 
A Pie Plate Pilgrimage

By William Loewen

Published by Wordly Lion Press at Smashwords

Copright 2014 William Loewen

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover design and images by Clara Hildebrand and Kelsey Siemens.

Author photographs by Derek Janzen.

To my wife Ana,

and our children Ruby, Sebastian and Felicity,

who walk with me on my pilgrimage through life.
**Table of** **Contents**

Foreword by Ryan Dueck

1. The Sunday Morning Gathering

2. Westminster Printers

3. The Commissioning

4. Reverend Ballard

5. The Demographics Consultant

6. Benjamin Worsley

7. Alistair Graham

8. Monica Lang

9. Religious Women

The prospective authors package

10. Fair men of the Board

11. Stylish

12. Oscar Braun

Two more potential authors

13. The Most Attractive Candidate

14. The Development Team

15. Like a Deer in the Headlights

16. Chicken Wing Consolation

17. The Funeral

18. A Person of Influence

19. Momentary Clarity

20. Out with the Old

21. Legal Ease

Simmons Family Pie Recipe

22. Spiritual Pruning

Group Discussion Questions

Foreword

New Testament scholar and popular writer N.T. Wright once described a "pilgrim" in terms as simple as you could hope to find: "A pilgrim is someone who goes on a journey in the hope of encountering God, or meeting him in a new way."1 To this I would only add that sometimes pilgrims only discover what (or who!) they are hoping to encounter part of the way into the journey. And that whether or not we have a clear idea of the goal in mind before we take our first step, the company of fellow pilgrims almost invariably makes the journey more pleasant and illuminating. One encounters things differently when one does not wander alone.

I have gotten to know Will Loewen mainly in the context of journeys. We have spent time together bouncing around in the back of a truck in a South American jungle, wiling away hours in distant airports, sifting through the sadness and hope of far-away slums, and wandering the streets of major metropolises. Though we live only a few hours apart in southern Alberta, it is mainly in the context of being "on the road" that I have gotten to know this fellow pilgrim on the journey.

And the person I have gotten to know is a man with a keen intellect, abundant curiosity, and a lively sense of humour. Will is a gifted writer and pastor, as well as a friend. He has been a fellow-pilgrim in the best sense of the word—a good person to encounter God alongside of. Will understands the unique opportunities and challenges of following Jesus in a twenty-first century postmodern context characterized by suspicion, cynicism, even hostility toward faith. Will knows well what it means to think and write in a cultural context that wonders if it is even possible (or desirable) to encounter God on the journey. And, perhaps most importantly given all of the above, he knows how to tell a good story.

But you will see this for yourself in the book that your are about to read. A Pie Plate Pilgrimage is the story of discovery and of loss, of encountering unexpected things, of having one's eyes opened, of having assumptions unsettled, and of being surprised. It is a book about a book—the writing of a book, in particular. Which is to say, it is a book about a different kind of journey, a different kind of pilgrimage. Through the characters of Lydia and Oscar (and others), we encounter a number of intersecting paths and trajectories both metaphorical and literal, all oriented in their own way around the question of who God is and what God has in mind in this broader story of which we are all a part. It is a story about getting to know God and getting to know each other, of finding out what faith is, what it isn't, and what it could be.

Wherever you find yourself on life's journey, whatever you are hoping to encounter (or avoid), I warmly invite you into this story that Will has told. Like all good stories, it is one in which I suspect it will not be difficult to locate your own story. And Will makes good traveling company for the road.

Ryan Dueck  
Pastor of Lethbridge Mennonite Church  
Writer at Rumblings (http://ryandueck.com)

\----------

Tom Wright, The Way of the Lord: Christian Pilgrimage Today (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1999), 13.

    Marlene,  Thanks for faxing over the signed non-disclosure agreement. I've included all of the documents connected to the book project. I'm not sure what you'll be able to make of it. I'm still not even sure what I'll make of it. Either way, I hope you at least get to enjoy reading it through.  Let me know as soon as you make a decision,

Lydia

**Chapter 1 - The Sunday Morning Gathering**

The walk from Lydia's pillow to her shower seemed extra long on Sundays. Partly it was her bathroom's icy cold tile floor, but mostly it was the thought that all of her friends could sleep in today, but not her. While they rested and recovered from their Saturdays, she had to get up as early as she would for a regular day at the office. Her convictions would soon override her comfort, but not until after the alarm clock went off again.

Technically there was nothing forcing her to go and congregate with these people today. Everything would happen just as smoothly in her absence. If she stayed home, almost no one would miss her or even notice she wasn't there. On top of that, if she went, she would have to sit through the usual, boring, self-congratulating speech from the same old blowhard that spoke every time they met. Still, Lydia knew deep down how important gatherings like this were. Her parents had always strongly encouraged her to do this kind of thing. While there may not be many benefits in the short term, she knew where she wanted to end up and this was part of how she would get there.

Getting ready for this required more effort than a night out with friends, and would almost certainly be a lot less fun. She eventually picked out a skirt that looked good, but probably wasn't long enough to meet her parents standards of practicality or modesty.

For two years she had been showing up week by week and even attending the occasional extra meeting, but she still hadn't made any real friends. Early on it looked like she was passionate about the same things as everyone else and they were all working from the same convictions, but that wasn't the case anymore.

She was almost out the door when she realized she had almost left something very important behind.

"How could I have forgotten the book?" she asked herself out loud. "Without this precious little thing, nobody would have any reason to come today."

Lydia was met in the driveway by her landlord's daughter.

"You sure look pretty today," Arianna said. "Are you going to church?"

"No," Lydia answered, patting the young girl on her head, "I have to go to work today."

Lydia waved as she drove off. "There you go," she said to herself in the rear-view mirror, "it could be worse, you could be going to church."

Toronto is a beautiful city in January. A light dusting of snow the night before meant that the greyish brown piles of snow pushed off the highway were glistening white once again. Everything, from signposts to trees to apartment buildings sparkled in the morning sun. The unusually calm weekend traffic made things more peaceful, but it only served as a reminder to Lydia that everyone else was presumably sleeping, exactly what she wanted to do.

The more she thought about Arianna's question, the more she realized that what she was doing wasn't all that different from going to church. It suddenly dawned on her that the company she worked for was almost certainly named after a church. She had sat through hours and hours of Will and Kate's royal wedding without ever putting the two names together. Her employer was Westminster Printers and the wedding took place in Westminster Abbey.

Certainly the church was no longer as powerful and relevant as it once was. It was also no secret to Lydia that her employer was much less successful than it once had been. Throughout their history, a number of Westminster titles had appeared on national best seller lists. They were still publishing a number of books, but it had been a long time since any of them sold more copies than the marketing department forecast they would. Lydia had often felt that just by showing up to work she was propping up a dying institution. She wondered if going to church felt the same.

The more Lydia thought about it the more she realized there were still quite a few ways that her job was quite different than Christianity. Gathering on a Sunday was a rarity for her office crew, reserved only for special events like this one. Lydia couldn't think of too many people she worked with that even tried to live a moral lifestyle. The obvious difference was that churches were charities and her company did everything they could to get more money. Then again, from what she knew about organized religion lately, maybe they had more in common than she thought.

Unlike the church however, Westminster Printers' fortunes had recently changed. They released a new book called, _Feminine-ism: How Strong, Sexy Women Can Rewrite History._ It emerged slowly into the market, reaching only a small audience at first. Soon however, its popularity started spreading by word of mouth and sales quickly exceeded all projections. The book even made it to the national best seller list. When the marketing department caught up with the buzz surrounding the book, they decided that the best way to capitalize on its momentum was to issue a second print run; one with a new cover design, a celebrity-written forward and additional group book study materials. So, to draw attention to this new reprint, and also to celebrate its success, the company was throwing a party.

The communication Lydia received from the marketing department stressed that to best appeal to their key demographic, young, semi-professional women, they should present an image that was hip, trendy and vibrant. She had collected rental information for nightclubs and on-campus hangouts and presented her findings to her boss. He quickly assured her that none of them fit the company's newly established brand image requirements. Apparently hip and trendy couldn't coincide with high class and professional. Lydia wondered if it was all a moot point, since in her opinion Westminster Printers was neither hip nor high class. Still, she had come to the sad realization that in her company, appearance was always much more important than substance.

Westminster Printers always rented the same place, whether it was an annual staff party or a celebration like this one. It didn't hurt that they also offered a much lower Sunday morning rate. Lydia hated the building and the location, but at least she could find the place easily and there was plenty of parking nearby.

The winter air felt extra cold on her bare legs as she scurried from her car to the building's entrance. It was only as she approached the door that she remembered they were providing valet parking. While it would have been nice to avoid walking in the cold, she definitely didn't want to see the look on the valet driver's face when she gave him the keys to her hatchback. The embarrassment definitely wouldn't have been worth the effort it saved.

Inside the door, Lydia was met by a member of the catering staff who was taking names and crossing them off a list on a clipboard.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but there's no Lydia Phillips here," said the teenager, taking himself much more seriously than she thought his position allowed. "I'm afraid I can't let you in."

"Are you just looking at the list alphabetically?" she asked, knowing that her invitation had only been sent at the last minute. "My name was added later. It'll probably be at the bottom, written in pen."

"Right," said the doorman, flipping through his sheets, "there you are. Sorry for the trouble; you can go on in."

The guest list was supposed to be a compilation of names submitted by the various department heads. For some reason Lydia had trusted her boss, Luke, to remember everyone in their department, even though he had failed at similar tasks in the past. The list he gave her instead, one that she didn't bother double checking for some reason, included business contacts (most of whom had already been submitted by the accounts management department) and a number of his golfing buddies. As a result of this oversight, people like Lydia had to have their names handwritten at the bottom of the list at the last minute.

Westminster Printers used parties like this to make themselves look bigger and more successful than they actually were. There was also a hope that it would make it look like the accomplishments they were commemorating happened much more frequently. However, one thing that was hidden from the few reporters who actually turned up was that what they were celebrating today was in fact quite rare. It had been over ten years since their last best seller. This new book was changing all of that. Westminster Printers was right to attach their success to this book, because its popularity still seemed to be growing.

In many ways, _Feminine-ism_ had defined Lydia's life for the past two years. It wasn't because she was among the thousands of women who had read and been inspired by the book. Instead she had been part of the development team that helped compile, edit and distribute it. Development teams were a key part of Westminster Printers' recent rebranding effort. Lydia was quite sure that she had only been placed on the committee as the token female staff member, but at the time it felt like this was the opportunity she had been waiting for.

Lydia had a university degree in Comparative Literature with a business minor. When she was hired as an External Relations Assistant she hoped she would be helping to keep the company informed on what other publishers and authors were writing on various topics. That was part of her official job description, but she had since started to call herself the 'schmoozing facilitator.' Not a day went by when she didn't think that her degree was being wasted. Planning business meetings and picking up people from the airport wasn't at all what she'd had in mind when she started with the company. Joining the development team was a big step up, but her entry level salaried position and her blissfully unaware superiors meant that she was never recognized for the extra hours she had committed to this project, let alone for her emotional investment.

Sipping on a free glass of orange juice she picked up at the bar, Lydia surveyed the crowd of people that had gathered. There was no one inviting her into their circle of conversation. Then again, there wasn't a single group of people she really wanted to join anyway.

The focal point of the event was a short program that she had helped to organize. Even though there were hours of entertainment and almost endless drinks and refreshments provided afterwards, Lydia had no intention of staying very long. She had only planned to stick around long enough to realize that her work would go unrecognized yet again. She was about to take a seat by herself when she heard her name.

"Lydia Philips, I was getting worried you wouldn't show up."

Soleil Macpherson was the guest of honour, a woman who, despite being in her mid-forties, had both a youthful sense of energy and an athletic appearance. She was the author of _Feminine-ism_ , and its popularity had made her name and face increasingly well known across the country.

"I almost stayed home," Lydia responded, only half joking. "But if I knew you'd spend time here mixing with the little people, I would have come a lot sooner."

"Stop it," Soleil scoffed. "I'm glad you came Lydia, trust me, but with all the garbage you put up with here, if you had stayed home, I might have even been a little bit proud of you."

For a while Lydia had felt deep down that she and Soleil had become friends, but they only ever talked in professional settings. Editing sessions and negotiation meetings weren't situations that nurtured the development of friendships. The late hours and the sometimes tense nature of the discussions at those meetings also didn't help. "You would have been proud of me for staying home?" Lydia asked.

"I mean it!" Soleil said with a smile. "You should have better things to do with your weekend. You're only here because you are extremely devoted to this company. You invest far too much into this book for what you get back."

Soleil had spoken with so much frankness that perhaps there was some underlying friendship after all. Only a friend could offer such an accurate and harsh rebuke. Then again, maybe she had meant it as a compliment and didn't know Lydia well enough to understand just how depressing this would sound to her. Not sure which one it was, Lydia decided to err on the side of professionalism.

"Well, it's a great book," she said, sincerely trying to sound genuine. "I was lucky to be a part of it."

"Please," Soleil scoffed, "spare me the flattery. You should know, Lydia, if you hadn't been on the development team, this book would never have been completed."

It was something she wanted to believe but had never heard anyone say. This definitely convinced her that Soleil was trying to be friendly and not just cordial. Lydia didn't even know how to reply. She wanted to deny it, but at the same time she didn't. She wanted to say thanks or ask what exactly she meant. Before she could say anything at all though, Lydia was interrupted by a voice coming over the sound system.

"If I could have your attention, please," her boss, Luke Ferguson was standing at the microphone. "The band will soon play their last song, and you know how the game works; when the music stops, everyone has to find a seat. There might not be enough chairs for everybody, so you better make sure you get one." Lydia was always surprised by how polite and even jovial he could be in public. At the office he was cold, emotionally absent, and seemingly incompetent.

Lydia and Soleil shook their heads simultaneously at Luke's attempt at comedy, but Soleil spoke first.

"Sorry Lydia. They need me up front for this. Maybe we can chat later." She raised an arm to indicate to management on stage that she was on her way. After taking a few steps toward them, she turned back to Lydia for a second, as though she had forgotten something. "By the way, Lydia, you look fabulous tonight."

With that Soleil headed off to her special seat on the stage and Lydia sat down by herself. She was normally in full control of her feelings but all this was enough for her eyes to start welling up. Maybe at home she would let herself cry, but not in front of people she worked with. Also, according to Chapter 6 of _Feminine-ism_ this definitely did not meet the criteria of an appropriate show of emotion.

Over the course of the program a number of people, including Soleil, were going to give speeches. Inevitably various people were going to be recognized for their contribution to the book. Since it was so unlikely that Lydia's name would be mentioned, she was only looking forward to when the book's flashier new cover was going to be unveiled. Still, Lydia would much rather have continued her conversation with Soleil.

With almost everyone seated, Luke took to the microphone again, coaxed a smile onto his face, and began his speech. He introduced Soleil, but for every compliment he paid to her, Lydia could remember a development team meeting where he criticized those very things. From the podium he praised Soleil for her role as a university professor, even though he had often questioned the validity of the Women's Studies department where she worked. He went on in surprising detail to list her achievements as a collegiate athlete and more recently as a volunteer coach, but he had often joked about the illegitimacy of female athletics programs. Finally, Lydia couldn't help but feel that his tribute to her role as a wife and mother diminished her professional accomplishments.

Aside from Luke's own double-speak, there was an institutional arrogance that really bothered Lydia too. It amazed her how the executives could always praise the book and the writer in a way that tied those compliments directly to the brand image of the publishing company. "Soleil's writing embodies the Westminster model," Luke said at one point, "a gutsy and edgy style that makes both the old guard and the new generation take notice." Maybe that was the point of the party, but she hated that they were just congratulating themselves.

Soleil took the stage next, mostly to detail the changes that had been made from the previous edition. While her speech was actually interesting, she also had to make a few obligatory comments. She thanked the Board of Directors for the opportunity to write in the first place. Lydia knew they had only voted to approve her by a narrow margin and more than once almost pulled the plug. She talked about how great it was to work with an organization that shared her enthusiasm about the subject. Few in the audience knew that this enthusiasm had only become mutual after the sales numbers picked up.

Lydia had always idealized a process where an aspiring writer would submit a manuscript to a publisher and if the company liked it, they would publish it. It had been a long time since they had used a model anything like that at Westminster Printers, and even longer since they had any success that way. Shortly before Lydia was hired, the Board of Directors decided through a re-visioning process to put most of their eggs in the self-help/inspirational book basket. The market seemed to be heading in that direction and other publishers certainly had had success doing the same thing.

Westminster's strategy was to sign authors that few people had ever heard of. They would be more desperate for the opportunity and would be willing to work for less money than someone with an established reputation. These people needed to be able to generate some new and interesting material, but more importantly, they needed to follow the company line. The company resources stressed that the candidates should have a dynamic image, but Lydia and everyone else in her department understood this to mean that the writer should be good-looking. They would then be assigned a development team who would heavily edit the material until it was in line with Westminster's desired brand image. The people in marketing would determine what kind of book the public wanted, and the development team made sure that kind of book was developed. At first, Women's Issues was supposed to be just a fringe subject, and they only set out to write this book as a way of broadening what they hoped would be a comprehensive catalog of self-motivational material. The company executives were convinced that their overall strategy was a sure fire money-maker, and the success of _Feminine-ism_ had somehow given them reason to believe it was.

Soleil went on to elaborate about the study materials that had been inserted and profiled some of the groups that it had been tested on. Lydia remembered sitting through a few of these meetings with university-aged women reading the book for the first time. She didn't think she had been out of school for that long, but she already felt quite disconnected from the way the freshmen thought.

After Soleil was finished, Gerald Simmons, the CEO of Westminster Printers, took to the podium. He talked more about the company's brand image. He profiled a few of the books that were in development, even asking some of those authors in attendance to stand up while he briefly introduced them and their books and threw in some light-hearted teasing. Unlike Luke, Gerald was actually capable of maintaining the interest of everyone there, but his speech was considerably shorter.

When Gerald was finished he called Luke and Soleil back onto the stage.

"We've talked a lot about the changes to the inside of the book," Luke began, gripping the microphone again, "but there are a few more changes we think you'll be excited about."

