The Awakening
1/6/1996
This is what the Sovereign Lord says:I MyselfWill search for My sheepAnd look after them.Ezekiel 34:11
1
DUSK PRESSED IN around Wayne Davidson’s car as he drove his family to Hampton Street Bible Church. It was almost 7:30, as best he could tell, and a black satin blanket studded with diamonds was quickly replacing the soft pastels spreading out across the western horizon.
Wayne hardly noticed the colors reflecting in his rearview mirror as he drove toward the building. His mind was busy sorting the points he hoped to cover in his Bible class.
Four more days ‘til Sunday, Wayne thought. Wednesday signaled the midweek count down. Need to get that outline done for Sunday’s sermon. He turned on to Hampton Street as he’d done a hundred times before. Check Smith’s Anecdotes and Illustrations, he reminded himself.
Street lights now illuminated familiar trees and other landmarks as he ascended the last hill before reaching the church driveway. As the vehicle quickly passed the church sign, it occurred to Wayne that the sign had an almost neon glow to it, reminding him of pictures he’d seen of Las Vegas. Was that blue and pink? Silly thought.
The car was parked now, and Emily and their three children were already out of the car. Tonight the building looked different to Wayne, though he wasn’t quite sure why. He exited his car and slowly made his way toward the entrance twenty yards or so behind the rest of his family. He noticed that the parking lot was full. Everyone’s on time, reflected Wayne. But something seemed odd. For a brief second the thought crossed his mind that he was about to become the victim of a surprise birthday party. But it’s not my birthday.
Loud music escaped through the open doors as Wayne traversed the broad sidewalk up to the entrance. Huh? That’s not a praise tape. Sometimes their audio technician would play music over the P.A. until things got started, but this music sounded more like something from a night club. Strange.
Wayne moved into the foyer, where several folks were conversing and holding refreshments. Refreshments? Maybe it’s a party. The music seemed much quieter now, and Wayne scanned the room looking for Hal or one of the other elders so he could ask what was going on. Why wasn’t I told about this? Odd!
Just as Wayne spotted Hal on the other side of the foyer, a burst of laughter spilled out of the open auditorium doors. As Wayne glanced into the auditorium, a troubled feeling twisted his gut. He took a second look.
An array of small round tables occupied by various members of the congregation filled the open room. What’s going on? A single candle sat shimmering in the center of each table, betraying appetizers and assorted beverages. Where are the pews? Wayne noticed a smoky haze hanging over the auditorium that gave the room a disturbing, bar-like appearance. Two more waves of laughter escaped through the double doors.
Cautiously, Wayne moved closer to investigate. What had been a muffled voice over the sound system now became clear to him. A man Wayne didn’t recognize stood on the platform in a leisure suit holding a microphone just below his chin. “…and the man says, ‘Is the Pope Catholic?’ And the waiter says to him, ‘Yeah, but when he sees this, he might change his mind.’” Another pounding wave of laughter erupted from the crowd.
Wayne quickly turned around and found Hal staring at him from across the room. Wayne wanted to shout, “What is going on?” But he felt paralyzed. Why couldn’t he speak? Why couldn’t he move? Must talk to Hal! His feet felt like lead. Something’s wrong! Each step took a lifetime. Why is Hal grinning? Lord, what’s happening?
Finally, Wayne was in front of Hal. He wanted to pull Hal aside to emphasize the urgency of his confusion. He reached out to put his hand on Hal’s shoulder. I’m falling! Clumsily he grasped for Hal, who only stared at him with a sinister grin. Hal, help me!
Every movement took place in slow motion. Wayne grabbed Hal’s sweater with both hands as he tottered backward. His fingers sank deep into Hal’s chest and turned cold. Ice! The sweater peeled easily from Hal’s torso as Wayne hit the ground. That smell! Ahhhh! Dead animal. Wayne looked at Hal in horror. Bones!
Hal’s torso opened. Hundreds of rotting bones spilled from his chest, instantly burying Wayne. Death! Panic seized Wayne. He couldn’t breathe. That smell! Sickening. He kicked and pushed, closing his eyes in a silent scream.
Emily Davidson gripped her husband’s arm firmly. “Wayne! Sweetheart, wake up!”
Wayne’s eyes opened wide. Beads of sweat glistened digital-clock red on his forehead. He sighed deeply, then began to relax.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah…yeah…I’m okay.” Wayne didn’t feel like talking. This was the third time he’d had the same dream and he wanted to dissect it in his mind before it evaporated. “Just a bad dream, thanks. Why don’t you go back to sleep, Honey,” Wayne whispered.
Emily hesitated. “If you’re really okay…” She kissed him on the cheek, turned over and was soon fast asleep. Wayne didn’t sleep again that night.
2
AT THE GAS STATION the next morning, Wayne sat with his head pressed against the steering wheel. His mind was still captured by last night’s dream. He jumped as he heard a sharp rap on his passenger window. Looking up, he saw a long-haired, teenage boy dressed completely in black. Wayne reached across and cranked down the window.
