had found a place to hide out in ministry service on the tech team, and it surved that purpose well. He couldn't just not show up for his role this morning, though. That would be unfair to someone else who would have to cover for him in his job. No. He needed to get going and be on time for sound check. Gus jumped into the shower and dressed in slacks and a dress shirt and headed that way.

Parking was tight in the overflow parking lot, which was a good sign for growth, and he parked off in the grass in the back of the building so that visitors could find a space. Gus went in a back door and up the long hall to the sanctuary. He could swear that he past a hundred people in the hallway that he had not met yet. How could that be? He's been a member here for 25 years now. Were they growing that much? Or, was he hiding that much? Gus headed to the tech area to check in with tech team leader Brian Halloran for his role on the sound board. Brian would know if there were any specials on the program today, and if anyone needed to practice on the microphones before the service began. Gus had been looking for a new ministry opportunity five years ago to slow down from his teaching roles, and had volunteered for the tech team at a ministry fair. An opening came up for the sound board and he volunteered to take it on. He wasn't a singer or musician, and didn't have the best ear for how things sounded. But, he was an electronics guy and liked managing the pots and sliders on the board to try to get the best sound. He could handle the pressure of 32 channel input from the platform, from instruments and singers. The biggest challenge was anticipating who was going to speak, sing, or play next and get their microphone on in time – or off in time as it may be. He could use some more training on the equalizers, though, to get the best sound and to solve sound problems. He reminded himself to ask Brian for more training there.

“Good morning, Gus”, Brian said as he greeted him. “I've got good news for you this morning. I meant to call you about this. I've made a schedule to rotate everyone so that you don't have to work every Sunday all year. We have some new volunteers, and I'll be training them this month on the board. You have this month off. Go sit in the service with your family and get ministered to. We've got it. I appreciate what you do on the team. Take this month off and get recharged, okay? I'll need you back at it next month.”

That was a surprise, and it left Gus unsure of what to do next. He could have skipped church after all, he realized, and the temptation to do so came on him again. I could walk out the door and head over to the house and no one would miss me, he thought. He stopped where he was, mulling over the thought of leaving. But, he was here and it would be good for his tired soul to participate. He knew that. He was getting to a decision to stay for the service when he looked up toward the platform and saw the praise band walking in and taking their positions. Carlo was at his position plugging in his base guitar and waved at Gus in the back of the room. Gus waved back and cinched his decision to stay. Now he had a connection to the service. Carlo knew he was there, and cared that he was there. Gus took a seat on the outside aisle of the back row and settled in to look at the program for the service as people filled in the pews around him.

The orchestra sounded terrific from this part of the room. Gus closed his eyes and just listened to the song as a song, which was different that listening to it as a sound board tech for volume and quality and feedback. Different, and better. He realized that he recognized the melody line of a familiar old hymn in an orchestral version, and he settled in to his seat. He could, with his eyes still closed, hear chatter in the pews around him and the rustling of the pages of the church bulletin. But he tuned it out. He basked in the deep rich sound of the orchestra. How Great Thou Art. Recognizable. Hummable. He could even pick out Carlo's bass line setting time for the others. Nice.

Pastor Samuels made the announcements and invited everyone to read the bulletin, though many were well into it. Gus left his on the pew unopened and scanned around the sanctuary. There were many old friends in the service, and he sought them out when the pastor invited everyone to take a minute to greet each other. More than one person said “Glad to see you” followed by a “where have you been?”. The first two times he tried to explain that he had been here working in the sound booth all along, but he shortened that to “I've been around”. Then why hadn't he said hello to these fine folks in quite a while, he wondered. He had been around, but hiding out in plain sight was the truth. Gus found his place again on the back pew as the song leader invited everyone to remain standing and sing with the praise band.

Gus loved singing, whether he was good at it or not. That was a problem for the people around him, not for him. And he really loved singing the praise choruses. He didn't sing when he was on the soundboard because he couldn't sing and listen at the same time, and his job required listening with apt attention for well over an hour in a typical service. Singing was a different experience than listening, and he slipped easily back into the habit. The song leader was skilled at leading worship, and at building a moment in the presence of God through song. Without thinking about it consciously, Gus slipped into an attitude of worship. Not to “be fed”, as the faithful sometimes said. He was too empty to relate to being fed. But, he remembered how to offer worship to the Lord.

Hymns merged with praise choruses. Yes, Gus thought, as one of his favorites to sing came up: Matt Redman's “Blessed Be Your Name”. It had been a while since he had sung that song, and Gus had to watch the overhead projector screen to remember the lyrics:

“Blessed be your name

In the land of the plentiful, Where your streams of abundance flow

Blessed be your name”

It crossed Gus's mind that it was easy to bless God's name in good times.

“Blessed be your name, When I'm found in the desert place

Though I walk through the wilderness, Blessed be your name”

Did he know that verse? Had he paid attention to that verse before? That was a paradox. Bless God's name in the wilderness? Really?