Until now there had been a cloth draped over an easel on the stage behind the podium. At Luke's signal Soleil went and pulled back the cloth to reveal the new cover design, almost like she was revealing a prize on a game show. Lydia was frustrated that she hadn't been able to see the new cover until now, despite having been on the development team. She wasn't entirely surprised though by what she saw. The signature Westminster fonts and border art were still more or less the same, but this time the photo of Soleil was more prominent. Even within that photo, it was hard for Lydia to ignore that a certain part of Soleil's body was being emphasized, and probably digitally enhanced. Most of Lydia's university friends held fairly traditional feminist values, and thinking of them she was sure they would disown her now, if they hadn't already. Looking at the picture, it was clear to Lydia who on staff had designed the cover. If she or anyone would question his methods, she knew exactly which marketing study he would cite to say that this kind of cover would actually sell better with women.

As everyone clapped, Luke spoke again. "We're glad you like the design, but there is one more change to reveal." Then he turned once more like a game show host to his lovely assistant. "Miss Macpherson, please reveal the last feature."

A large circle was pealed back to reveal a gold foil sticker that read 'National Best seller' and the crowd applauded politely once again.

"Miss Macpherson will be at the Eastborough Mall tomorrow, so if anyone you know wants an autographed copy, spread the news," Luke said. Then, shifting his voice and posture to a less formal tone, he added, "Well, that's all for the official program today. Soleil will be available to autograph books, the bar will be open for a while longer, and the caterers have just begun bringing out appetizers, so there's no reason to run off just yet."

Lydia would like to have stayed and talked to Soleil, but with the line that had already formed, she could tell that she wouldn't get a chance to do that for at least 45 minutes. She had also noticed that the new guy in Marketing hadn't looked at her once the whole time. As far as she saw it, she had no reason to stay and every reason to run off early.

As soon as she had eaten enough free appetizers to constitute lunch, Lydia scurried back to her car. There was only so much of the weekend left and she was going to try to enjoy what she could before heading back to work Monday morning.

**Chapter 2 - Westminster Printers**

The Westminster Printers office, located in downtown Toronto, wasn't in the nicest part of the city, but it wasn't a bad area either. Working there held a certain level of coolness to it without being dangerous. The building was old, but not so old that it held any historic value.

Lydia arrived on Monday morning, expecting the Westminster parking lot to be empty. Luke had told her to come in half an hour early to unlock the doors because he was going to be away, and now she was parking her vehicle beside his. It was also strange to see his car at the office because he was scheduled to board a plane in four hours to begin the promotional book tour. Lydia knew all of this because she had booked the plane tickets and arranged for an airport shuttle to meet him at his home, which she would now have to cancel.

Lydia assumed that the slightly more expensive vehicle on the other side of Luke's belonged to Gerald Simmons, the company's CEO. He would have come to town for the party the day before, but he only ever came into their office to talk with the Board of Directors, and that meeting was a few weeks away. Whatever he was doing here, it must be important.

Lydia couldn't decide what was making her more upset, having to come in to the office needlessly early or not knowing about this apparently urgent meeting. The lights were on in the boardroom, but the door and the blinds were completely closed, so she couldn't tell who was in there. Figuring she'd be alone for another fifteen minutes or so, Lydia sat down at her desk to catch up on personal e-mails before her co-workers arrived.

Behind the closed doors of the boardroom, four people sat around a large table. Loose stacks of paper and manila file folders were strewn across its surface and everyone in the room had a laptop open in front of them. Soleil Macpherson, Westminster Printers' most celebrated author, sat quietly as Gerald, Luke, and Melvin Bamford, the Marketing Director, read through a contract proposal she had written. Gerald was nodding sporadically and underlining various points, while the other two were occasionally shaking their heads and circling or underlining various parts of the document.

Very few people in the company knew that this meeting was happening. Contract negotiations were normally a fairly expedient process. Since the beginning of their current business model, the company had never been in a position where they wanted an author to write a second book. There had been a few writers that had hoped to extend their contracts, but in those cases the company, in a position of power, had turned them down. Since _Feminine-ism_ had sold so many copies, the company was eager to re-sign Soleil, but this time the power was not in their hands. Westminster Printers had of course been smart enough to lock her in for any sequels, as per the terms of her initial contract, but the details surrounding that second book needed to be worked out. Even though Soleil had the upper hand, it was in both of their best interests to come to an agreement as quickly as possible. Calling in lawyers or agents would mean more costs for everyone involved, and neither side wanted that.

Soleil spoke first. "I think you'll see that I've made some significant concessions in some areas, but that generosity hinges on my more recent creative additions."

"They certainly are creative," Luke began, "but, unfortunately, you are asking us to be flexible on items that are well outside the realm of an author's jurisdiction. If this is what you call concessions, there is really no point in us meeting this morning to discuss this."

"Frankly, Miss Macpherson," Melvin added, "I think it's terribly unprofessional for you to be adding these conditions at this late stage of the negotiations." He had little to do with overseeing the development of _Feminine-ism_ but as head of marketing he was often invited to this kind of negotiation meeting. He and Luke were also close friends and rarely disagreed on anything.

"And not only that," he continued, "but much of what you're suggesting could be interpreted as a direct attack on Luke. Need I remind you that his commitment to this job and the high quality of his work are a big part of why your book was so successful."

"Now, hold on a minute, gentlemen," Gerald said, gesturing for the others to be quiet. Soleil saw this interruption as a surprising affirmation of the feasibility of what she'd written. "I think that most of what's here is workable."

"Thank you," said Soleil, trying not to gloat.

Luke responded defiantly. "Gerald, we both know that writers have no part in the selection of the development team."

Melvin also chimed in with his opposition. "Our development team system is one of the cornerstones of our rebranding effort. It exists for the sole purpose of allowing the company to put reins on the development of the book."

"If you look closely at the list, Luke," Soleil said firmly, "you'll see that I've only suggested current Westminster staff members for the development team. I'm sure that even you would have to admit that they have all demonstrated incredible loyalty to this company. I'm still using the Westminster system and Westminster people; I simply require that I be given some input on the selection."

"We would listen to input," said Luke. "Control is what we have a problem with."

"I'm going to go out on a limb here," suggested Gerald. "It seems most of this hinges on the request that Luke be replaced as head of the development team."

"Writers don't choose the development team," insisted Luke. "If we let them do that, we may as well just let them hand us what they think is the final draft." Since Gerald was one of the primary architects of the current model, Luke had hoped that repeating this point would be effective.

"Let's not forget that it was under Luke's leadership that this book was developed and under his leadership it became a national best seller," Melvin added. "I think he's earned the right to lead this committee through the development of a second book."

"Did he earn it by showing up late for meetings?" Soleil's response was quick, as though she had a list of other points like that in mind. Turning and directing her criticism directly toward Luke she continued, "Or how about by asking the same questions over and over again? You tried to pass it off as due process, but it showed everyone else that you were pathetically unprepared for the editing sessions and embarrassingly unfamiliar with the subject matter."

Luke stood up as though he was about to leave. "I don't have to take this from you."

"And I shouldn't have to put up with your inept leadership anymore either." Until now Soleil had not outwardly expressed her displeasure for Luke's role on the development team, but now all of her professional restraints had been pulled back. She turned to Mr. Simmons as she continued to explain herself, "Gerald, I know this looks like I'm just frustrated with the system. I'll happily admit that I owe a lot to the other members of the development team. Some of them put endless hours of work into the book, and the end product is better for it. Luke, on the other hand, did almost no work, showed terrible leadership and continually slowed the progress of this book. I was on the verge of walking away from the project because of him on multiple occasions, and I've finally realized that the prospect of working on another book no longer appeals to me if it means working with him."

Luke was stunned and could only look at his boss hoping the accusations weren't being taken seriously. Gerald simply looked back down at the contract, lightly scratching his bare scalp. After a few moments he looked up at Luke. "Let's pretend for a moment that we take this suggestion..."

"You can't be serious," Luke interjected.

Gerald only raised his hand and Luke backed off and sat down again. "If we were to go with this idea," he began, "besides the tragedy of being replaced, would you have any hesitations about who she is suggesting to replace you?"

"Lydia Phillips?" he asked. "Where should I start? She was the most junior member of the team, she is absolutely clueless about marketing, and has no relevant leadership experience."

Rather than escalating the personal conflict, Soleil took a moment to calm down before speaking directly to Gerald.

"For a committee putting together a book on women's issues, it was shameful to only have one female staff representative. Lydia made up for it by always putting in more time than was asked of her. She made the team better by fearlessly contradicting her dreadfully ill-informed male counterparts. While the old boys were consulting with marketing panels about the desires of our target audience, she spoke from experience as part of the demographic. She is better educated than anyone else on the team, including Luke, and she always spoke with hope and enthusiasm about the book and my ideas. When I was ready to walk away, Lydia convinced me to stay by reminding me, the author, of the importance of this book and positive impact it could have in our society. She was doing Luke's job, serving as an intermediary between this company and me. I recently realized that I could not work with a company that let incompetent leaders like Luke get rich from commissions while people like Lydia slave away and get no recognition. This contract proposal isn't just about me getting more benefits; it's about you acting like the kind of company I can work with, even if you're only faking it."

Luke had lots to say, but he could tell by the look on his boss' face that Gerald was thinking, and he didn't like to be interrupted when he was thinking.

"So," said Gerald, scratching his head a little more, "the only thing that's missing is leadership." He paused a little longer and started leafing through his day planner. "Miss Macpherson, when would you be comfortable to begin working on the next book, assuming we agree on a contract?"

"No sooner than four months from now."

"And Mr. Ferguson is that in line with your market optimization timeline?"

"Yes, that is in keeping with what Soleil and I have already agreed upon."

"Well then, how about this?" As he spoke, Gerald began putting together his papers and closing up his folders as though whatever he was about to say was a foregone conclusion. "Luke and Soleil, you've got a plane to catch, so I'll make this quick. There is a book project that's been temporarily shelved that Lydia can head up. We'll check in on her from time to time and if she can handle the job, we'll accept your proposal, Miss Macpherson. If not, we can renegotiate then."

Soleil was quick to agree. "I can work with that."

"Which project are you giving her?" asked Luke, as though the answer would influence whether or not he could work with the arrangement.

"It's the one Jenkins worked on a while ago."

Soleil had never met a Jenkins working for the company, but it didn't matter much to her. Luke, however, knew that Carl Jenkins had quit Westminster Printers in the middle of his first book project. It was a project Luke had absolutely no interest in being a part of.

"I guess I can work with it too," said Luke hiding his smugness, knowing the difficulty of the project.

"Okay, then, it's settled," Gerald said with a sigh of relief. He was a good negotiator, but that didn't mean he liked doing it.

"But Gerry, not being on that team will mean a pay cut for me. I'm not sure the company can do that without renegotiating my salary." Luke was confident that Lydia would fail and this wouldn't be an issue, but he wanted to make sure his bases were covered.

"Luke," Gerald was looking him right in the eye, "the terms of your salary clearly state that book commissions are bonuses and you are not, in any way, entitled to them. We have a budget review meeting with the Board of Directors in a few weeks. If you want to renegotiate your salary, you can bring it up there."

Soleil smiled as Luke cowered back from his aggressive stance.

Luke and Melvin left without saying a word, while Soleil happily shook the CEO's hand before she left.

Gerald reached into his briefcase for a file folder then bellowed out the door to the three of them who were still in earshot, "If she's here already, can someone send Lydia in? We may as well get her working on this right away."

**Chapter 3 - The Commissioning**

Outside of the office, Luke and Melvin were grumbling about something. Soleil was sure they were angry with her for the minor victory she had scored. She looked over at them and motioned that she would go tell Lydia that Gerald wanted to see her.

"Oh, Soleil, hi," Lydia said, instinctively standing up as her role model approached. "I didn't think you'd be in today."

"We had a few things to touch up before we left for the promotional tour," began Soleil, "and this is all unofficial, of course, for now, but we're in the process of negotiating for the next book."

"Oh, all right," Lydia said, expressing agreement, not enthusiasm. "So how are the talks going?"

Lydia had a feeling Soleil was going to ask her to sit on the development team again. She wanted to refuse because it had been so draining the first time. She also really wanted to say yes. Despite the hardship, it was the only role she had filled since she had started working there that had given her any sense of meaning and accomplishment.

"Things got a little tense in the meeting," said Soleil, "but Gerald took me more seriously than I thought he would. Plus, I got a chance to get some things off my chest and tell Luke how I feel about him."

Lydia could easily understand why Soleil would want to express her frustrations, but she was surprised that she had actually done it. "Don't you think that will make things awkward on the promotional tour?"

It was Westminster policy to send a company representative along with the author on these tours. Every talk show appearance and bookstore pitch had to include both people. They needed to sell the brand as much as they were selling any particular book.

"Frankly, I don't care," said Soleil. "I was already going to feel uncomfortable around him. At least now the feeling will be mutual."

"You're the one that has to sit on the plane with him," Lydia said, shaking her head.

"I've been married for twelve years," Soleil said, "I've learned how to handle awkward silences."

Lydia knew why the joke was funny, but the reason she laughed was that a few years of singleness for her had made otherwise awkward silences seem commonplace.

"Oh wait," said Lydia, suddenly remembering something and reaching into her desk. "My sister's birthday is coming up, and I thought she might like an autographed copy of the book."

"Absolutely." Soleil took the book from her and picked up a marker from the desk. She quickly signed the book and gave it back to Lydia. "Well it looks like Luke and Melvin are done their little meeting, so I should get going. Nice talking to you again, and don't worry, sometime someone will recognize the work you do around here."

"Yeah, thanks," said Lydia, but they both knew she didn't believe it. "It was good to see you again too," she said, giving Soleil a hug.

"Oh, and Gerry wants to see you." As Luke approached, Soleil flashed him a playful grin. She waved one final farewell to Lydia and followed Luke out the door.

Lydia gathered together her day planner, a notepad and a good pen as she headed for the boardroom.

"You wanted to see me Mr. Simmons?" Lydia asked as she entered.

"Yes, come on in," he said. "Close the door behind you and have a seat." Lydia had met with Gerald many times before, but always as an assistant to Luke and always with the door left open. "Oh, and please just call me Gerald." At these other meetings Luke would always relay things to Lydia as if she hadn't heard them and he would always refer to Gerald as Mr. Simmons, as though only Luke was on a first name basis with him.

Gerald was holding a copy of _Feminine-ism_. "You must be very proud of this book's success," he began.

Lydia nodded, not sure if he was asking her or compelling her.

"I hear you put quite a bit of work into it," he continued.

"I was just doing my job," Lydia responded quickly, immediately disgusted with her clichéd response.

"Still, you've got to be excited to see those sales numbers climb."

"Of course it's great for the company," she said carefully, "but the sales only serve to reinforce that ours is a good business model, which is something I already knew." This was her way of saying that since she wasn't benefitting from a royalty package, she couldn't care less how many books were sold.

Gerald turned to a stack of what looked like spreadsheets. "How many sick days have you taken during your time with us?" Flipping through the pages it seemed as though he was asking a question he already knew the answer to.

"I don't know. Three or four maybe."

"You've worked here almost three years and you have taken two sick days."

"I guess I have a good immune system," Lydia suggested.

"And a good conscience," Gerald added. "What about vacation time?"

"I only became eligible for full vacation time last year, but I didn't take it all because we were so busy getting the book together."

Other people on the development team had taken vacation time after the project was done. Since they couldn't all take vacation together, the more senior staff were given first priority. Lydia, being at the bottom of the seniority list, was still waiting for her turn to come.

"I don't know if this means you are extremely loyal to this company or if you simply have no social life," Gerald chuckled.

Of the two options presented, Lydia wondered which one was the chicken and which was the egg.

"Why can't it be both?" she asked with a smile, hoping this line of questioning wouldn't go on too long.

"The reason, Lydia, is that one should be rewarded more than the other."

"I think for all of us, successfully balancing work and social life is its own reward."

"Well said," Gerald nodded. "Now let me ask you another question. How would you label yourself religiously?"

Lydia was well aware that there were government regulations in place preventing employers from asking their employees this exact question. These nuances were lost on older businessmen like Gerald, but Lydia was quite sure that he had a good reason for asking.

"My grandparents took me to church when I was a kid," she offered semi-reluctantly, "but I haven't found any need for religion since then."

"What would you think about us doing a book on the topic of Christianity?"

"Well, the way I see the market," she began, thinking that finally someone was asking for her book industry analysis, "there are two kinds of Christian books that do well. The first are distributed by Christian publishers, written by Christian authors, filled with Christian scripture references and more or less adhere to a strict sense of proper orthodoxy. If any of those components are missing, certain Christians won't trust those books and then won't buy them. The second kind is highly intellectual and/or highly critical of Christianity and is written with an edge." Lydia was trying to tell by Gerald's actions whether he was agreeing with her or not, but he only nodded with very little expression.

She continued, "So if we were to develop a book like that, I personally think it would be wise for us to be in the second group. Maybe we could do a self-help book for people who have left the church. Something like _After the Church: Finding Meaning When They Said I Wouldn't."_ Gerald's facial expression still hadn't changed. "I'm just thinking off the top of my head here," Lydia added.

Gerald reached into his briefcase and pulled out a few books. He held up one for Lydia to see. "Have you seen this book before?"

"Yes, definitely group one."

"Did you know it has sold fifty million copies? Or that it has been translated into 6 different languages, with a few more on the way?"

"I knew it was popular but..."

"Fifty million copies, and look at the author: chubby, balding..."

"... an outdated sense of style." Lydia didn't normally feel free to be this critical, but she wanted to be part of the conversation.

"And how about this guy?" asked Gerald, holding up another book, this one with the author's face on the cover. "He is an icon of the Christian book market. You see his face everywhere, but look at him. What comes to mind?"

"I feel like he's going to sell me a used car."

"Or worse," said Gerald, "and I've read them. They're just formulaic feel-good, self-help books. So all we need to do is find a writer with mostly Christian values, a willingness to work in our system, and a face people can trust."

This time it was Lydia nodding her head without any discernible expression on her face. She could only think about the fake slogans she had sarcastically given her company, like "There's a reason appearance is in the dictionary before substance" and "Go ahead, judge a book by its cover, our marketing plan depends on it."

"Do you think we could do it?"