“Yeah…uh, Sir?” The young man, who couldn’t have been over sixteen, placed both half-gloved hands over the top edge of the window and talked through the gap. “Could you help me?”
Wayne regained his composure. “What’s up?”
“Oh, I missed my ride. Just need a lift home. I only live a couple miles from here.” The young man pointed in the direction Wayne’s car was facing. “I was walkin’ by here, saw your car at the pump and…thought I’d ask. What d’ya say, man?”
“Um…” Wayne paused, evaluating the implications of the request. “Sure…I guess. Hop in.” Wayne smiled slightly as he gave in to the tug of compassion.
As the young man climbed in, Wayne rolled down his window in an attempt to dilute the pungency of his passenger’s love for cigarettes.
“Where do you live?” Wayne asked, taken aback by the silver cross dangling from the young man’s ear.
“216 Edgewood Avenue. It’s in Prestwick. Do you know it?”
“You live in Prestwick?” Wayne asked skeptically.
“Yeah, just off 7th.”
“Right…I know where it is.” He put the car into drive and headed toward the street. “You just don’t seem like the Prestwick type.”
“My name’s Philip.” He stuck his hand out to Wayne as they sat waiting for traffic to clear. “But my friends call me Loner. It’s a nickname, you know.”
Wayne took the hand and grasped it firmly, “Wayne…Wayne Davidson.”
Spotting a gap in the tight morning traffic, Wayne lunged the car onto the busy street.
“What do you do, Wayne?” Philip fingered the lapel of Wayne’s suit jacket in mock inspection. “Sell insurance? Play the market? What?”
“Actually,” Wayne admitted, “I’m a pastor.”
“Really? Hmmm. That’s what my grandma wants me to be. My dad’s a pastor.”
Wayne looked again at Philip as they turned the corner, raised an eyebrow at the ink dragon on his arm and kept his sarcasm to himself. Right! He eased the car in front of 216 Edgewood. “So…your dad’s a pastor?” He craned his neck to look at the three-car garage and impressive house, half-hidden behind two towering oaks.
“Yep. Sure is. Hey, thanks for the ride.” Philip slid out of the car and started up the lawn. He turned and gave a loud, “God bless you, man,” then disappeared, laughing.
Wayne grimaced as he watched after Philip. So, that’s a pastor’s kid at age sixteen? He turned the car around, fretting the future of his seven-year-old son, Blake. But I suppose a pastor’s kid is the same as any other kid in the youth group. Scary thought!
As he drove toward the office, Wayne took a mental inventory of the teens at Hampton Street Bible Church. Wow, what a mess! He struggled inwardly to find a significant difference between the teens in his own youth group and those of the world. It bugged him that the bulk of the teenagers in his congregation had a look in their eye that said, “Yeah, I’m worldly…so what?” And a few seemed more than worldly. Their hearts seemed dark.
HAL RAMSEY LEANED against the door frame of Wayne’s office. “You look terrible, Wayne. Are you feeling all right?”
“Ah, I had a rough night last night, Hal,” Wayne answered. He shuffled papers on his desk, waiting to see if Hal planned to probe deeper.
“Is, uh…” Hal hesitated, trying to be tactful. “Is…everything okay at home?” He looked down, shifted to the opposite side of the door and looked up again.
Wayne debated frantically in his mind. He’ll think I’m crazy. So what? It’s the truth. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” he answered unconvincingly.
“Emily and the kids?”
“Oh no, they’re fine. I just—”
“What is it, Wayne?” Hal interrupted.
“Well…I know this is going to sound kind of crazy, but…I had a pretty intense dream last night. I couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“Oh, is that all? I thought it was something serious,” Hal chuckled lightly.
“Well, it is,” started Wayne defensively. “I mean…” He sighed. “It’s the third time I’ve had this dream.”
“You’ve had the same dream three times?” exclaimed Hal, now not sure how seriously he should approach this.
“Well, not exactly the same. I mean…it changes.” Wayne struggled for words and wondered if he really wanted to say more. “Each time it kind of gets longer and…and more detailed.”
Hal Ramsey was clearly uncomfortable and scrambled for the perfect thing to say. “Sounds pretty strange,” he said lightly. He took a deep breath and stood up straight. His countenance took on an aura of seriousness. With all candor, he looked Wayne in the eye and cautioned, “Wayne, you know what my advice to you is?” He paused and took another deep breath. “Lay off the lasagna.” Then he released an exaggerated laugh and repeated, “Get it? Lay off the lasagna!?”
Wayne didn’t laugh. His heart sank. For Hal’s sake he conceded a smile. That’s fine. He doesn’t understand. That’s fine.
Eager to change the subject, Hal said, “Hey, you and Em still comin’ over for dinner tonight? Ginny’s fixing up some of those pizzas you like so much!”
“Yeah, sure.” Wayne sat up straight and again shuffled the things on his desk. “We’ll be there.”
“Good, good. Then I’ll see you ‘round 6:00.” Hal looked at his watch. “Well, I gotta run. I’ll see you tonight.”
