The Shooting War Begins

We now return to "The Saga of the Web-Surfing Squatter."

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“Bill has been setting this up for a while,” Martha began.  “I wasn’t really sure about it until this morning when I got the full story from Jack.”

The pastor worked on counting his breaths.  He was doing his best not to jump to directly to charges of treason for the old custodian.  “You got the full story from Jack?  I’m not sure I understand why I didn’t get the full story from good old Jack.”  He waited while Martha pursed her lips and scratched the bridge of her nose.  She did that whenever she was considering her response.

“What I found out first is that Bill is squeezing Jack into a very tight corner.  You and I both know that Jack is beyond the mandatory retirement age in our personnel policy.  We’ve been overlooking that because he does an acceptable job and because we’re all he’s got since Mabel died.  Well, Bill found out about that situation a while back.  Now he’s decided to use it to blackmail Jack into doing whatever he wants.”

The pastor closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and entwined his fingers behind his head.  So, that’s how this was going to be—very dirty, very dirty, indeed.  “I thought it was about Jack getting an extra twenty from Bill every so often.  I could overlook that even though it bothered me.  But this is both cruel and criminal.  So Bill threatens to have Jack’s job terminated if Jack speaks up or doesn’t do what he’s told, is that it?”

“That’s it.  So Bill made Jack set Phil up in the basement.  Bill even forced Jack to look the other way on date night.  And then Bill ordered Jack to rat you out to the Personnel Committee.”

The pastor breathed deeply three times.  “And did he?”

“No, he didn’t.”  The pastor let out the last breath in relief.  Martha continued, “I overheard that argument.  Bill said that if Jack wasn’t at the meeting tonight to testify that the woman was your idea, then Jack was finished here."  

"I heard Jack screaming all the way up the stairs this morning.  He said something like, ‘If you think I’m going to do that to the best pastor we’ve had in forty years, then you can take my job and shove it…’  Well, you know Jack, so you can imagine how the rest of it went.”

The pastor was wondering where Jack was now.  A tirade like that could easily land him on the corner stool at The Tilted Tumbler, Jack’s favorite watering hole.  It didn’t happen much anymore, but in his younger days Jack had been known to leap from that sort of devilish dissertation right into the depths of a three-day bender.  The pastor was hoping that Jack had found some other sort of outlet.

Martha read his face.  “Jack is in the sanctuary polishing the altar furniture to within an inch of its life,” she smiled.  “Each stroke of his oil cloth has another swear word attached to Bill’s name.  I know it’s in church, and I hope the altar guild ladies aren’t in there listening.  But somehow I think that Jesus understands.”

“Yes, Martha, I have no doubt about that.  So, Jack isn’t going to turn state’s evidence on me tonight.  That’s good to know.”  He paused for a moment.  “I suppose Bill tried to work on you next?”  He knew what the answer would be.

Martha’s eyes welled a bit.  “Of course, he did.  He came steaming up the stairs while Jack was still screaming at him.  That didn’t slow him down a bit.  He came around the corner and hit the door at full speed.  “Martha,” he said, “if you know what’s good for you, you’ll be at that meeting tonight.  People are talking about what’s been going on down there in the basement.  I don’t care if it is my brother, that crap has got to stop.  And if you value your job here, you’ll be there to defend yourself and put the blame where it belongs—on that lazy and overpaid pastor!”

The pastor could imagine how that scene unfolded—Bill in a fit of his “little man’s disease,” trying to stand as tall as possible over Martha as she sat behind her desk.  He could see Martha leaning back, pursing her lips and scratching the bridge of her nose.  “Then what happened?” he asked.

Martha wiped her eyes and smiled.  “I told that arrogant little man to take his threats and to get out of my office.  I reminded him that my brother-in-law is a high-powered labor lawyer.  And he’d love to sink his teeth into a good wrongful termination suit with Bill named as the primary respondent.  They’ve had their encounters over the years, and my brother-in-law doesn’t care for Bill even a little bit.  Bill stammered for a few seconds and then said, ‘Well, we’ll see about that!’  And I said, ‘No, I don’t imagine we will.’  And then he stomped out the door.”

The pastor was overwhelmed with gratitude and admiration for his team members.  Two people had put their livelihoods at stake for him.  They had endured emotional abuse and resisted powerful intimidation.  He had to do everything possible to protect them and to root the diseased processes out of the system.

He knew of one way to start saying thank you to Martha.  “Martha,” he said, “what do you think I should do?”