"Looking around the office, I'm not sure we're the best people to do a book on Christianity." She was surprised at her boldness, but if her scepticism was welcomed before, it should be welcomed now.

"You're a young woman. Looking around this office, do we look like the best people to publish a best-selling feminist self-help book?"

It was a question she had asked herself many times before. "You've got a point there."

"I'm glad you agree, because I'm putting you in charge."

"I'm not sure I understand, Mr. Simmons," Lydia said slowly. "I mean, Gerald."

"I'll be back in two weeks," he said, unfettered by her concerns. "In that time, I want you to interview some potential authors and pick a few people for the development team. You've been here long enough to know the process. This folder has everything you need, and I'm sure you can figure out the rest."

"I'm going to be pretty busy already, arranging TV and radio appearances for the promotional tour and coordinating their transportation and accommodations." It was the best excuse she could think of. "I don't know if I'll have time."

"Luke's got you doing all that?" said Gerald, suddenly distracted from the book project. "He can book his own hotels and rental cars."

"... and tee times," added Lydia, not realizing she was hurting her own cause.

"I'll take care of Luke," said Gerald reassuringly. "He can handle all those details himself, and you'll have time to work on starting this book."

"Gerald, I really don't think that the Christian reader will trust a religious book from a thoroughly secular publisher." 'Secular' was the nicest word she could think of to express what she was thinking.

"We'll let marketing take care of that," Gerald replied simply.

"Also from what I know about Jesus, I think the idea of commercializing an airy-fairy self-help book might be hypocritical."

"Lydia, this is your book now. You make it work for your conscience. It seemed to work out all right for the car salesman here." Gerald said, pointing toward one of the books he had talked about earlier. His body language made it clear that there was no convincing him.

In a small way Lydia was excited by the prospect of working on her own book, but she still had a number of misgivings. She didn't even know where to start.

Part of Gerald's business success was his innate ability to detect when people were not being completely honest. "You've observed this process a few times already, I'm sure," he began, giving no credence to her hesitations. "So, I fully believe that your memory will be quickly refreshed."

Strangely, Gerald's confident manner was having a convincing effect on Lydia.

"The topic received approval a long time ago, so you get to start at step two," said Gerald, sliding his folder across the table to her. "You know our procedural expectations for finding an author, and I've included the info for a few candidates that I think might be worth talking to."

Lydia looked down at the papers blankly for a little while, still overwhelmed by the whole idea.

"Are you going to just sit there," asked Gerald, feigning impatience, "or are you going to get to work?"

"I'll get right to it," she said, gathering up her things and heading for the door. "Oh, and Mr. Simmons," she added, turning around before she walked out the door, still not sure if she believed what she was about to say. "Thank you for this opportunity."

"I'll see you in two weeks."

**Chapter 4 - Reverend Ballard**

When Lydia finally accepted that her assignment was real, she got down to work right away. She was able to convince herself that being almost completely unfamiliar with the subject matter could actually be an advantage; it meant that she had no personal agenda or biases to interfere with the project. It wasn't long before she was surprised that she had ever let her own personal discomfort get in the way of a great career opportunity.

A year ago, Lydia had done some of the same kind of research. She scoured recent newspaper and magazine articles, TV and radio interviews, and contacted local resource people. The last time, of course, she presented the relevant pieces to Luke who then got to make the decisions. Sure, the feminism stuff was more interesting, but being in charge of the process had a way of making otherwise uninteresting material a lot more appealing. She initially enjoyed gathering the articles, arranging the interviews, and so on, for the last book. It wasn't long though before she resented that she couldn't meet with the prospective authors and she couldn't control who Luke would interview.

This time around Lydia didn't mind doing the legwork or reading through unfamiliar subject matter. She had lots of experience doing those administrative tasks, she actually enjoyed organizing things and it was energizing to work without someone looking over her shoulder, so that part of the job was fairly simple. The first phone calls, however, were more difficult. Lydia couldn't help but worry that people wouldn't take her seriously. Truth be told, she still wasn't taking herself seriously at some level, so she couldn't blame them. Her work experience so far had taught her to expect that she would be overlooked. Because of her age, inexperience, or lack of familiarity with the subject matter, she would understand if people didn't see her as having credibility. Surprisingly though, everyone was quite friendly despite her concerns. Maybe the prospect of being published was enough to help people overlook those other issues.

The first interview she set up was with an Anglican priest named Reverend Joseph Ballard. He was at the top of the list of names that came in the file Gerald had given her. Not only was she excited to be starting the interviews, but she was also excited because of the location. One of the benefits of her role was that the company would pay any costs related to the interview process. On the phone, Reverend Ballard had suggested a favourite restaurant of his that Lydia had never been to. It sounded expensive, and while she wouldn't have all of her meetings at this kind of venue, she was going to enjoy this one. After all, she had the company credit card.

She arrived at the restaurant early and immediately began to worry that she was under-dressed. Everything from the elaborate chandelier in the foyer to the water fountain with statues just inside the door to the floral upholstery in the large booth tables made it feel that this was the kind of place you took people to show off how rich you are. If that was the intent, it was certainly working on Lydia, who felt more and more inadequate the longer she stayed. She was quite sure it was going to be a long time before anyone would take her to a place like this again.

"Lydia Phillips, I assume?" asked a man approaching the table. He was wearing a grey sport coat over a blue shirt with a priestly collar. Lydia recognized him from the newspaper articles she had read about him, but he was taller than she expected. Seeing him in person, she could tell by his deep blue eyes and his tall stature that as a younger and slightly thinner man, he would likely have been quite handsome.

She stood up quickly and extended her right hand. "You must be Reverend Ballard."

He had a very gentle handshake, using both hands, one on either side of hers. But when Lydia was ready to let go, he was still holding on.

"I want to thank you for your phone call," he said, still gently moving their hands up and down.

Lydia was pulling back gently, hoping to indicate that the handshake was over, but to no avail. She wasn't claustrophobic but she was starting to feel quite uncomfortable with him still holding her hand and standing so close to her. She could hardly think clearly to continue the conversation.

"And I want to thank you for recommending this restaurant," she said meekly. "I can't wait to order!"

"I have some very well-connected friends," he said humbly as he released her hand. He sat down at the table and added, "I've eaten here with some of them from time to time and I've quite enjoyed the meals."

"Were those meals for business or pleasure?"

"It may sound cliché," he said, looking up from his menu, "but in my line of work, business is almost always pleasure."

It was the kind of answer she was expecting, but what seemed cliché was for her to be having lunch with a priest. She didn't know if she should be confessing something or hatching some kind of crooked scheme like she'd seen in the movies.

"How are you today, Reverend?" asked the waitress as she arrived at the table.

Lydia did not know if the waitress was part of his parish or if he was such a regular customer at the restaurant that the other staff would know him too. This friendly but not entirely familiar tone continued as they discussed their orders. Lydia wasn't sure if they did know each other or if both the priest and the waitress were professionally bound to talk like that.

"First of all," Reverend Ballard began after the waitress left, "I'd like to say how honoured I am to be a part of this book project again. And I want you to know that I am fully committed to helping make it a success this time around."

"Well, before you start filling your day planner with book tour dates," she began, not sure what to make of his confidence, "you should know that there are a number of other potential writers being considered."

He gave a sort of wry smile and Lydia could tell by looking at his wrinkles that this was the kind of smile he had given often. "Of course," he said, nodding politely, "I am very familiar with Westminster's policies."

"That may be," she replied, trying to allay some of her own confusion, "but I am not very familiar with you."

"Oh?" he asked. "Well then, let me tell you a few things."

"I'd like that," said Lydia, taking her notepad from her bag.

Reverend Ballard launched into a lengthy explanation of where he had grown up, his family life, where he had gone to school and what positions he had held. With each tidbit of information, he would throw in some life lesson he had learned. Lydia jotted down a few things here and there, but ten minutes later, when his description arrived at the present time, and the waitress arrived with the food, she hadn't scribbled down any more than would fit in an author's biography on the back cover of a book.

The food looked and smelled great. Lydia paused politely while Reverend Ballard bowed his head silently for a few moments. When he looked up and noticed she hadn't prayed, he said, "Oh, perhaps I should have prayed aloud, to include you."

Not knowing how to respond, Lydia simply smiled, ignored the comment and dipped her spoon into her soup. Her notepad was nearby, but she had hoped the conversation over dinner would be a little lighter, and the formal part could resume after the meal.

"So," she began, "who is the most famous person you've ever eaten with here?" She was asking the question partly for conversation and partly to test his previous claim of having eaten there with important friends.

"I mentioned before that I am quite well connected with local politicians. One time, while I was dining here with a local senator, the national minister of finance joined us. He may not be a celebrity by some standards, but an influential man nonetheless."

Lydia was about to interject with a story of her own brush with fame when the priest began talking again.

"There was a time when priests and bishops were celebrities. People felt blessed just to see their representatives of God and the church. But now," he continued, shaking his head, "people assign that divine status, and more, to actors and athletes. Our society worships people who have risen to fame quickly, but their beauty, talent and fame will fade just as fast."

Too much more of this and Lydia was going to have to pull her notepad closer. "So when you eat with politicians, do you talk politics or spirituality?"

"Politicians really are a misunderstood group. They are just family men trying through their office to better themselves and their communities. They hold positions of leadership and should be given the respect they deserve. I really consider myself quite fortunate to count many politicians as my friends."

His answer left Lydia with a puzzled look on her face. Did he meet with female politicians? Did he think that these leaders were succeeding at bettering themselves and their communities? She chewed through more of her meal thinking she might be better off saving the questions until after dessert. She had double-checked the company policy's fine print to make sure she was allowed to add fancy coffees and dessert to these interview meals.

"It's funny," the priest continued, "I am applauded for having friendships with politicians, but we live in a world where they often cannot speak publicly of their friendship with me. It seems that the public and the media call politicians to a level of secrecy, or hypocrisy, that they themselves wouldn't feel comfortable with."

Lydia had always preferred that politicians keep their religious beliefs to themselves. "How does this new reality impact the politicians personally?" Lydia asked, rewording her thoughts into the most neutral question possible.

"All of a sudden, the separation of church and state is such a popular concept, but I think most people forget what the union offers. It gives more strength and presence to the church and it gives a moral foundation to the state."

"Don't you think it over-burdens the state by giving it extra laws and regulations to enforce?" Lydia asked. She could start to hear her own cynicism coming through her question. To her credit, she was able to restrain herself from asking him to comment on her opinion. She thought that the church was more likely to abuse the strength and presence it received from the state than it was to use it to affect any good in the world. Fortunately, Reverend Ballard had already switched from conversational mode to academic mode, so he was happy to respond to her scepticism.

"For centuries, our educational system has been based on the values of critical analysis. The problem, however, is that most of today's professors, and almost all of their students, have forgotten that being critical doesn't have to mean being negative." As a public speaker, Reverend Ballard made good use of hand gestures and eye contact, but Lydia always felt that he was trying to speak to a larger audience than just her. He began a sweeping motion with his hand. "No matter what idea you present to today's university students, they will conjure up some kind of worst case scenario and ask about that. In so doing, they throw out the whole idea, and all the good it is capable of, simply because a worst case scenario exists."

Lydia accepted this as a valid critique of her own argumentative style, but this still hadn't reassured her about her initial question. He continued defending his ideal church-state model and Lydia grabbed her notepad and began to jot down points. Mostly he presented counter-examples, either from recent history or Bible stories, where the merger of church and state had been positive. None of his examples were able to convince Lydia.

The waitress brought over a complimentary dessert, which was a pleasant surprise for Lydia, partly because it provided some reprieve in the conversation. As soon as the waitress left, the counter-examples continued.

The discussion continued and Lydia wrote down quite a bit of material. No matter what line of questioning she used, the discussion seemed to return to the church-state issue, a topic he was obviously quite passionate and well-informed about, but not the first subject Lydia wanted this book to focus on.

"Well," she said, turning to a new page in her notebook, "I'd like to wrap things up here, but before I do, I'd like to ask you a few brief summary questions."

"Fire away," he said with a smile.

"First," she began, "what do you think is at the heart of Christianity?"

"For the sake of brevity, I'll give the sound-bite version. I know how necessary they are in the publishing industry. The most important thing for me as a priest is to reconcile my parishioners to God. The most important thing for them is then to try to live out that reconciliation and participate in it through their religious devotion, partaking of the sacraments, participating in various religious rituals and so on."

"And finally," Lydia said, jotting down his answer, "if we choose you to write this book, what sort of people do you think would benefit most by reading it?"

With a very confident look on his face, Reverend Ballard looked at Lydia. "I already have a topic and an outline planned for this book. I would like an opportunity to convince people that church and state can work together. So then, my book would be for anyone who is subject to the church and for anyone who is subject to the state, which I think covers everyone."

Lydia was digging through her bag for some papers. "You should know that if we select you, then the book outline and even the topic are determined..."

"...in discussion with the development team. Yes, yes, I know." Reverend Ballard smiled wryly again as he tried reassure her. "As I said, I am quite familiar with Westminster policy."

"Right," said Lydia, placing her interview folder on the table, "so then you should know all about these. This one is a standard non-disclosure agreement, saying you'll keep the contents of these discussions private."

"I won't have a problem signing that," he said.

"And this second one is about a piece of writing I would like to get from you," she said, bending over to reach far enough across to put the papers in front of him. As she passed the second document to him, she thought to put her hand over her chest.

"You'll be needing another sample article, I see," he said. Taking the document in his hand he began skimming it over. "'A sample of your writing... 500-1,000 words... previously published or newly written...' Okay, when do you want that by?"

"The deadline is January 25th," she said. Gerald was coming back on the 28th, a Monday, so that would give Lydia time to assemble everything on the weekend. "You can send it to my email address here," she said, putting her business card at the edge of the table for him to pick up.

"Well, today is the 9th, so that gives me about a week and a half," said the priest as he gathered his things together. He extended his hand as he added, "Thank you for this. It was great to meet you."

Remembering the awkward handshake from before, she reluctantly stretched out her arm in response. "I'm looking forward to reading your sample piece," she said insincerely.

"Goodbye," he said when he eventually let go of her hand. This time he had also patted her shoulder, which only added to Lydia's discomfort.

She gathered her things together, filed away his signed non-disclosure agreement and gave her company credit card to the waitress. "How do you know Reverend Ballard?" Lydia asked as she handed the waitress the signed receipt.

"He's a big customer here," she said. "He comes in with some high rollers from time to time."

"So you don't know him personally then?"

"I just know that he's well respected in the city," she said.

Lydia was hoping for more insight from the waitress or at least a sense that he made other women uncomfortable too.

She walked out of the restaurant excited to have survived her first interview. As she was greeted by the cold, windy winter air, she told herself that the rest would probably be easier. As well prepared as she had been, maybe there was still something missing. She wondered if she could find someone who could help her understand this whole Christian world a little better.
From: Lydia Phillips – Westminster Printers

To: Oscar Brandt

Subject: Reconnecting?

Hi Oscar,

I'm not sure if you are the right Oscar Brandt, so if you have no idea who I am, just ignore this email. Even if you are the guy I'm looking for, you likely don't remember me, but I was a classmate of yours in high school. I just found your contact info online.

I know this is coming totally out of the blue, but I'm wondering if you might be interested in helping me with something. I work for Westminster Printers, a book publishing company based in downtown Toronto. I'm working on a project, and as odd as it may sound, from what I remember of some of our in-class discussions, you may be able to shed some light on this subject for me. If you're interested in chatting with me, I'd be happy to hear from you.

Thanks,

Lydia

From: Oscar Brandt

To: Lydia Phillips – Westminster Printers

Subject: Re: Reconnecting?

Yes, of course I remember you, Lydia. Every time I see a Margaret Atwood book I think back to your independent study unit in our Grade 12 English class. Nobody else put as much work into that assignment as you did, and nobody came anywhere close to having as much enthusiasm for their books as you did.

As far as the reconnecting goes, I'd be happy to. I'm also living in Toronto these days, so meeting up would be pretty easy. That being said, I have absolutely no idea what expertise you remember me having that would benefit your work at a publishing company.

Let me know when's good for you, and we'll be able to work something out.

OB

From: Lydia Phillips – Westminster Printers

To: Oscar Brandt

Subject: Reconnecting?

Hi Oscar,

That sounds great. Just so you're clear, I've been commissioned to oversee the development of a Christian self-help book. I have a long list of potential authors, but I need to be informed about the issue. I remember you speaking about your faith in class discussions without sounding too preachy most of the time. I need someone like you to clarify a few things for me. This meeting would be more professional than social, but I would like the conversation to be as casual as possible.

Any time this week would be great. Can we meet sometime after 5? Also, let me know if there's a restaurant downtown that you think would be a good place to meet.

Thanks,

Lydia

From: Oscar Brandt

To: Lydia Phillips – Westminster Printers

Subject: Re: Reconnecting?

Tomorrow at 5:30 would actually be perfect for me. Also, there's a place called Elgin's Family Restaurant, which I believe is not too far from your office. I've been there a few times and it should serve the purpose quite well.

It sounds like a wonderful project, but I have one minor hesitation. I object to the whole idea of a Christian self-help book. We generally understand step one to becoming a Christian is recognizing that you can't help yourself and that you need Jesus. I'm happy to write this off as a semantic difference, but it is a point that I thought needed to be made. I look forward to hearing more about this project.

OB

**Chapter 5 - The Demographics Consultant**

Lydia spent a big part of the next day compiling a list of questions for her meeting with Oscar. She didn't expect him to be able to answer all of them, but answers to at least a few would give her a good sense of whether or not he would be helpful.

Elgin's Family Restaurant was close enough to the office that she could walk there and leave her car in the company parking lot. Since it was so close, she wondered why she had never been there before. Upon arriving though, the reasons became clear. The exterior was almost devoid of decorations, and none of the items promoted on the sandwich board outside seemed terribly appealing. Inside it had no decor on the walls, no elaborate menu options, and nothing special out front to bring people in. Still, the air smelled like there was good food cooking, the prices were reasonable, and unlike most restaurants downtown, the waitresses were dressed more modestly than she was.

There weren't too many people in the restaurant, so when Oscar arrived a few minutes later, it was easy for him to find Lydia. However, since she hadn't changed that much since high school, he would have been able to find her even if the room had been completely full.