“Every blessing you pour out, I'll turn back to praise

When the darkness closes in, Still I will say

Blessed be the name of the Lord”

Stop! Gus wanted to stop. He looked around at his fellow congregants who were singing on auto-pilot a song they had sung many times before. Are you listening to the lyrics, he wondered? Do you hear them? When the darkensess closes in? Blessed be the name of the Lord? Do you know how profound that is? His mind was racing as the paradox was repeated in the second verse.

Blessed be your name, when the sun's shining down on me

When the world's all as it should be, Blessed be your name.

Blessed be your name, on the road marked with suffering

When there's pain in the offering, Blessed be your name.”

There it was again. That paradox. When the world is as it should be. And when there is pain and suffering. Blessed be your name. Both. Gus suddenly understood that paradox on a deep level. He had been walking down the road marked with suffering since the accident that claimed Kurt's young life. Could he bless the Lord's name on that road? He was still reeling from this thought when the song leader segued into the old hymn “It is Well With My Soul”.

“When peace like a river attendeth my soul

When sorrows like sea billows roll

Whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say

it is well, it is well, with my soul”

There it is again! The same paradox. Had he missed it all these years? When sorrows like sea billows roll...Maybe he hadn't been able to relate to that emotion all of the previous times he had sung this song, and he had sung it many times. Is it well with my soul? Can it be well with my soul, ever again? That thought was roiling his mind, alone in the pew, when the song leader began the last song before the sermon.

“Lord prepare me, to be a sanctuary

pure and holy, tried and true

and with thanksgiving, I'll be a living, Sanctuary, for you.”

Tried. That's all he heard out of that song. Pure and holy, no. True? No. With thanksgiving? No. Tried. Yes.

Pastor Samuels took the podium and began his sermon. Gus knew from experience that it would be a half hour long or so, and that the pastor would pace the platform with the freedom of the mobile wireless microphone. He had a bit of standup comedian in him, and could often sprinkle jokes into his message as most good pastors could. But not on this Sunday morning. It took Gus a few minutes to finish processing the worship songs that they had just sung, and how they had spoken to him, and to tune into the pastor's message. He realized that Rev. Samuels was preaching a heartfelt message on the pain in the congregation. He had conducted a funeral yesterday for a long time member of the congregation, and he offered comfort to a bereaved family. Another member had lost his father as well. Others were in the midst of job loss or family members in the hospital. The pastor was speaking personally to many of the two hundred silent people in the sanctuary. Recognizing their loss. Walking from family to family as he addressed their need. He passed by Gus and squeezed his shoulder on the way back to the platform, and Gus was touched by the gesture.

Verse after verse on the overhead projector illustrated the message. And before he knew it, Psalm 34:18 was up on the screen.

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

Gus reflexively reached up and touched where his tattoo was now, as he scrutinized the pastor. Did he know? Was he directing this message at me, he wondered? It seemed tailored. Pointed. A direct hit.

“Many of you will read that verse and capitalize parts of it in your mind. It goes like this. The Lord is close to the BROKENHEARTED, and saves those who are CRUSHED IN SPIRIT. Let me just say that I empathize with that reading of this verse. I do. But, my friends, let me suggest an alternate reading of that verse.” As the slide changed, pastor said “Read it with me like this instead: The Lord is CLOSE to the brokenhearted, and SAVES those who are crushed in spirit. Again, and with the reference: Psalm 34:18 The Lord is CLOSE to the brokenhearted, and SAVES those who are crushed in spirit. Now doesn't that make a difference in your understanding?”

Gus stared at the screen, and the verse that he felt was meant for him. Was that possible? The Lord CLOSE? He didn't feel close.

“That is not an empty promise, I assure you, loved ones. The Lord our God has not left you alone in your suffering. For those of you – as we sang – walking in the desert place, for those of you for whom sea billows roll, the Lord has sent you a comforter. I'm talking about the third person of the Trinity. The Holy Spirit. Jesus, in his last days, prayed for this for you, saying”
 

I will ask the Father, and he will give you another helper that he may be with you forever; that is the Spirit of Truth whom the world cannot receive because it does not see him or know him, but you know him because he abides with you and will be in you.

Pastor Samuels motioned for his song leader to rejoin him on the platform. “Let's sing that chorus again. Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary. And as you are signing it, know that the altar is open for prayer. Come and pray, now as we sing, and leave that suffering here at the altar. Talk to the Lord, and ask that the comforter come and comfort you. You know who you are. The Lord is speaking to you now. Come and pray. Let's sing...”

Gus stood without thinking, feeling the calling on his heart, and walked down front to kneel at the altar. Kneeling, alone, he prayed. “Lord, thank you for your tender mercy in my life. Thank you for caring for my wife, when I was not able – in my own selfish grief – to care for her. Thank you for Mark, and bless them both where they are together. Thank you for the time that we had with Kurt. I'm in the desert place, Lord, but I leave him here on the altar with you and thank you for the gift of his life. Be close to me in my brokenhearted spirit. Send the comforter in my need, I pray.”
 

Gus felt emptied, and uplifted both. He paused to listen to the pastor and the congregation sing “Lord prepare me, to be a Sanctuary....” and wiped his eyes with tissues from the box under the altar rail. He realized that he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned back to find Carlo, who had left the platform and was kneeling in prayer behind him. “Thank you, my friend. Thank you.”