3
THE AIR WAS THICK at the Davidsons’ Saturday night.
“I told you to hold my calls!” The curt phrase echoed around the hallway and into the kitchen as Emily Davidson felt a familiar knot rising in her stomach. Rounding the corner, a quick glance at her husband’s countenance confirmed it — he was angry.
“For crying out loud, Emily, how in the world will I ever get this sermon ready for tomorrow morning if I can’t get some peace and quiet?” Wayne’s gaze was stern as he held her eyes in silence for added effect. It wasn’t rage. It was just that constant underlying tension that pervades most families.
“I’m really sorry. I must have misunderstood you.” Emily replied guardedly. “I did tell most people you were tied up.” She forced a smile and searched Wayne’s face for some sign of reassurance. “I didn’t know you couldn’t have any calls. It’s Ed Lowry. He said it would just take a minute.”
“Oh, never mind,” Wayne resigned, sighing. “I’ll take it. He probably just wants to tell me about the schedule he’s prepared for this fall.”
“What schedule?” Emily wondered, relieved at the change of topic.
“The football schedule — nothing important. You remember, last year when the men got together once a week to watch football?”
“Oh, football fellowships.” Emily smirked, playfully putting her hands on her hips.
“Yeah, Ed likes to make sure he has the whole season mapped out in advance. He tries to rotate through all of the homes that are willing,” Wayne explained. “I’ll take the call. It shouldn’t take very long, I hope. But remember, I don’t want any more interruptions.”
“Okay. I’ll try harder.” Emily knew her husband cared about the Church and wanted to do a good job, but she hated the tension that periodically invaded their otherwise peaceful home.
Wayne gave a slight nod and turned toward the bedroom to field the waiting call. The call was soon over and Wayne once again immersed himself in his work.
It was already Saturday night and, though it was uncommon, he still did not have his message prepared for the morning. Wayne found it very hard to prepare for a sermon whose topic had been chosen months in advance. The elders and deacons had decided it would be easier to coordinate the material for Sunday school if Wayne would provide a quarterly schedule of his sermons.
He tried praying for direction, but felt dry and empty. It seemed hypocritical to ask the Lord for direction with his sermon since neither he nor Jesus were allowed to choose the topic.
There was a small prick in his conscience that told him he ought to apologize to his wife for the incident in the hallway. He quickly suppressed the thought and turned once again to the draining task at hand.
“AMANDA,” EMILY CALLED, holding little Ashley and chasing their escaping four-year-old. The Davidsons’ oldest daughter ran past her dad in the foyer. Emily slowed a little to catch Wayne’s eye. “Sorry. She’s just anxious to get outside. It is nice, you know?”
Wayne smiled at his wife from his post near the rear doors of the auditorium and turned again to Mrs. Rugger. “What was that, Sister Rugger?”
“Well, I was just saying how much I appreciated your words. Ever since my health started going downhill, I just haven’t been able to be here as much as I’d like. It’s good to know that…”
Wayne let his mind drift to another conversation within earshot. Hal Ramsey and Tom Hartley, two of the longtime elders, were engaged in a lively discussion with a couple visiting for the first time.
“I think you’ll find Hampton Street to be a friendly Church,” Tom began. “We’re kind of like a big family; small enough for you to know everyone and feel a part, but big enough to be able to meet all your needs.”
“And our youth group,” Hal interrupted, noting their teenage daughter, “is very active! Both of my children really enjoy their involvement.”
Hampton Street was a closeknit group — by most standards. They had frequent cookouts, ladies’ Bible classes, and all the teenagers went to Bible camp together each summer. Visitors, like those this day, were often struck by the warm, friendly atmosphere.
Wayne shook free from the distraction and refocused his attention on Mrs. Rugger. “I sure hope you’re feeling well enough to be here next Sunday for the monthly potluck. I’d hate to miss out on your chicken and dumplings.”
Mrs. Rugger blushed, releasing an embarrassed smile, and continued slowly toward the inviting sunshine.
Wayne stood staring after her, unsettled by the conversation he had overheard in the foyer. He reviewed in his mind his eight years at Hampton Street. True, the people were closer, more family-like than the suburban mega-church he previously worked for. Still, something was missing — something beyond the flaws of the youth group.
Wayne had actually come here, attracted by the openness, excited by the chance to share his heart, unhindered. Over the past several years he had done that, covering every major theme he had learned in seminary. He hadn’t been afraid to say things that might even be considered “radical.” And while most seemed touched by what he said, it still seemed to him that nothing was really changing. Month after month drifted by without any clear sense that progress was being made. That bothered him.
I’ve gotten to know a lot of people since I’ve been here, but who knows God any better than they did before I arrived? Are the sheep growing? Are the lost being saved? Do the members have a real relationship with God?…I know some do, but shouldn’t that be the norm for every Christian if Jesus really lives inside of us?…
“Daddy…up pwees?” His thoughts were interrupted by a tug on his pant leg and the sweet voice of his little Ashley.
He stooped down and swept her up into his arms. “Daddy loves you, Sweetie!”