"Lydia?" he asked, as he approached her table.

Oscar had been a skinny, lanky kid in high school, but now it seemed his body had compensated with a little extra weight gain. His rusty blonde hair had always been a little unkempt and while it was now well-groomed, it was showing signs of thinning in the front. Seeing him again brought back all her memories of him from high school, though there weren't many. He had generally been pretty quiet, but he never hesitated to defend the Christian point of view during classroom discussions. The popular crowd mocked guys like him mercilessly, but he never backed down.

"Hi Oscar," she said, standing up to shake his hand. "Good to see you again after all this time."

"Likewise," Oscar said.

A young blond woman, who had been trailing a little behind, reached out her hand to Lydia as well. "I'm Evangeline Taylor, his fiancée."

"Oh, congratulations!" Lydia exclaimed. "When's the wedding?"

"It's this coming fall," Evangeline replied proudly, "but we're still looking at a few different dates."

"Wow, you must be so excited!" Lydia said, more because it was expected than because she actually meant it. "Will you be staying for supper too?"

"No, I have some pre-wedding errands to run, but I just thought I'd come in and see who Oscar was meeting." Then, turning to her fiancé she said, "Give me a call as soon as you're done, okay?"

"Yup, bye," he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

When Evangeline left, Oscar and Lydia sat down at the table.

"You didn't mention you were engaged," Lydia said.

"I guess I could have," Oscar said with a nod. "It's probably good that you didn't mention that when she was here," he added with a grin.

Not sure if he was joking or genuinely afraid of his fiancée's wrath, Lydia avoided the subject and asked, "So how long have you been engaged?"

"I proposed on Thanksgiving, and we're still working on picking a date, but it will probably be sometime in the fall," he said with less excitement than she expected. "But tell me about you. What's brought you from high school to a high level job with a publishing company?"

Lydia left out an explanation that her status was actually quite low and that her new status was almost certainly temporary. She summarized where she had studied and travelled since graduating from high school.

"Wow, that all sounds really interesting," he said with a smile that indicated genuine interest.

"It probably sounds better from the outside looking in," she conceded.

Oscar laughed then added, "Boy, it really is good to see you."

Despite the fact that she had invited him, Lydia was still suspicious that as a man and as a religious person, someone like Oscar could never be comfortable with just a conversation; he must be hoping for something more. At least he was engaged so she probably wouldn't have to worry about that part, but she wanted to make it clear that she was not interested in being proselytized. "You mean it's good to see me looking into Christianity?" she asked a little defensively, letting her scepticism bubble to the surface.

Oscar laughed again. "No, I just mean that it's good to see you. I'm not saying you didn't look like this back then, but you look so mature and professional now. Seeing how far you've come and how much you've accomplished is a bit of a reminder that I've come a little ways since then too, maybe not as much as you, but still. And I like talking about faith stuff," Oscar continued. "I'm really interested in hearing more about this project you're working on, but I make no presumptions about where you are at spiritually. I have no hidden agenda."

As far as Lydia remembered Oscar had been a little socially awkward in high school and not very expressive, so this demonstration of flattery and charm was out of character. "Sorry, I guess I sounded a bit harsh there. I've just had some bad experiences with Christians."

"I don't doubt that," Oscar replied quickly.

"Really?" Lydia asked, glad to hear some refreshing honesty.

"I'm not surprised for two reasons," he explained. "First, I can look back on my own life and see times I may have been pushy or over-confident enough that I probably gave other people a bad impression. Second, I've had a ton of bad experiences with other Christians too."

"You'd almost think those bad experiences would be enough incentive for people to walk away from the whole thing," Lydia said, part statement, part question.

Oscar was about to respond when the waitress approached. Neither of them had fully decided what they wanted, but they both tried to pick something quickly. Lydia reminded him that this was a company expense and he could have whatever he wanted, but he still only ordered from the cheapest part of the menu. For the sake of simplicity, Lydia ordered the same thing.

"So tell me, what have you been up to since high school?" Lydia asked out of interest and so that the whole discussion wouldn't have to be about her project.

"I did a year of Bible college right after high school," he explained. "Then I worked for a year at a window factory, then an undergrad degree in statistics, then a few years working for an insurance company and now I'm working on a Master's degree in Theology. So between my degree and my upcoming marriage, I hope to carve out some kind of future."

"Is your fiancée a Christian too?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "Her dad is also the pastor of the church we attend."

"I guess some people don't change much, do they?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I feel like if I asked you ten years ago how you'd like your life to end up, this would be pretty much exactly what you would have wanted then."

Oscar nodded slowly and then said, "It's funny how when you look back over your life it all looks fairly simple and predictable. It must look even simpler from the outside looking in. Along the way though, we all face new challenges and we do our best to make the best decision possible. We're not trying to fulfill a stereotype or do what other people would expect us to do. So far, I've changed my mind about what I want to study, what line of work I want to be in, and where I want to live. I'm sure spirituality works the same way. It might still all look the same to you, but I've changed my mind about some of my beliefs and I've become even more convinced about others."

"What have you changed your mind about?" Lydia asked, hoping he hadn't changed too much or he might not be able to help her as much as she thought.

"I guess I don't read the Bible as literally as I used to."

"So you don't believe the stuff in the Bible actually happened anymore?" In some ways Lydia was becoming more comfortable with him, because he was sounding more rational than she was expecting, but she still wanted a normal Christian to be able to help her understand the demographic.

"It's not that I don't believe they actually happened, but I no longer think that the historical accuracy is the most important part of the story."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," Lydia asked. "Either they happened or they didn't."

"It's a little bit like this," he said. "Imagine there's a kid that you are in some way responsible for. You catch him telling a lie, and so you tell him the story of the boy who cried wolf. Afterwards, you want to see if he got the point, so you ask him what he thinks. If the first thing he does is ask whether or not the story actually happened, how convinced would you be that he got the point of the story?"

"I get what you're saying," she said. "So it doesn't matter to you anymore whether they're true stories or not?"

"Whether or not they happened exactly as printed, I still firmly believe they are very much true stories."

Lydia scribbled a few things into her notepad. "Has anything else changed in your spiritual outlook?"

"Yeah, I guess I'm not as legalistic as I used to be either."

"So, what does that mean? You don't go to church as often anymore?"

"No, I still go pretty much every week and do all the regular churchy stuff. It's still important to me that I don't use swear words, for example, but whereas it used to be rule-based living, now it's more relationship-based living."

"It sounds to me like your _relationship_ ," Lydia said hesitantly, "still has a lot of rules in it."

"It's a little bit like this," Oscar began. "One year in University I lived in a big house with a bunch of my friends, all of whom were girls. Maybe they were afraid of living with messy guys in general or my reputation had preceded me, but when I moved in, they sat me down and told me precisely which chores I would be doing and how often I would be doing them. If I did my chores poorly, or late, or not at all, they would get mad. But I soon realized that if I did the chores out of a sense of duty or out of resentment or apathy, I wouldn't do a good job. So, as their bitterness grew, my resent would grow and the downward cycle continued. At any point I could have said, 'I don't need this' and moved out, but these were my friends. If that friendship meant anything, their opinion would matter to me. I needed to see that all the chores they were doing were for our mutual benefit. I needed to recognize that these are my responsibilities as an adult. Then, if I do the job well, the relationship improves and I have more incentive to continue to do the job well in the future."

Lydia had enough experience with siblings, roommates and boyfriends that she completely understood what he meant. While she wasn't entirely used to being taught with metaphors, it did help her to understand what he meant about the rules and relationship dichotomy.

"Would you say this is a uniquely Christian perspective?" she asked.

Oscar thought for a little while before saying, "It would be unfair for me to try to speak on behalf of other spiritual traditions. Essentially every religion sets out to solve a different problem, but the understanding is generally the same. Almost all religions believe that there is something wrong with humanity that, left to our own devices, we cannot resolve. So the role of the religious leaders is to arm their people with the tools and the knowledge to be a part of the life-giving cycle and fix the problem. But we are still human, and bound to revert back to the life-taking cycle. So then, in this view we can only achieve enlightenment, salvation or whatever you want to call it by being a part of the life-giving cycle for so long that we escape up and out."

"So, by choosing a religion, you're really just choosing which cycle you want to be a part of?"

"Pretty much," Oscar agreed, "but, obviously, if you're just stuck in a cycle, you're not going anywhere. Christianity offers something different. We don't believe that God plucks the best and brightest off some religious ladder. Instead, we are called out of that cycle. Whether we're flying high or dragging ourselves along the bottom, Jesus says, 'Come! Walk with me.' He fixes the problem for us and when we walk with him, that relationship grows and Christian lifestyle habits are formed."

Lydia couldn't help but think that a guy like Oscar would be a great addition to her development team. She liked the way that he explained things and the way that he was honest about his own weaknesses. However, she didn't want someone who was in denial about all of the problems.

"You make it all sound so holistic," she said, "but that's not my experience at all. I see religion as a bunch of leaders telling everyone what they are supposed to believe, whether it's sincere or not."

"Well, if I can speak on behalf of the institutions for a moment, the trouble is that we have no way of knowing what someone actually believes. So then religious institutions take these rituals and routines, either inherited or created, and make them benchmarks of faithfulness. That way they can see if they're accomplishing anything or not. But the more attention a religion gives to its rituals and routines and to itself as an institution, the less it points people toward the reason for doing those things. When it does that, the religion renders itself irrelevant."

Lydia was enjoying their talk, but she was still confused. "Oscar, I'm not sure I agree with or even understand everything you just said, but how can you be so anti-religious and still be so proudly part of a religion?"

"I'm not anti-religion; I just want to make clear that allegiance to a religious institution needs to be secondary to sincere belief."

"But if religions are inevitably corruptible, like you say, what possible good can come from them?"

"Maybe I'll shift gears and try explaining it another way," he said, pausing to put his thoughts together. "It's a little bit like this. Do you ever buy cotton swabs?" he asked.

"Yeah," she responded, not sure at all where he was going with this. If such an obvious question needed to be asked, maybe Oscar didn't buy them at all.

"What do you use them for?" he asked again.

"Umm, mostly for cleaning my ears," she said carefully, now convinced that he neither bought nor used cotton swabs at all. She was resisting the urge to look in his ears right at that moment. "Don't you?" she asked, almost afraid to hear his response.

"Sure I do," he started, as Lydia breathed a sigh of relief, "but I'm not supposed to."

"Who told you that?" she asked.

"My doctor," he answered. "I got an ear infection a while ago and he said it might be from using cotton swabs. He said any time I stick something that small in my ear, I risk getting an infection, damaging my hearing, or generally causing irritation. He's surprised they're even available on the market."

"Well somebody must think they're safe, otherwise they wouldn't be allowed to advertise themselves for that purpose."

"That's what I thought too," Oscar said, "but then I looked closely at the packaging. It lists off various other uses, like taking off make-up and things like that, but then it says that they are for cleaning ear surfaces only, and not to be used internally."

"So you can still use them?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said slowly, with purpose, "as long as you don't let them get in too deep." With that, Oscar gave her a look as if to say the story was finished.

"I'm sorry," she laughed, "it's been a while since people talked to me in metaphors. So the cotton swab is religion?"

"Right," he nodded, "and the ear is your soul or whatever you want to call it. The point is I still use them, even though I think it's a bad idea, because I'm not entirely sure I can properly maintain ear hygiene without them."

Lydia nodded, thinking that she mostly understood his point. "It doesn't matter to me, but for marketing reasons I need to know, would you say that the Bible supports your stance?"

"Sure," he said confidently. "The way I see it, the Bible reads like one long repeating pattern: God's people screw up, they feel guilty, and then apologize to God. Just when the relationship gets cozy, the whole thing repeats, over and over again. God eventually gets tired of this and sends Jesus onto the scene. He then goes around criticizing empty religious practise and vain self-righteousness. He didn't come to replace one religion, Judaism, with another religion, Christianity. Instead he came calling people to a deeper relationship directly with God, without some religion getting in the way."

Somehow, during the time they spent talking together, Oscar had gone from a high school religious fanatic to an irreverent idealist to a person that Lydia thought could definitely help her get closer to getting the book published.

"Oscar, I've still got a lot of work to do, but I'm wondering if you would be interested in being a part of this project long-term?" Lydia asked.

"Absolutely," he said immediately.

"Really? You don't want to hear the details first?"

"Heck, I'm a theology grad student, my calendar is nothing if not flexible and I can't think of anything more applicable to what I'm supposed to be learning."

"Wow," she said, "this is great! Do you have time to get together again early next week? I'm interviewing a potential author for the book, and I'd like to bring along another perspective." Whether or not Oscar was the person she was looking for, Lydia felt a sense of relief come over her, as though she were finally at least one small step closer to something and it seemed her weekend was now open.

"Monday is out, but yeah, Tuesday and Wednesday are fine," he agreed.

"Okay, I'll see if Tuesday works for him. Can you meet me downtown somewhere around 12:30? The guy is a farmer who lives a little ways out of town. My company will cover gas and meals on the way. Email me a place where I can pick you up and we can go from there." She reached into her purse to give him a business card. "I know you have my email address, but in case you need to call, here's my info."

"Wow, you have cards with your name on them," he said, turning the card over to look at the other side, "I'm jealous." He put the card into his wallet before adding, "I'll double check my calendar, but I'm pretty sure it's fine. If not I'll let you know."

The waitress arrived with their food just as Lydia was ready to describe the publishing process at Westminster Printers. Lydia picked up a French fry as she was about to begin the explanation.

"Sorry, can you give me a second?" Oscar interrupted. He put his head down. He made less fanfare than Reverend Ballard had, but it was much weirder to see a guy in his twenties wearing normal clothes praying in public than it was to see a man in a priestly collar doing the same.

"Do you always pray in public like that?" asked Lydia when he lifted his head back up.

"Well, I learned to pray around a dinner table full of my mom's delicious home-cooked meals. If I'm going to pray over that food," he said, taking a hold of the burger he had ordered, "I should definitely be praying over food like this."

She didn't normally go for that kind of folksy wisdom, but her current project had inclined her to recording quotes like that.

"I see," she said, scribbling down a summary of what he had just said. "Do you always talk in similes and metaphors?"

"Most of the time, yes. Although, I'm learning that it isn't always the best way to communicate with my fiancée. If it's a problem for you, I can try to speak more plainly, but this is how things make sense for me."

"No," she insisted, "it's no problem. You do whatever works for you. I've just never met anyone who talks like this before."

Lydia went on to describe how the publishing process had gone when she was on the development team for _Feminine-ism_. Even though she tried not to, she got into some of her frustrations with the company, and her boss in particular. As she described the company, Oscar flipped through the policy manual she had given him.

"It sounded like a dream job when you first started talking about it," Oscar said after Lydia's rant ended, "but it sounds a little more realistic now. It must be frustrating, but good for you for persevering through it."

Lydia laughed, "You know, when my friends hear me complain about my job like this, they tell me I should just quit."

Oscar nodded. "Some people just don't understand. Just because there are some flaws in the institution, doesn't mean that getting up and walking away is your only option."

Lydia nodded, and then paused, wondering if he was comparing his situation to hers.

Oscar's cell phone rang.

"Hi honey," he said after seeing Evangeline's name on his call display screen. "Yes, I was going to call. We're essentially finished now... Yes, I'll be ready when you get here.... Bye."

"Yeah, we should get going," Lydia said when he got off the phone, already having started to pack up her things.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I should have confirmed that with you."

"No, no," Lydia insisted. "You're right, we're finished." She sincerely did mean what she was saying, but she also had a sense she didn't want to be there when Evangeline came back.

"Okay, so I'll get back to you about Tuesday, but it sounds like a fun trip."

"Yeah, it'll be good to have another perspective," Lydia said. "So I guess I'll see you then."

"Yup. Thanks for supper."

"No problem."

When Oscar left, Lydia flagged down the waitress to resolve the bill. Oscar certainly hadn't perfectly answered all of the questions she had asked, and she hadn't even asked all of the questions on her list, but despite all that, she had enjoyed talking to him. Their one-hour meeting gave her a greater sense of accomplishment than she had from her eight hours of work at the office.

No Till Farmer Ploughs for Peace

(Woodsville Gazette, December 12, 2003)

An Air Force pilot running practice drills in the area received a disturbing message recently. It wasn't radioed to him from the base; it was written in one of the fields he was flying over. In plain block letters it read, "Love your enemies."

Disturbed by the seditious nature of the unfamiliar phrase, the young pilot reported it to his superior officer.

"I don't know what surprised me more," said Sergeant James Cooper, "that this young soldier had never read the Gospel of Matthew or that this farmer would misinterpret that passage so badly."

The Sergeant did not think there was anything criminal about this act, but he insisted, "It was certainly unpatriotic." Rather than report this to the local police, he simply paid the farmer a visit.

"I never thought so many people would see it," said Benjamin Worsley, who's been an organic farmer outside of Woodsville for almost forty years. He expected the message would be hidden when the winter snow came and by spring it would indiscernible.

"Our newspapers are full of military rhetoric and symbols of violence, so I decided to send a small message of peace instead." That small message took up over forty acres. "I do not appreciate that my government continues to bang the drums, and I refuse to allow them to use God's name to justify their war games."

Worsley is no stranger to controversy, having participated in a wide variety of anti-war demonstrations throughout his life.

The conversation between the sergeant and the farmer was amicable enough, but neither was able to convince the other of his point of view.

"I'm all in favour of peace," Sergeant Cooper explained. "That's what we're training our personnel to protect. But you love the wrong people in this world, and you get killed. I'd rather teach my boys that over here than have them learn it the hard way on the battlefield."

Worsley has no plans to write any similar messages in the near future.

**Chapter 6 - Benjamin Worsley**

Lydia was a little worried that perhaps she had been a touch hasty in inviting Oscar along for the interview. After all, it was going to be a long car ride, which could get awkward. During the interview he and the candidate could get talking in religious jargon, which she wouldn't understand. Nonetheless, she had a sense that she could trust Oscar, and she still was old-fashioned enough that she felt a little safer with a man in the car.

When they started out on Tuesday, Oscar insisted that Lydia choose the music they listened to and the restaurant they stopped at. He was so insistent that Lydia began to wonder if he was maybe a little too comfortable taking orders from the woman in the driver's seat. She decided she wouldn't ask if he had gotten permission from his fiancée to make this trip with her.

They stopped for a few slices of pizza at a place beside the highway. When they were driving again, Lydia handed Oscar a copy of the news story that featured Benjamin Worsley, the man they were going to interview. The city newspaper only made a brief mention of his story, but Lydia was able to get a copy of a longer article from the small town newspaper near Mr. Worsley's farm.

"This guy is pretty bold," Oscar said when he had finished reading.

"There's one thing I don't get, though," Lydia said.

"What's that?"

"Normally when I think of religious people, at least when I think of Christians, I think of old white guys with conservative politics who talk about bringing the country back to its Christian origins. But every now and then, especially since I've been researching for this book, I come across people who are big on social justice and come off sounding pretty liberal. So, are they just from different streams of Christianity, or what's going on there?"

"The short answer is that, yes, those are just different streams," Oscar conceded, "but that isn't at all what Jesus had in mind."

"So then which side do you think is closer to what he intended?" Lydia asked pointedly.

"That's a tricky one," Oscar said, pausing to think for a moment. "It's a little bit like this. I'm going to tell you a few quotes and ask you what you think of them. _'Good things are coming to people who are mourning, because they will be comforted. Good things are coming to those who are gentle, because they will inherit the earth. Good things are coming to people who are merciful, because they will receive mercy. Good things are coming to peacemakers, because they will be called God's children.'_ Now if you saw that quote written somewhere or you heard someone say it, where would you align that person, politically and socially?"

"I guess on the left," was Lydia's answer.

"Yeah, it sounds that way to me too. Now, how about this one?" Oscar asked as he struggled to remember how it exactly came together. _"'You know the law, don't murder, but I have some new laws. Don't hate anyone. If you call anyone a fool, you will have to answer for that. You know the law, don't cheat on your spouse, but you shouldn't even look at another person with lust in your eyes, because then you've already cheated in your heart. And you know you shouldn't lie when you swear on the Bible, but you shouldn't even swear on the Bible at all. You should just live a good enough life that when you say something, people will know that you are telling the truth.'_ What direction would you say this quote leans?"

"That sounds like it comes more from the right," Lydia answered hesitantly.

"There's just one more," Oscar said. _"'It's common sense, to love your neighbours and hate your enemies, but check this out: Love your enemies, and pray for the people that give you a hard time.'_ "

"Wait, are all these quotes from the Bible?" Lydia asked, recognizing that last quote from Mr. Worsley's story.

"Yes," answered Oscar. "Now, bear in mind I was pretty loose with the paraphrase, but not only are those all from the Bible, but they are all quotes from Jesus, and they all come back-to-back as part of the same sermon. All his life Jesus was surrounded by conservative religious leaders and he challenged them to a higher sense of legal observance. Then, when he met liberals, his call to generosity and others-centered living trumped all of their experiences. Jesus was more conservative than the conservatives and more liberal than the liberals."

"So what you're saying, then, is that when Christians lean one way or the other, they're only getting half the message?" Lydia asked.

"Yes," Oscar agreed, "but they're even falling short with the half that they've picked. Unfortunately, it's much easier to pick one way or the other than to try to live out both parts of this teaching."

"So then for conservative Christians," she asked, "would it be easier for them to get along with liberal Christians or conservative non-Christians?"

Oscar was quiet for a while, then shook his head, "That should be an easy question to answer, shouldn't it?"

"I don't know. Should it?"

"Yes," insisted Oscar, "a Christian's primary allegiance, by definition, should be to the Kingdom of God, not to any country, any political affiliation or any single social cause. Any other division is unbiblical."

Lydia didn't understand what he had just said but she was sure that she wouldn't understand his explanation if she asked him to clarify, so she just made a mental note of what he had said and kept driving.

The next hour in the car passed pretty quickly, and soon they were relying on Lydia's GPS to navigate them through the last few turns. When the machine told them they had arrived, there was no house, no driveway, and nothing to indicate that they had arrived anywhere. Lydia had jotted down the directions Mr. Worsley had given her over the phone, but they didn't make sense based on where they ended up either. Neither Lydia nor Oscar was at all familiar with this area, so they back-tracked until they found a local gas station.

"I guess we don't need a fill-up," Oscar said, looking over at the gauge on the dashboard.

"No, we'll just go in and ask for directions."

Oscar followed her into the building and proceeded to collect a newspaper, a bottle of apple juice and a chocolate bar. While he paid, Lydia asked about how to find the farm.

The attendant chuckled at the mention of Benjamin Worsley's name, but gave very clear directions on how to find the farm.

"You're hungry again already?" Lydia asked, getting back in the car.

"No," Oscar said, throwing everything he had purchased into the back seat. "I'll have these later. I just think it's better to buy stuff from people when you're asking them for directions."

"Why does it matter?"

"Maybe it doesn't," he answered quickly. "Maybe he would happily give directions for free, maybe he's just happy for the company, but maybe he gets a lot of city-slickers like us coming in and asking for directions without buying anything, and maybe each time it reminds him that his small independent shop is being threatened by the larger chains. Besides, by giving us directions, he is performing an act of grace for us, so I'm happy to do this little act of grace for him."

Lydia didn't respond. She was confused as to how the same person that could make complex biblical ideas sound simple could also make an otherwise simple transaction much more complicated.

As they turned onto the driveway, she saw "E.H. Worsley & Son" written on the side of an old barn and beside it was an even older-looking house. A dog with matted fur and muddied paws came around the corner of the house, took a few steps toward Lydia's car and started barking. Soon after that, a man in dusty overalls and a full greying beard emerged from the barn. As Lydia parked her car beside a rusty green farm truck, the farmer caught the dog by its collar and led it safely into the garage.

"She's a little too friendly for her own good," he said, as he pulled the door shut behind him. "If I let her, she'd jump right up on ya, so I figured it'd be best to keep her behind closed doors for a little while."

"You can hardly punish a dog for being friendly," Oscar joked.

"Still," insisted Lydia "that's very nice of you, Mr. Worsley."

"No problem at all, and please just call me Ben," he said. "Don't give me any points for being considerate though, I was just worried about my own hide. What kind of impression would I have made if I let that old hound get your nice clothes dirty before you even got in the door?"

Lydia had already been exposed to his folksy brand of humour through their phone conversations and she was used to him laughing at his own jokes, but she still didn't know if she thought it was corny or endearing. Seeing him laugh in person also revealed that he had neither the whitest nor the straightest teeth she had ever seen.

"Oh, Mr. Worsley, I mean, Ben" Lydia said, suddenly remembering that he was expecting her to come alone, "this is Oscar, my associate."

"Don't worry," Oscar said, "I'm just eavesdropping. No need to feel intimidated."

Ben laughed again as he shook Oscar's hand. "If she wanted to intimidate me, she would've had to bring along someone a lot older than you!"

Lydia quickly looked over to see if Oscar was uncomfortable, but he just laughed. "I take that as a compliment," he said.

Inside the house Mr. Worsley took off his dirty rubber boots and placed his hat on a rack with a dozen other similar hats. When he made no indication that he was going to change his clothes, Lydia was surprised. She wasn't expecting him to do the interview in a shirt and tie, but she was surprised that he thought his dirty work clothes would be good enough. She also noticed a very earthy smell hanging over the whole house. All around the room there were newspapers spread out with piles of vegetables drying; there were carrots by the coat rack, potatoes on the table, and some leaves on the windowsill.

"If I put some water on for tea, will you have a cup?" Ben asked, already pouring water into a kettle.

"Sure," Lydia said as she searched for the cleanest part of the living room sofa to sit on, "a cup of tea would be great." Oscar just nodded as he looked around the room at the pictures on the wall.

Ben put the kettle down on a woodstove and grabbed a tin container from the counter. "I grow my own tea. I hope you don't mind trying some home brew." Lydia found herself chuckling to ease the awkwardness of Ben laughing again at his own play on words. "I found something like camomile growing in my bush so I mixed that with a variant of jasmine that I also grow. I think it works out pretty well."

Lydia couldn't remember the last time she had been in a house solely heated by wood, and had probably never had anything to eat or drink that was prepared with that kind of heat. "I love the aura your woodstove gives off," she said.

"I notice you've got electric baseboard heaters around the room too," commented Oscar. "When do you use wood and when do you use electric heat?"

"A while ago, the electric company shut off power to the house, so I had to make do without for a while. Turns out it wasn't all that hard, so I never turned it back on. The wires are still there, but this house is officially off the grid."

Lydia hoped that he would explain why the power was cut in the first place, but as he walked toward them, handing them their cups of tea, it was clear that the answer was not forthcoming. Since it wasn't really relevant to the book, she let the issue drop.

"This probably isn't a politically correct thing to ask, Lydia," Ben began, pretending to care about protocol, "but I've been wanting to know, is this book a strictly professional thing for you, or is it a sort of religious project too?"

"Oh," she began, "this isn't a, I mean, I don't really, um..."

"She's not into organized religion," Oscar said simply.

"Is that so," Ben said, laughing at Lydia's discomfort. "Well, I have lots of experience with disorganized religion, and I'm not sure it's any better, but I like where you're coming from."

As much as she would like to have pursued Ben's line of thinking, Lydia was determined to keep this interview about him, and not her.

"I've read the story in the Gazette about the incident," she began, changing the subject entirely, "but is there any part of the story you'd like to tell that didn't make it into the article?"

"Something you might be interested to know is that it wasn't even my tractor," he began, getting comfortable in his recliner. "One day I'm out minding my own business when I see at least a dozen cattle standing in my field. Ordinarily, that would be fine, except I don't own any cattle. Neighbour next door has a big herd of Holsteins and a son that's too lazy to fix the fence, so this was actually the third time this year this had happened. I go over and let them know and we corral the buggers back onto their property."

"Did they do any damage to your crops?" Oscar asked.

"Lucky for me, I had the crop off already, but had that happened a few weeks earlier, I could have been in trouble. Anyways, I guess he appreciated that I didn't make a stink about it and to square things up, he sends his boy over the next day to see if I need help with anything. I had lots of manure for him to shovel, but he comes over in his nice clothes driving their big twelve wheel tractor, ready to plough my field."

"But don't you run a no till operation here?" Oscar asked, remembering the newspaper headline.

"That's exactly what I told him when I climbed up into his air-conditioned cab. He just smiled and nodded, probably figuring I was some crazy old codger. He goes on to show me all sorts of gizmos and gadgets they had in there and how it was all hooked up to satellites. The kid said I could use the satellites to track moisture pockets or soil erosion or I could plough any kind of pattern into the field. He was probably thinking about a corn maze, but these jets had been flying over my farm all week and I wondered if I could send them a message. That's when this 'love your enemies' idea came to my mind. So that's the job I gave him to do. He got to play with his toy and I got him out of my hair. Then a few weeks later I had these guys in army greens come to my door."

"What were they like?" Lydia asked. "Friendly? Confrontational?"

"Old Cooper was nice enough at first, but he had brought the recruits along and wanted to look tough in front of them. Now, maybe the patriotic thing to do would have been to salute him and call him sir, but when he challenged my theology, I challenged his. When he challenged my understanding of international conflicts, I challenged his. It was a decent conversation for a while, I gave them tea and cookies like I'm giving you, but they didn't seem to want to dirty their clean suits by sitting on my furniture. Anyways, when Cooper started telling me about how brave these boys were, and then I asked him if he had told them about post traumatic stress disorder or about the high rates of suicide and domestic violence among returning soldiers. He wasn't so friendly after that."

"Do you have any hostility toward them?" Lydia asked.

"No," he answered quickly. "They all think they're doing the right thing. The two young fellas he brought with him were good, upstanding young men. But those boys are gonna be taken to hell and back, and I'm worried their souls won't come out clean on the other side."

"Was there any response from your neighbours about what you did and all the press you got?" she continued.

Ben laughed, again revealing to Lydia his less than perfect teeth. "The locals have all written me off as a crazy old coot a long time ago."

Lydia asked more questions about his interactions with other people from the community and local church groups. She wanted to get a sense in which circles he had a good reputation and if that could be broadened to create a market for a book he might write. After half an hour Lydia was no closer to knowing if he was a good author candidate, but with all the talk of organic farming she had started to think about what kind of produce she might be going home with.

"So is this what you always wanted?" she asked him. "Did you grow up as a farm kid, hoping that someday you would take over where your father left off?"

"Hell, no," he said. "Sure, as a boy I loved the farm, but I became a teenager in the sixties. I just wanted to damn the man, and all that. As soon as I was old enough, I was outta here."

"So you were part of the early hippie movement?" she asked. "What made you choose that kind of lifestyle?"

"I could give you a long answer," he began. "I could tell you about a few cousins of mine from down south that were drafted to fight in Vietnam. I could also tell you about conversations I had with blacks about the inequality they suffered. But mostly I was a teenager full of piss and vinegar, and that was what folk like me were doing."

"So what did that lifestyle involve for you?"

"My friends and I, we did all the hippie stuff, you know. We held hands and sang songs about peace. Meanwhile, we were living out of vans, indulging in all of the free love and mind-altering drugs we could get our hands on."

"I've always been fascinated by that part of history," Lydia said with a smile.

"You may have read about these things in the history books, honey, but it sure didn't feel like history at the time," he said with a chuckle. "Let me see. In '67 we drove to New York to march with Reverend King protesting the war. The year after that I was in Chicago at the Democratic Convention. That was when the cops cracked down pretty hard. Somehow I escaped without any bruises but some of my buddies weren't so lucky. After that I reckoned I'd had enough. That's about when I came back home, and then my old man put me to work."

In her studies, Lydia had read quite a bit about Martin Luther King Jr., but she had always seen him solely as a human rights campaigner, so hearing him called Reverend was a reminder to her that he was in fact a spiritual figure. "So was your hippie experience a spiritual time for you?"

"I thought so at the time, but these days spirituality means more to me than rebellion and cheap drugs."

"So what changed? Why did you go home?" Lydia asked.

"For a while, I had been running out of money, and around that time my father had a heart attack. He always joked that it was from worrying about my wayward lifestyle." He shook his head as he looked up at an old family picture on the wall. "But I was needed at home, and things were falling apart everywhere else. So I worked the fields while my dad recovered, and I thought things over."

"What did you think about?"

"I thought about how our revolution was failing. Reverend King preached peace, but when he died, the nation erupted in violence. We wanted to end the war in Vietnam, but we were fighting here. My own lifestyle didn't reflect the freedom, love and peace we chanted. So while all my old friends were partying in Woodstock, I was driving a tractor, asking myself, 'Was King right about non-violence?' and 'What had all of our protests accomplished?'"

"Did you come up with any answers?" Oscar asked.

"The only answer I could come up with for a while was that I should have gone to Woodstock. That looked like a lot of fun," he said with a laugh. "But I told my folks the only way I would come back to the farm was if they got rid of their chemical fertilizers and pesticides. We didn't call it organic farming in those days, and they didn't call it organic farming a hundred years ago either when my grandfather was too poor to buy the chemicals in the first place. Maybe my dad was just really sick or maybe they reckoned there was no other way I'd do it, but they agreed. I had lost hope in a lot of things in those days, mostly in myself. Secretly I thought I would probably go back to regular farming after a year or so, but when I started getting my hands dirty again, something changed. I watched as the soil healed and reclaimed itself from the damage done by years of chemical abuse. When I looked at the plants and animals around me, I saw death every day, but I also saw birth and new life and every day it struck me as miraculous. Do what you will with the creation story, but the order of life I saw on my farm, that was no accident. Workin' this land is where I met God and I reckoned that if the soil, the plants and the animals could be reborn, maybe there was hope for me."

Even though the tape recorder was rolling, Lydia scribbled quickly to get everything down on paper. "So what does this have to do with Martin Luther King and ploughing peace messages in your field?" she asked when she had caught up.

"I believed in peace then, just like I do now," he began. "I was too thick-headed to get it at the time, but Reverend King always said that racism didn't just oppress African Americans. He said that white folk were also victims of the unjust and hate-filled world they were creating. So if I was going to find peace in the world, I had to make peace with myself. God only knows why, but I started my quest for peace by reading the Bible, and when I did, I found the Jesus that Reverend King had talked about; a man proclaiming peace in a violent world."

Ben's words seemed to remind Lydia that this was going to be a religious book. She loved reading about the 60's counterculture movement, but the peace discussion would have been a lot more convincing to her without bringing up the Bible. Mr. Worsley continued on, giving examples of parts of the Bible that advocate peace, but she could only think about the church's violent legacy. Part of her wanted to challenge him on that point, but she thought it best to stick to the script. She hadn't gotten any background information at all yet.

"I hope I'm not getting too personal by asking this," she said apologetically, "but have you always lived here alone?"

"Yup," he said without hesitation, "ever since my folks kicked the bucket I've been the only one living here."

"You never wanted to get married?" she asked cautiously.

"Sure I wanted to, but the right girl never came along. The hippie chicks I knew didn't want to settle down, at least not on a farm, and the farm chicks I knew didn't want to marry a hippie, so here I am."

Lydia understood the logic, but she still caught herself feeling a little sorry for him. "I've got to draw things to a close," she said as she completed jotting down a few notes from his answers, "but I'd like to ask a few final summary questions that I'm asking all of the candidates."

"That's fine with me."

"Simply, and in your own words," she began, "what is the most important part of being a Christian."

"People asked Jesus a question like that, so I'll borrow his words, and add a few of my own. He said there were two things that summed up all of God's law – we need to 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, strength and mind' and 'Love your neighbour as yourself.' So, we need to make peace with our creator and we need to live in harmony with the world around us. If you can do that, I think you've got this Christianity thing licked."

"Blessed are the peacemakers, right?" asked Oscar.

"Maybe I should plough that one into my field next year," Ben joked.

The hardest part of doing this interview for Lydia was having to hold back her own opinions. The whole idea of peace being motivated by Christian values went completely against her understanding of history. Her mind was full of what-abouts and what-ifs. She had a feeling that Oscar and Mr. Worsley were the kind of guys that might have answers ready for her questions, but this wasn't the time or place for that conversation.

"And one more question," Lydia added. "If you were to write a book with us, what kind of people do you think need to hear your story?"

"I ain't no saint," he said simply. "I know my flaws and a lot of people probably don't want to hear what I have to say. But in my line of work, I meet a lot of people that have it all figured out. It's human nature to be complacent and comfortable. Rich folks drive hundreds of kilometres from the city in their hybrid cars to buy my organic crops. They pay my bills and all, but sometimes I wish they'd stay a little longer for a chat. I'd love to be able to talk some sense into people like that."

"That's great," she said, jotting down the last bit of what he had said. "But as much as I'd love to chat longer, I should probably cut the interview off there."

Ben seemed genuinely surprised that she would go so soon. "Before you go I'd love to show you around the farm," he insisted. "I don't get a lot of company, and someone who digs my line of work sure makes for great conversation."

"Yeah," she said cautiously, "I really don't think we have the time, and I'm not dressed for it at all."

"Well," he said, heading for the kitchen, "did you like the tea enough to take some home? I'd try selling it, but it's not quite up to snuff, and I always make too much for myself."

"Sure, yeah," she said, "the tea was great." It wasn't really something she'd actually pay for, but she didn't want to refuse his generosity.

"Camomile isn't normally my thing," Oscar said, "but I think you could sell this stuff as it is."

"That's good to hear," he said, returning with two small tin canisters. "These two are on the house, and if you ever want more, just come on back."

"Thanks," they said.

Lydia put the tea in her briefcase and then took out some official documents. She explained the non-disclosure agreement as she put it in front of Ben to sign.

"You have my word," he said after hearing what he was signing for, "but I'll sign if it makes your bookkeeping easier."

"And the next thing we need from you is an example of your writing. It could be a piece you've already written for something else or maybe a sample of the kind of inspirational material you'd like to write with us."

"Okay. And when do you need that by?"

"I need it on the twenty-fifth," she said, "which is in ten days. I don't suppose you have email?"

"Oh, I have email," he laughed. "I just have to go into town to the library to use it."

"Okay," she said, getting her contact info from her purse, "either way, send it by snail mail to me at one of these addresses? That way I'll get it at the office. And if you have any questions, feel free to call too." She still hadn't gotten over the thrill of giving people business cards with her name on them.

"Well, thanks for the chat," he said as she and Oscar gathered their things to leave. "Hope to see you again."

"We'll be in touch," she said as they walked out the door.

They both waved to Ben who was standing at the window as they drove off.

"What did you think?" Lydia asked when they were safely down the road.

"I thought he was really interesting," Oscar said right away. "His life story, his peace theology, his eco-theology...all that was great. He's probably right about not having a broad appeal, but I liked him."

"We don't need to talk about the interview all the way back home, but is it okay if I email you with some questions about it later on?" she asked.

"Absolutely!"

For the rest of the drive they mostly talked about high school memories and their various old friends that they were still in touch with. As far as the interview went, Lydia almost wanted to pat herself on the back; this one felt much better than the first one. She still wasn't sure if Mr. Worsley was what she was looking for, but now she had a better idea of what she was doing and felt like she was a step closer than before.

**Chapter 7 - Alistair Graham**

The next day, Lydia had another out of town afternoon interview. That would have been a perfectly good excuse to not show up at the Westminster office, but like every morning, come 8:30, she walked into the quiet building and took a seat at her desk.

Routine wasn't the only reason she went in early. She had been out of the office for most of the previous day, so her email inbox would be quite full. Almost a week had already passed since the beginning of the promotional tour and Lydia was getting regular updates sent to her. Luke was sending information about book sales and press coverage and Soleil was sending personal reflections, mostly complaining about having to travel with Luke.

Besides checking her inbox, Lydia also wanted to double-check the driving directions to that day's destination. She always offered the author candidates the option of meeting in the city, as the company would reimburse any travel costs. But, like Mr. Worsley, today's candidate had preferred that Lydia drive out to visit him. This meant that she couldn't use the company credit card at a fancy restaurant, but it also meant that she again had to trust her suddenly unreliable GPS and her weak navigational skills to get her from the city to an isolated place in the country. She was travelling to Bethpage, a spiritual retreat center a few hours from the city. Even though their brochure gave very specific instructions on how to find the forest getaway, Lydia double-checked the route on Internet maps just to be safe.

On her way out, at just after nine o'clock, Lydia met Melvin in the parking lot. He was in charge during Luke's absence, and even though he rarely knew what she was doing, he still felt comfortable giving her extra work.

"Lydia, hi," he said. "On your way home already?"

She didn't know if his sarcasm was supposed to be funny or demeaning, so she smiled and responded, "Actually, no. I have an interview out of town today, so I'm giving myself an early start.

"Oh, right," he nodded, "for your little Christian book. Let me save you some time. Call a guy named Reverend Joseph Ballard. That's all you'll need to do."

Lydia didn't know what was more annoying, his assumption that she couldn't do her job, or his assertion that she wouldn't be able to find someone better than that creepy priest.

"Thanks for the tip," she said, continuing on her way to her car.

She was a little uneasy about driving that far in the middle of winter. Benjamin Worsley's farm was a little ways off the highway too, but she was more worried about getting stranded today since she was alone. It wasn't the first time she had to drive into the Haliburton Highlands, but she had always visited the area in the summer. Despite her fears though, the roads were clear. The snow on the trees and the frozen lakes never got old, even after driving through it for over an hour.

Lydia arrived half an hour before the agreed time, partly because she drove extra fast so she wouldn't be late, and partly because the directions in the brochure worked perfectly and she didn't need the extra time she had given herself.

She took a few minutes in the car to compose herself before heading in. She still hadn't totally convinced herself that she was capable of doing the job required of her, but she'd already had a few good interviews, so even without Oscar's help today, she would probably be fine.

Outside the car, she could hear a variety of chirping birds and smell the wood smoke from the main building as she walked toward the office. The receptionist greeted her with genuine warmth, which helped Lydia to feel more comfortable. Since she wasn't staying as a guest, she didn't need to sign in, but Lydia was still required to give up her cell phone. Normally this would have felt quite intrusive, but Lydia recognized that it meant nobody could call her from the office for the next hour, so maybe it wasn't so bad after all. She followed the receptionist to a similar building and followed the invitation to have a seat in a small dining room.

"My dad will be here in a minute," said the woman. "He's out chopping wood with some guests. I'll go tell him you're here."

Sitting alone in the empty room, Lydia wondered how long it would take for the rustic simplicity of the place to become dull and depressing. She also couldn't help but wonder what sort of retreat center would require its guests to give up their cell phones and to help chop wood. If she saw a group of people in bland, solid-coloured jump suits, she was going to make a run for the parking lot.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting." Alistair Graham came in wearing insulated coveralls and a toque, both dusty from the work he had been doing outside. "We had a good crew today. I guess we just got lost in the work and were having such a good conversation that I wasn't paying attention to what time it was." He was older than Lydia expected, which made it even more surprising that he had been out chopping wood.

"No problem," said Lydia, getting up to greet him with a professional handshake. "I was early, so you likely wouldn't have been expecting me for another fifteen minutes."

"Still," he said with a gentle grin, "maybe it would be best if I washed up a bit."

"This will be just fine," Lydia said. His appearance did give a different feel to the interview, but not necessarily a bad one. "So tell me," she began, "do a lot of your guests volunteer to help with work around the property?"

"Yes. We ask all of our guests to volunteer somewhere within the facility. Since their stay is free of charge, the work they do offsets our operating costs."

"Don't you think that if there was a fee, people would happily pay it if it meant they could relax more?" Lydia asked rhetorically. "From the money that came in, you could hire staff to do those chores."

"And the hired help would also do the work more efficiently than our volunteers," Mr. Graham joked. "There are a few staff members here, and many of our guests and other sponsors do make financial donations, but it isn't just about the money. At Bethpage, we believe that physical labour can also be a spiritual exercise. For most of our guests a day of work consists only of sitting in an office chair or standing behind a cash register. Certainly they work hard and their jobs provide them with income and a sense of identity, but something is missing. There is a meaningfulness to the work here that they just don't get in the city."

"Forgive my ignorance," Lydia began, "but it sounds to me like you're running a voluntary work camp. That doesn't sound like a retreat to me."

"No, no," he answered with a chuckle. "We have a few hours of work Monday to Saturday, but Bethpage is primarily a place of prayer. We keep a fairly rigid schedule. Every morning, we have a group prayer for an hour before breakfast, and after we've eaten together we have three hours of silence, which people can use for meditation, study or personal prayer. Then we gather again for lunch, and when that's all cleaned up, we have four hours of work time, and another hour of group prayer before supper. Eating the meal together leads into a time of fellowship, and after a few hours, we're ready for the final prayer service at 9:00, and it's quiet for the rest of the night."

"That's a lot of prayer." Lydia could feel herself losing her professional objectivity. She was also having trouble believing that people signed up for a stay at this facility.

"Well," he began, quite familiar with this type of scepticism, "we're not on our hands and knees the whole time. We spend some of the time singing hymns, reading scriptures, and discussing the things that we're praying about."

"Okay," Lydia said, even though it still didn't sound any more interesting. "Would it be fair to say then that what you have is a modern-day monastery?"

"That is one way of looking at it," he nodded. "Like monks, people come here for a quiet place of meditation, but there are some significant differences."

"Like what?" Lydia asked. "I'm not that familiar with the role of monasteries in the history of the church."

"Well, let's see. For centuries a select group of people have devoted their lives to a quiet life of meditation, study, and service to God – men in monasteries and women in convents. The church, and I would say all of western society, has reaped the benefits of the contributions these people have made. However, we are very intentional about the ways in which we are different. When a man would join a monastery, he was making a life-long decision. We allow our guests to stay for as long or as short as they choose, and the vast majority stay no more than a week at a time."

The idea of staying any longer than was needed to complete the interview seemed dreadful to Lydia. She couldn't imagine someone voluntaryily staying for a whole week.

"Also, monasteries have always been open only to members of whatever Episcopal body supports it, whereas we are open to whoever is interested in coming and committed to praying with us. Also, monks and nuns were always sequestered in separate locations, but here we allow men and women to come. Both genders also share in leadership and service aspects."

"So then in many ways you are quite progressive, it seems." To Lydia, any religious group that allowed women to speak at all seemed progressive.

"Maybe in some ways, but I think most people on the outside would see our policies toward male and female interaction here to be old-fashioned."

"Why's that?" asked Lydia, not sure if she even wanted to hear the answer.

"While we have no problems with men and women working, eating and praying together, we do ask that at night and in the living quarters, they remain separate. We ask that our guests, single or married, sleep in separate quarters according to gender. We want our guests to spend their time here focusing on their relationship with God, and we believe that interaction between genders can be a distraction, especially for our younger guests."

"You're right, that does sound old-fashioned" Lydia said with a grin. "So what would motivate someone to come and stay here?" she asked, hiding her discomfort.

Mr. Graham was happy to give her a list of people who had stayed there and why they had come. In the many years he had run the retreat center, he had met quite a few interesting people and had a long list of stories about their varied experiences. He told one story after another, in part because he thought it might be a good subject matter for the book, if he were to be chosen. Lydia kept writing things down, so he continued recounting his experiences. His stories were varied enough that Lydia didn't feel the need for follow-up questions, and interesting enough that she wasn't trying to find ways of diverting the conversation. He talked about retirees looking for good ways to spend their newfound extra time, burned out workaholics needing reprieve, couples on the verge of marital breakdown, university students looking for meaning, and even youth group teens coming because it was sometimes the cool thing to do.

After Mr. Graham had drawn his last story to a close, he added, "I continue working here because this place is of spiritual value to me, but it makes it all that much more valuable when others tell me just how meaningful it has been to them."

"It sounds as though you are truly providing a valuable service," Lydia said, hoping to wrap it up soon.

Mr. Graham nodded politely. "Thank you," he said.

"Let me just ask a few more brief closing questions," she said, clicking her pen into action again. "What do you think is at the heart of Christianity, the Bible, or whatever?" She was worried that it might not be a good idea to pose such an open-ended question to this old guy who liked to talk, but she was hoping he had heard her emphasis on brief.

"Christianity is essentially about building a relationship with God, and fundamental to any relationship is communication. Granted, God has communicated to us through the Bible, the church, and other avenues, but I believe it is best achieved through prayer. I also believe that prayer is so important, that when things in our lives interfere with our prayer life, we need to get rid of them." He hesitated. Lydia was unsure if he was about to say more or if it simply meant he was intentionally cutting himself short, but she quickly interjected with her second question.

"If we were to invite you to write a book with us, what kind of people do you think would most need to read it?"

"People out there really have a lot of misconceptions about prayer. Many people think they have to memorize and then repeat someone else's words, or it doesn't count. Others think that only their own words count as prayer. Some people think they don't have time or that they can replace it with going to church or donating money. Those things are just not true, so those are the people I would be writing for."

"Great," Lydia said, scribbling down her last bit of information. Taking out the legal documents, she added, "Now there are just a few legal things to take care of."

"I can do that," he said, putting on his glasses to read the specifics of the non-disclosure agreement before signing. "Oh, and on your way out, feel free to ask the receptionist if there is a time that would work for you to come visit for longer. We'd love to have you here for a day or so as a guest."

"I'll have to check my calendar," she said, putting the signed document into her briefcase, "but thanks again." While she wasn't at all interested in returning as a guest, she hadn't written him off yet as a potential author. Lydia stood up and stretched out her hand for a farewell handshake. "I'm sure we'll be in touch again soon."

"I hope so," he said, smiling. "God bless."

On her way past reception, Lydia picked up her cell phone from the receptionist and turned down yet another invitation to return as a guest. There were no missed calls or messages waiting for her when she powered up her phone again. Normally that probably would have been a good thing, but instead she was a little disappointed. She wanted some justification for feeling inconvenienced, but mostly she wanted to think she was important enough that somebody might have needed to contact her during that hour-long interview.

From: Lydia Phillips – Westminster Printers

To: Oscar Brandt

Subject: One more interview

Hi Oscar,

I just thought I'd let you know that I had another interview today. I don't know if you know him, but his name is Alistair Graham, from a prayer retreat center called Bethpage.

I have another interview lined up for Friday with the director of a women's shelter. Do you have time that afternoon to tag along again?

I also have a few questions. There's no need for long drawn out answers, but if you could help me understand these ideas, that'd be great. First, how can there be peaceful Christians in the world, like Mr. Worsley, and at the same time there are so many wars today and throughout history that are fought in the name of God? Second, and this stems from my interview today, when Christians pray for long periods of time, what are they saying or thinking about during that time?

Thanks,

Lydia

From: Oscar Brandt

To: Lydia Phillips – Westminster Printers

Subject: Re: One more interview

Great questions Lydia, and I'll do my best to answer them, but first I have a question for you. Is your interview on Monday with a woman named Monica Lang?

As far as the prayer thing goes, there are two answers I could give - what we do think about and what we should think about. Often it's tough to tune out the outside world. You may have heard a term called 'monkey mind,' where your brain gets distracted by a million other things besides the meditation or prayer that you're trying to do. So yes, we often try to pray and focus on God, but we get distracted like everyone else.

That's not really a uniquely spiritual problem though; we have to overcome that to write tests, do homework or to be properly patriotic while the national anthem is playing. Ideally, though, prayer time should go as smoothly as talking to a friend. When you're hanging out with friends, or on a date, assuming the relationship is healthy, you can talk forever without noticing how much time is going by and you might talk about a lot or nothing at all.

Generally our praying breaks down into five categories: A) complimenting God, B) admitting the mistakes we've made and asking forgiveness, C) expressing thanks for the stuff God gives us or does for us (* this all sounds old-fashioned and religious, but imagine you had a really powerful friend who was nice to you, you would want to say all that to them too), D) asking God to do things for other people, E) asking God to do things for you

That's all the talking, but listening is equally important. We try to pay attention to what God wants us to do, lessons we should learn, etc. Sometimes we really have to pay attention for a long time. You should also know that the people you saw at the prayer retreat center are the exception. I don't think most Christians could sit there and pray for any more than ten minutes at a time.

The peace thing is a little tougher to answer. To grossly oversimplify things, in the first part of the Bible God tells his people to go to war, and in the second part of the Bible, Jesus preaches peace. In trying to establish a precedent, some people use Jesus' message of peace and some use the military history of the Israelites. They can rationalize their positions, but they can't deny that the Old Testament (the first part) call to war is different than the New Testament (second part) call to love our enemies.

I'm not sure if this helps you to understand it. Christians often get a vast diversity of opinion, often on the same passages of scripture. I guess we just get used to it.

OB

From: Lydia Phillips – Westminster Printers

To: Oscar Brandt

Subject: Re: One more interview

Thanks Oscar,

In other fields, the different experts will come to different conclusions from the same evidence. That phenomenon isn't unique to Christianity. I guess I just thought that wouldn't happen with a supposedly sacred text.

And yes, the woman's name is Monica Lang. I'm looking forward to talking to her. Would it work for you to join me? I guess I wouldn't absolutely need you to be there and it's really short notice, but let me know if you're interested.

When's a good time for you next week to get together to talk about this more? I have a board meeting coming up and I'd love to be able to run some things by you before then.

Thanks again,

Lydia

**Chapter 8 - Monica Lang**

On Friday, Lydia ate lunch at her desk as she tried to catch up on the day's tasks. The book tour had renewed interest in Soleil's book, which meant the company was getting more calls from customers, distributors and the press. Even with her own book project on the go, Lydia's involvement with _Feminine-ism_ meant that a lot of the new work fell on her shoulders. With the weekend on the horizon however, there was light at the end of the tunnel.

Another reason she was working through her lunch break was that she was leaving early. Rather than meet for a meal, her next candidate opted for a late afternoon snack, so at 3:00 Lydia was heading downtown to a neat little French café. Adding to her excitement was that she was finally going to be interviewing a woman.

In her research, Lydia had found an article about budget decisions made by social agencies. It highlighted a few religious organizations dealing with the conflicting demands placed by governmental bodies and church groups that funded their work. Lydia had contacted the founder of the women's drop-in shelter that was mentioned in the article who had agreed to meet for an interview.

Lydia met Monica Lang outside the café. Her hair was a touch greyer and her skin had more wrinkles than Lydia remembered from the profile photo on the shelter's brochure. Monica wore a little stress in her eyes and walked with a kind of defiant confidence. After introducing themselves, they shared a friendly handshake and headed inside.

After ordering their drinks, they chose a table by a window overlooking the street.

"Before we begin," Monica said, "I do have one question: Is Westminster the company that published _Feminine-ism_?"

"Yes," Lydia answered, unsure if she should be proud or apologetic.

"I see," said Monica, indicating neither pleasure nor disdain.

"Have you read it?"

"No, one of the volunteers over at the house was reading it, so I skimmed over it during a coffee break. It didn't exactly look like my type of reading, but I guess I can't deny its success."

"I was on the development team for that book," Lydia said with more pride than she had ever attached to that project.

The waiter arrived with their food and drinks. He was about Lydia's age and he was wearing a tight t-shirt over his muscular frame. His hair was short but gelled and he had just enough stubble on his face that he managed to pull off the rugged look quite well.

"Can I get you anything else?" he asked after he had removed the last items from his tray.

"We're fine," said Monica, rather coldly. When he had gone back to the kitchen she added, "I hope he doesn't think that pretty boy smile will get him a bigger tip."

Lydia, who had quite appreciated his charm, didn't know the correct response, and so she decided to get back to business.

"I just want you to know," she began, "I do have some questions, and I will be recording this conversation, if you're okay with that, but this can still be an informal chat." She said this to put Monica at ease, but also because she was already thinking that Monica would be a great person to write with.

"That's fine with me. You just need to know I won't share any private details about my work on the record."

"Naturally," Lydia said. "Oh, and about _Feminine-ism_ , let me tell you, the feminist voice didn't always win over the capitalist male voice when it came to making decisions about content and style."

"Will that happen this time around as well?" Monica asked.

"First, with the success of that book, I can't imagine they would interfere with the process as much this time, and second, I am the chair of the development team, so the old obstacles are gone."

"Like I said," Monica conceded, "I don't know much about the book, and I've never met the author, and I trust it doesn't reflect on the quality of your work, but I am always sceptical when the description of an empowered woman has to include the word 'sexy.' All that does is hinge female empowerment on what men think of their appearance. And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that superficial men don't like the women in their lives feeling powerful."

"But don't you think a woman can feel sexy without having been told so by a man?" If this weren't true, Lydia would have to reach pretty far back into her past to hold that opinion of herself.

"Feeling sexy is simply the belief that some man, somewhere, for some reason will find you sexy. That alone might not be so bad, but attached to that is the destructive belief that only by someday finding that man can happiness be found."

That wasn't an answer to one of Lydia's questions, but she thought it deserved to be written down.

"So tell me about your women's shelter," Lydia said when she had caught up with her note taking. "Where did you come up with the name Vashti's Palace?"

"How well do you know the Bible?" Monica asked.

"It would be safe to assume I don't know it at all."

"Okay, well there's a story in the Bible about a girl named Esther. In it an old king has grown dissatisfied with his wife, gets rid of her, and marries Esther, a young Jewish woman. Esther uses her position as queen to save the Jewish people from destruction. Traditionally readers have viewed Esther as a woman of faith and courage and they have treated the original Queen, named Vashti, as a disrespectful wife. A modern retelling of this story would probably paint Esther as an opportunistic home-wrecker and Vashti as the discarded first wife." Lydia chuckled at the irreverent explanation of a Bible story. She couldn't help but think that Monica was exactly the kind of thinker Westminster was looking for.

Monica continued, "Preachers usually write off the king's first wife, Vashti, as insubordinate and therefore evil. Why? Because she refused to submit to every demand of her drunken husband. This is a story abused women understand. At first, we on the initial steering committee thought 'shelter' sounded too destitute and 'home' sounded too permanent, so we looked at this story and thought Vashti was a woman our guests could identify with. Calling it a palace also gives the connotation that our residents are honoured guests, and that's how we want them to feel."

The previous three male candidates had failed to convince Lydia that they were what she was looking for. Even though it was still early in the interview, she was already enjoying the discussion. "I read also that you got the start up funding for Vashti's Palace from your husband's life insurance settlement. Did you start it up as a tribute to your deceased husband?"

"I don't know if 'tribute' is the right word," Monica said with a certain amount of disdain.

"How did he die if I may ask?"

"He was in a car crash in Italy," Monica responded plainly.

"Oh, that's terrible!" Lydia said. "Were you with him at the time?"

"No," Monica said, " _I_ was not with him."

"Where were you when you got the news?" Lydia asked, trying to be sensitive to Monica's grief, but also slowly piecing together that perhaps grief was not the overriding emotion in Monica's retelling of this story.

"I was at home, with the understanding that my faithful husband was on a business trip in Boston. The police were kind enough to assure me that his pretty young secretary had survived the crash and would be released from hospital in a few days."

Lydia didn't know what to say, but Monica was quite used to the awkwardness caused by this story. "I had always wanted to do charity work but he said it was a waste of time. I wanted to have kids; he said he wasn't ready. I wanted a small house, but he wanted an investment, a big place where we could host his clients and colleagues and with rooms we could rent out to students. He never hit me, but he controlled my every move and suppressed every dream I ever had. So after I pulled myself back together, I used the settlement to pay down the mortgage and ordered some renovations on the house. The law firm where he worked was quite helpful getting the zoning permits. Unfortunately, there is no shortage of demand for this type of service, so, shortly after I contacted various agencies in the city, women were coming to stay at the Palace."

Lydia was still at a loss for words.

"So to answer your earlier question," Monica continued, "this was not done to honour my husband. In fact, you could say I did this to spite him."

Lydia wanted to be more careful with her questions, so she was more selective with her words. "I'm guessing that revenge isn't enough to sustain the work you do. How much does Christianity inspire you from day-to-day?"

"Christianity as a religion does almost nothing for me. When my husband died, my pastor only helped me address my grief, and did nothing to help me deal with my emotional response to the affair. The macho hierarchy of the rest of the world is just as strong in the church as it is anywhere else. But the church was helpful when I was starting up the shelter, so I stayed loyal to them. Then, when the government started to redefine their support for faith-based programming I needed to take a few crosses down from the walls and remove the Bible verses from my letterhead. The church withdrew their funding in response, and that's when I withdrew my church membership. No church, big or small, has a monopoly on Jesus' message."

"Could you summarize that message as you understand it, in your own words?" Lydia asked.

"Jesus came to earth announcing good news. The good news is that God loves us. Some people choose to accept that love, and they reciprocate by loving others. So, if we can do that, if we can love each other, and not just our friends and family, then, in a small way, we can bring heaven to earth. So my volunteers and I try to rescue these women from the hell they're living in and try to give them some hope."

Monica's face revealed a distant kind of smile, as though she were reflecting back on women she had worked with. It was the first time she had smiled throughout the whole visit, but it didn't last long.

"The trouble," she continued, "is that the church has such a terrible record of living out that message. Christian countries are violent and oppressive, Christian husbands are suppressive and abusive, and churches are cold, unforgiving places of hypocrisy and judgement. These are people who claim Kingdom values, but, as far as I'm concerned, they are not Kingdom people."

Lydia still didn't understand how Monica had been able to reconcile her negative opinion of the church and her adherence to its doctrine. "From what you're saying, it almost sounds as though the hypocrisy is inescapable. How are your beliefs different from what the institutional church teaches?"

"For me," she began, "it is important that I pray to a genderless God. Sure, Jesus was a man, but maybe that's the only way people would listen to him. They don't listen to women now, why would people in Jesus' day be any different. I also believe that we need to read the Bible through those eyes. In the story of Adam and Eve, we see that even God saw that the man was pathetic and lonely without the woman, so he created Eve as a help-mate or companion to him. These are words of equality and cooperation, not subjugation. When I was in university I had a room _mate_ , but based on that title, no one would assume that she was subject to me. God wanted us to help each other, and the men of this world seem to have forgotten that."

Lydia couldn't write fast enough to keep up and had long since decided she would rely on the tapes to summarize the message later. "So why do you think that the church has failed at living out this message?"

"I think part of the reason is that we have no clear current examples to follow. Even the Bible doesn't consistently show us what gender equality is supposed to look like. The Bible is one long pattern of God establishing some kind of ideal and the people messing it up."

Hearing all these different people talk about their conflicting ideas of what the Bible was actually about didn't do much to convince Lydia of its validity. Somehow Monica picked up on this confusion.

"Am I losing you with all this Bible talk?" she asked.

"No," Lydia protested. "I guess I just don't get how this one central document produces such a variety of perspectives."

"I don't understand that either," Monica said, with annoyance in her voice. "It all seems pretty clear to me. The old Jewish religious laws included provisions to protect vulnerable women in the society. When Jesus complimented the women around him for their generosity, their faithfulness and their capacity to understand, he usually followed it up by criticizing the religiosity of the men around him. Even St. Paul wrote that husbands and wives should submit to each other and he encourages women who are leaders in their churches."

While this rant wasn't all that interesting to Lydia, it did demonstrate to her that Monica knew her material well and could present it in a dynamic, even controversial, way.

"Even if we ignore two thousand years of church history, the problem doesn't go away. Every Sunday around the world, male pastors are telling their predominantly female congregations that women should quietly submit to their husbands, let them have the last say in everything, and give them sex whenever they want it." As Lydia kept writing, Monica continued ranting.

As the interview was drawing to a close, Lydia was mentally contrasting Ms. Lang with the other candidates she had met with. Monica was certainly Lydia's favourite, but would that choice be as obvious to the Board? No other interviews had been set up, and if these would be the four candidates presented, the decision-making process would begin soon.

"Ms. Lang, I should probably bring things to a close," Lydia interjected as the rant had drawn to an end, "but I have really enjoyed hearing your perspective on things."

"So what is the next step in the process?" Monica asked, again showing less enthusiasm than Lydia had hoped.

Monica looked carefully at the documents put before her. Lydia described the non-disclosure agreement and the various details of the sample writing assignment.

"What are you looking for in this sample writing piece?" Monica asked.

"This is mostly used to assess your writing style, but we also use it to get ideas for possible book topics."

"Okay," nodded Monica, "I can get that to you in a few days." She put the paper in her purse and collected her things to go. "Thank you very much for your time."

The two women shook hands again and Monica headed for the door.

Noticing their imminent departure, the waiter came over to the table with the bill. "How was everything?" he asked, repeating the same eye-catching smile Lydia remembered from earlier.

"It was great," she said, responding with her own best smile. In truth, the pastries weren't as sweet as she had hoped, and the coffee was far too bitter, but she couldn't look into his rich brown eyes and say that. His smile seemed genuine enough that she gave him a big tip anyway. She took a little longer than usual putting the credit card back into her purse, just in case he would say anything to her, but he just walked back into the kitchen.

Stepping out of the café, Lydia looked at her watch. With the traffic at this time of day, she would get back to the office just before five. On a normal week this would be a good reason to go straight home instead, but this was not a normal week. She had a backlog of tasks still from earlier in the week, as well as a few more names of people to call again about interviews. It would be nice to get a few more candidates, but so far none had confirmed and there was only a week until she would need their sample articles.

It wouldn't be the first time she had a Friday night supper at the office. Maybe the pizza delivery boy would remember her. During the _Feminine-ism_ project busy times, she saw him at least once a week. He didn't have the same pretty boy smile as the waiter at the café, but the regularity of his visits almost qualified as a relationship.

**Chapter 9 - Religious Women**

The last few days until Lydia's big meeting passed by quickly. All four of the author candidates submitted their sample articles in plenty of time, and none of the other people she called expressed any interest. She wanted to run a few things by Oscar one more time before Gerald and the Board of Directors grilled her. Of course she had done thorough market research and knew her author candidates and their pieces of writing inside and out, but she wanted to be absolutely certain that she wouldn't be asked a question that she wasn't ready to answer. Oscar's opinions weren't universal and his experience was often a little jaded, but his first-hand account was more interesting and probably more reliable than looking at charts and reading technical market analyses.

Oscar had agreed to meet Lydia in the afternoon on the Saturday before her meeting. Earlier that morning he had taken a bus over to Evangeline's home. The two of them needed to talk about wedding details because Evangeline and her mother had made some arrangements and they were hoping to be able to finally set a date for the wedding. After a few hours of discussion, though, they were no closer to confirming that date and Evangeline needed to leave for choir practice. Together they had agreed that Evangeline would drop him off for his lunch meeting with Lydia and then pick him up on her way back.

"I thought we had agreed that we would pick a date this morning," Evangeline said after a long time of silence in the car.

"Yes, we did agree to that, but I wanted to run the new dates that you were suggesting past my parents, and they weren't answering the phone, so there's nothing I could do."

"It's our wedding, Oscar. Your parents would make it work no matter what date we pick."

"Of course they would, but it's only fair that if your parents get to be part of the discussion, then so do mine. Besides, as soon as my folks see that I've called, they'll call me back and we can let them know what days we're thinking of, and then boom, we'll have a wedding date. I don't know why this is such a big deal."

"This is going to be our anniversary for the rest of our lives, Oscar, it's a very big deal. I really wanted to have a wedding date picked by now, and we could have if you hadn't been so stubborn."

"Okay, fine!" said Oscar. "Open your little wedding planning book. We can forget about the dates your parents suggested and we'll just tell my parents about it afterwards. Let's pick a date, no parents, just you and me."

"That's ridiculous Oscar. My dad is officiating the wedding, he has to know which date works ahead of time."

"It's our wedding, Evangeline. He'll make it work."

"You're being immature," she said, shaking her head. "Let's just talk about something else. How are your meetings with Lydia going?"

"Good, I guess," Oscar said carefully, trying to gauge whether she wanted an answer or if she was just trying to change the subject. "It's been really interesting hearing her thoughts on the Christian world from an outside perspective."

"Do you think she's coming along?" asked Evangeline. "You know, spiritually?"

"I don't know. I guess we haven't really talked much about her spirituality. It's been mostly business."

"But you are trying to tell her the gospel, right?"

"So far she's been asking some really good questions about why some Christians do one thing and others do the opposite thing. I haven't had a chance to explain the gospel to her because I've been so busy explaining to her why the gospel is so poorly applied. Besides, it doesn't necessarily mean anything that I'm telling her about Christianity. She's telling me about the publishing process too, that doesn't mean I'm going to ask her how I can become an author."

Evangeline looked up from her wedding planning book, "If you want some help with evangelism ideas, you should talk to my dad."

"I'll see if I can fit it into his busy schedule," Oscar said as they pulled up to the agreed upon restaurant.

Evangeline rolled her eyes but decided instead to change the subject when she saw Lydia standing outside the door of the restaurant. "Do you enjoy talking to Lydia?" she asked.

Oscar replied immediately by casually saying, "I guess." He certainly had enjoyed working together with Lydia on the project so far, but he also knew that Evangeline was secretly asking if he thought Lydia was pretty. He remembered thinking she was pretty in high school, and he thought she was even prettier now. He hoped his quick answer had allayed any of Evangeline's fears, but just in case, he also added, "She has an entirely different outlook on the world from me, so there are definitely limits to how deep the conversation can go. It's tough to look past that."

"Okay," Evangeline said as Oscar opened the door to leave. She looked up and noticed that Lydia had spotted them. Before Oscar stepped out of the car, Evangeline said, "Aren't you going to give me a goodbye kiss?"

He turned back to her, leaned in and gave her the kiss she was waiting for. "Have fun with the wedding shopping today. Don't spend too much money," he said as he stepped out of the car.

Oscar walked nonchalantly toward Lydia, and after they had greeted each other, he turned back and waved goodbye to Evangeline, who hadn't left yet.

Inside the restaurant Oscar and Lydia stood quietly at the counter while they thought about what they wanted to eat. When their meals were ready they quickly found a table. Oscar asked to find one close to a window so he could watch for Evangeline's return.

"How are you feeling in the lead-up to your big meeting with the Board?" he asked.

"I have all my materials ready," she said, getting a folder out of her bag and sliding it across the table to him. "It would be nice to have interviewed a few more candidates, but these were the only credible-sounding ones that responded quickly enough. At this point, I'm just trying to sell myself on one of the candidates so that I'll be able to make a convincing pitch to the Board."

"Just so you know," he said, starting to flip through its contents, "this is already the coolest project I've ever worked on. Did you want me to read the material now?"

"There's no rush. You can tell me later what you think. I just wanted you to have a copy of it."

"I'm looking forward to reading this one of Alistair Graham," Oscar continued as he saw his profile in the folder, "Bethpage is pretty popular in Christian circles around here. My fiancée and I were talking about going there. She thinks it would be a fun weekend date some time."

"That doesn't sound like a very romantic outing to me," Lydia said, thinking back to her discomfort with the expectations of the retreat center.

Oscar just chuckled to himself. "You don't know Evangeline."

"Okay, well, just so you know, they won't let you sleep in the same room."

"That's fine, neither will Evangeline."

Lydia's face couldn't hide her confusion, but Oscar decided he would rather discuss the book project than try to justify his relatively prudish relationship standards. "So which candidate do you think you'll advocate for?"

"Right now I'm leaning toward Monica Lang, the social worker I mentioned. I don't know if you got this sense from Benjamin Worsley, but I found the other three were all older guys that just came off sounding creepy, lonely or both. Monica is younger than all of them and her material sounded both relevant and attainable."

Oscar looked up from his papers. "You're not worried that the Board will think you're biased because she's a woman?"

"They probably will, and maybe I am a little biased, but if I can show them using their own criteria why she's a more qualified candidate, it shouldn't matter."

"Right," said Oscar, continuing to flip through the information.

"Did you have other plans when I met with her?" Lydia asked. "You never wrote back when I asked if you wanted to meet up with her."

"I was avoiding the issue," Oscar said meekly. "About a year ago, Evangeline and I were looking for ideas of things we could to do together as a kind of charity date night. I suggested helping out at Vashti's Palace for a few evenings. When she called there to ask when we could come volunteer, they told her that she could go, but I, as a man, was not welcome. Evangeline was more upset about it than I was, and we ended up going somewhere else."

"That kind of makes sense for a women's shelter, doesn't it?" Lydia asked. She wondered if Oscar could have been more sensitive, but she also couldn't help but think that none of her boyfriends would have ever been interested in a charity date night.

"Yes, it does," he conceded. "I didn't see it immediately, but I totally understand how that wouldn't be the best place for me as a guy to hang out. It definitely wouldn't be the best place for us to have a romantic moment either. Anyway, I figured if she invited you to have the interview at the shelter, then I wouldn't be welcome. Plus, from what Evangeline relayed to me about how that phone conversation went back then, I get the sense that she has some opinions that she might be more comfortable sharing if there weren't any men around. I should have spelled that out earlier, but I didn't want to taint your impression of her, one way or the other."

"I guess I see where you're coming from," Lydia agreed. "She did seem to be carrying a lot of resent toward men in general, but mostly toward her dead husband and the male leadership of the church she attended."

"Probably with good reason," Oscar added.

"It sounded like it," Lydia said. Then, after thinking for a moment she added, "Most of my friends in university were feminists, and in those circles religion was almost a four-letter word. What is it about Christianity that makes men want to take power away from women?"

Oscar let out a laugh before catching himself. "I'm sorry, that is a very serious issue, and I don't mean to make light of it. If you heard the argument I had in the car on the way here, though, you wouldn't think that the woman was the powerless one in our Christian relationship."

"Trouble in paradise?" Lydia asked.

"It's just the stress of all this wedding planning," he shrugged. "But as far as churches go, women often do have a lot of power. In many less conservative churches, leadership positions are open to men and women. Even in more traditional churches, where they have very clear limitations on how much authority women can have, many women attend without their husbands. Most of the volunteers in those churches are women. Because they are so plentiful and active, they have a lot of influence."

"So women in churches are either given power directly or they can take it coercively?" Lydia asked.

"That's one way of looking at it," Oscar said. "Another thing to remember is that if you ask most religious women, they don't feel particularly oppressed."

"That doesn't mean they aren't," Lydia insisted.

"That's true," Oscar quickly conceded.

"I just don't know how this all fits together," Lydia began. "You are a Christian, and you don't seem to hate women. Monica is a Christian, and she's dedicated her life to helping abused women. But, a lot of the women that she protects are Christian women who put up with abuse from their husbands in the name of God."

"To be fair," Oscar said cautiously, "no respectable church allows men to abuse women and no respectable church tells women to be secretive about the abuse they experience. Granted, you could argue that their understanding of love is warped or that their definition of abuse is too narrow, but Christians all over the world teach unequivocally that men should love their wives."

"Okay, maybe I was being a bit harsh, but how is this all part of the same movement?"

"There are basically two streams within Christianity," Oscar began. "There's the stream that says 'Let's follow the Ten Commandments and build a civil society' and there's the stream that says 'Jesus was a rebel so we should be rebellious too.' It plays out that way with the peace theology we were discussing with Mr. Worsley, and it plays out that way about women. So some women think it's their Christian duty to rock the boat and some women think it's their Christian duty not to rock the boat."

"What's the point then, if you can be one extreme or the other and still be a Christian?"

"I know I'm treading on thin ice making this comparison, but bear with me. A generation or two ago, young women were starting to rebel by burning their bras, refusing to do traditional tasks like sewing and baking, and if they dared lower themselves and get married, they insisted on keeping their last names. However, those women now have teenage and young adult daughters. This next generation usually feel free to dress more provocatively than their mothers did and to tell them otherwise would be interpreted as imposing on their freedom. Other young women are reclaiming tasks like knitting or canning preserves as expressions of their femininity. This all still somehow falls under the umbrella of feminism."

"Did I ask you to read Feminine-ism?" Lydia asked, recognizing some of this logic from the book she had worked on.

"I picked up a copy for Evangeline but she hasn't touched it. My point though, is that these women are essentially part of the same movement. Maybe some are misguided, maybe some are responding to different cultural situations, but at least to me, as an outsider, it all looks like feminism."

Oscar was, of course, off on a number of points, and Lydia had a pretty good idea what a number of her friends would say in response to him, but she understood his general point. "So, is it possible to market a successful Christian book written by a woman?"

"It wouldn't be the first." Then after a while Oscar added, "I haven't read many of them, but Christian bookstores are full of books written by women."

"So maybe what I should do is get you to tell me why the other candidates wouldn't be marketable."

Oscar laughed, "Well, first, I know I read the policy manual, but I still don't know anything about marketing. Second, to label someone as unmarketable would feel like more of a personal attack than I would feel comfortable making. If you want, I can tell you why I personally think their theology is off, for one reason or another, but I'm not sure that would help you in your process."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"So what work do you have to do before this meeting?"

"I have to figure out what I'm going to say."

"You have to give a speech?"

"Yes, but I think I'm pretty much ready for that. I'm mostly afraid that I won't be ready to explain myself when they start asking me questions about why I made certain choices or what the research suggests about this or that."

"Well, I'm sure you'll do fine, and this may not mean anything to you, but I'll pray for you."

That was a phrase Lydia hadn't heard spoken too often and she wasn't sure how she felt about it either. "When you pray for me, what exactly will you say?"

"I don't know, I guess just that you'll find the right words to say and you'll have the peace of mind to say them."

"Yeah, that would be nice, but you know, if I do well it won't necessarily be because God helped me."

"And if you do poorly it won't necessarily be because God hung you out to dry either."

Evangeline arrived shortly after that. While Evangeline and Oscar were head-ing home they got a call on her cell phone from his parents saying that the first day they suggested worked fine for them. While Evangeline and Oscar were both happy to hear that, it was a reminder of the argument from earlier in the day.

Lydia was happy to get home and, once she had settled in, she wrote out a list of questions the board members might ask her. The booklet of the candidate writers' bios and sample articles was already finished and the copies had been made, but she flipped through it a few more times hoping not to find any mistakes.

Attn: Members of the Board of Directors

The following documents are the result of my author search process. I have narrowed the field to four potential writers. Each of them has submitted a sample of their writing. With each article I have included a photograph and a written profile of the candidate.

I appreciate the effort you are putting in to reviewing this material and I eagerly await your feedback.

Sincerely,

Lydia Phillips

_Reverend Joseph Ballard_ _has been a priest in Capital City for twenty years. He currently presides over St. Alexander's, the largest Anglican Church in the area, located at the heart of downtown. His parishioners admire him for his wisdom, enthusiasm and candour._

He is a man of great physical stature and his eyes reveal the wisdom of his years. His prominent position in society has given him a lot of time in the spotlight, and he is comfortable behind the camera.

His sphere of influence reaches beyond the realm of religion and into local politics as well. He sits on a number of citizen advisory boards and his counsel is often sought out by prominent local politicians.

Reverend Ballard is a regular contributor to the Faith section of local newspapers and has had a number of articles printed in various magazines. He is also a frequent guest on religious television programs on the local cable network.

    He is an advocate for a wide variety of social causes and does not hesitate to speak about them publicly.

" **New Parable for a New Time"**

There was once a great man who was at the same time a mighty warrior, a man successful in trade and commerce and a planner for the future. Not only was he a skilled fighter, but he also fearlessly entered into battle whenever he thought it was necessary. He had acquired such great wealth in his commercial endeavours that virtually every business transaction in his community somehow involved him. He was ambitious in his future plans, but also cautious, knowing that men like him had come and gone before.

However, this man also had his flaws. While he filled the hearts of his fellow soldiers with courage, their wives and mothers felt that he would lead them into battle too readily. His riches were great but he did not always carefully seek the best ways to spend them. He was a man of vision, but his plans for the future dealt almost exclusively with keeping his military power and maintaining his business empire. Everyone respected his power, but they lived in fear of being punished by him.

In that same place there came a woman. She was very wise, often telling the people stories of where they had come from and where they were going. She was kind, tending to the needs of the sick, the poor and the lonely. She was also very beautiful and her home was ornately decorated. Most of all, she was a great motivator; her words gave the people meaning for today and hope for tomorrow.

Though many people loved her, there were limits on what she could accomplish by herself. Her charity was limited by her meagre resources and her influence was hampered by her low social standing. Certain people were quite vocal in their opposition to her, but her following continued to grow.

At first, the man did not trust the woman. He worried about her popularity. He worried that if the people followed her, they would stop respecting him. He followed the lead of his closest friends by denouncing her and her teachings.

In time, however, he too saw why the people admired her so. He grew to respect her, then to love her and in time they were married. These two great entities were united as one.

Together they could achieve much more than they ever could apart. Freed from the worry of punishment and ridicule, the people could admire the woman publicly. With his power and influence, her teaching could reach a much larger audience than was possible before. His wealth also provided far greater resources for her works of charity. Finally, looking forward, his actions and future plans took on a deeper meaning because of her values and wisdom.

Their relationship had its difficulties, as marriages do, but they were happy together, recognizing the many benefits of their union. But while they were together, the people around them changed; some began to vocally question her teaching and some resented his power. This once powerful couple had lost the ability to unite the people, and in their various camps the people started to call for a separation of the man and the woman. Neither of them wanted the separation, but the people couldn't be quieted any other way.

There was some separation anxiety at first, but soon they each adjusted to their new reality. The man went about his business, maintaining his wealth and influence, but once again his actions and plans for the future were void of meaning. As is usually the case, the woman was the greater victim of this separation, but she dutifully returned to her work of teaching and charity, this time with greatly diminished resources. The people had become sceptical of both the man and the woman, and went about their lives thinking they were happier, but their days were void of the hope they once had.

So if this separation has caused only hurt, why did everyone want it? If the people are all victims of that separation, why do they still support it? Isn't there some way that we can reunite the kind and compassionate Lady Church with the rich and powerful Master State?

_Benjamin Worsley_ _is an organic farmer in Prince Edward County, just south of Trenton, Ontario. He lives alone on his farm, raising chickens and pigs as well as growing a variety of crops. He sells his produce at farmers' markets throughout the province as part of a cooperative with other organic farmers._

He looks more comfortable in his overalls than in a suit. He doesn't go out of his way to get his picture taken, but understands the public nature of this role.

He gained headlines nationally when he ploughed the words "Love your Enemies" into one of his fields. He told reporters at the time that his actions were motivated by his opposition to the war in Iraq. Adding to the controversy was the fact that it was first spotted by Air Force pilot trainees. Mr. Worsley proudly admitted that the military personnel were his intended audience.

He is a regular participant in local peace and agriculture related political rallies and is well known to local politicians. He also attends church services regularly, having participated in a number of congregations in his area.

" **The Accidental Environmentalists"**

In recent years our society has become more aware of environmental issues. People have begun to factor the ecological impact of their choices when it comes to making major life decisions. Naturally, it wasn't long before businesses responded and tried to use environmental motivations to get people to spend more money. As a result, there is a new generation of environmentalists who are now filling landfills with environmentally friendly products. They feel good recycling the containers of products they didn't need to buy, and they do it publicly so that everyone can see, but in secret they neither reduce nor reuse. They make needlessly long trips in their hybrid vehicles. They rally governments to limit pollution, and they will fly around the world in CO2 emitting jets to deliver that message. Farmers work together with refiners to burn one gallon of regular petroleum to produce the same amount of cleaner burning ethanol.

In stark contrast to the new popular green movement, there exist various groups of people who for generations have been working with the earth, not against it, groups of people whose carbon footprint has been no greater than the land they own. They are not a new puritanical environmental movement; instead they represent the continuation of an ideology that is millennia old, predating any end of the world fear mongering. Interestingly, these people do not use regular environmental terminology. In fact, they are quite unaware of it. These people have an entirely different set of motivating factors.

In the history of the Christian church there have always been people who see in the teachings of Jesus a call to live simply and in harmony with the earth. Whether it was early monasticism, medieval mysticism or contemporary Amish communities, their religious convictions produced some of the most environmentally friendly citizens this earth has ever seen.

Obviously, there are reasons these movements have stayed largely on the fringes of society and the mainstream church. Living this way often requires physical and/or social isolation from the rest of the world. Heavy-handed leadership is often required to maintain a cohesive community environment. Accumulation of wealth is almost impossible in these settings. When the alternative is so easy and comfortable, it is understandable that not everyone can make the sacrifices necessary to follow this reclusive lifestyle.

Even if someone were willing to withdraw from society like that, they could still get tripped up by any of the doctrinal points that have been central to these various groups. Like their contemporary counterparts, early monks and nuns followed the call to celibacy. The medieval mystics held at the core of their worldview an anticipation of Christ's imminent return. Besides their peculiar dress and culture, the Amish of today are fundamentalists in their application of pacifism, among other things.

These points may be difficult to stomach for the postmodern enlightened individual, spiritual or otherwise, but they are intrinsically woven into their clean environmental record. Even the most ardent idealists will soften their views to do what they think is necessary for the safety of their family. Those gladly anticipating the end of the world compile no more resources than they need for the next short while. In the history of the world, there has been no greater driver of technological change and the accompanying environmental destruction than armed conflict.

As green thinking becomes more prevalent, it still makes headlines when mainstream church figures embrace green theology, and understandably so. Expansionist governments backed by imperial churches have raped the earth of its resources for their own gain. Some contemporary end-times preachers even advocate intentional destruction of the earth to hasten Christ's return. But if Christ would return now, he would be disgusted.

The mainstream church has conveniently forgotten what many fringe movements have always known. Following Jesus should mean you'll take better care of creation, not worse.

_Alistair Graham_ _is the founder and director of Bethpage, a spiritual retreat center in a remote forest in the Haliburton Highlands. It was established fifty years ago by the Presbyterian Church. The center is a popular destination for Christians of all generations and stages of life. Its strict rules for guests seek to ensure an environment conducive to prayer and worship._

Mr. Graham is a popular and well-respected man in his field. Many attest the surprising popularity of Bethpage to his wise and gentle leadership.

He will turn 80 next year, and his grey hairs attest to that fact, but he is still remarkably sharp and surprisingly contemporary within his community.

Mr. Graham recently became a widower after his wife of 55 years passed away. They had 3 children together.

He has a Masters of Divinity from Trinity College in Newfoundland and he guest lectures at a few local theological schools and occasionally has articles printed in Christian publications.

" **No Reception for Cell Phones"**

Bethpage is a spiritual retreat center nestled away in some of the little remaining wilderness in this area. When we built it, we were even more isolated than we are now, but at that time, there was a lot less to isolate ourselves from.

At the front desk, where our guests sign in, there's an old wooden box. Someone made it years ago in our workshop. We knew it was nice to look at, but we had no use for it then. We kept it around, but only later did we find its purpose. It is now the mandatory drop box for our guests' cell phones.

It wasn't long ago when we first started to hear the electronic interruptions that have come to define the age in which we live. Some people can pray through the cell phone ringing and other people cannot. Even so, it was soon apparent to us that we needed to do something about these disruptions.

Guests will sometimes refuse initially to give up their cell phone when they get here. Perhaps they're worried someone else will take it. Maybe they haven't read the agreement they signed when they reserved their stay with us. Maybe they simply ignore the wooden box right in front of them, full-to-overflowing with other people's cell phones. But their stubbornness to give up the phone is not our biggest problem, it is their belief that they can have a meaningful spiritual retreat while still being plugged in to the outside world, if only wirelessly.

I have talked to all sorts of people, high school teachers, pastors, university professors and business leaders, all of whom have had their classes, sermons, and meetings interrupted by the ringing or vibrating of someone's cell phone. The interruption is compounded when the recipient of that notice of electronic communication leaves the room to answer the phone call or tries to coyly respond to the text message or email.

Besides the professional inconveniences, the problem is exponentially worse in social settings. An otherwise quiet bus or subway ride becomes awkward when someone's cell phone conversation is all that anyone else can hear. A pleasant conversation between friends over dinner stops because someone is calling from the office. The value of family time is limited because everyone knows that if the cell phone rings everything is paused.

The people I have mentioned who are annoyed by these devices are not anti-technology, and neither am I. What's offensive is the automatic feeling of rejection one gets when that ring starts and everything else stops. The person calling could be someone's dying father wanting to impart some final words of wisdom. It might be a notice that you've won some sort of contest. Another possibility, and the most likely one, is that it is just a friend just calling to chat.

So, we confiscate the cell phone, but the phone itself is not the problem. Instead, it is the manifestation of a much deeper human problem.

When phones were first being installed in our homes, we would rush to answer the ring, knowing that at the other end was a person with a concern serious enough to warrant the hassle of using this new technological device. As phone calls became commonplace, we would still rush to answer it, even if it rang during a family meal, even if it was likely someone calling with a survey or some product to sell us. When cellular phones first became available, it was a status symbol to speak on one of these devices in a public place. Even though these phones and their usage are now commonplace, it is still tempting to imagine that the calls we receive are important enough to answer immediately and we imagine that we are important enough that everyone else needs to know about it.

At Bethpage, we invite our guests to communicate with their Creator. This communication does not require a cell phone, either to send or receive. In fact, the cell phone often impedes that communication. Prayer is most effective when there is nothing to distract us, electronic or otherwise. The phones wait happily in the wooden box for their owners to bring them home at the end of their stay and begin re-cluttering their minds. We wait here eager to help our guests de-clutter their lives again when they return.

_Monica Lang_ _is the founder and host of Vashti's Palace, an abused women's shelter in a suburban neighbourhood within the Greater Toronto Area. She used the tragic loss of her husband as a call to serve others and converted their home to accommodate the facility. Vashti's Palace aims to offer abused women a temporary oasis from their violent realities, a step up so that they can regain control of their lives, and most of all, dignity and respect._

Despite her church pulling funding from her center, she continues to have a strong faith. Her acts of compassion and charity are inspired by belief in a gender-neutral God who loves all people unconditionally.

    Monica has a Bachelor of Arts from Memorial University. Each year she raises funds for an annual scholarship available to current and former residents of "The Palace" and their children.

" **The Princesses of Vashti's Palace"**

It was raining the night that Veronica and her two children came to the Palace. She had a black eye and bruises, and her son had a cut on his lip. She apologized for coming, promised to pay for any expenses she incurred, and assured me she wouldn't be staying long.

She looked sympathetically at the other guests, as though their problems were more serious and fundamentally of a different nature than her own. Then, she began to talk to the other women.

It turns out all of them had married "good" men, just like her. Initially, their husbands had small but correctible flaws. These women were all surprised when their husbands hit them the first time, and they all believed it when their husbands said it would never happen again. But between the husband's promise and the wife knocking on my door, something had changed. A few more things had to change with Veronica too.

On that fateful day she had told him over dinner that she wanted him to spend a night at home with the kids instead of spending another night at the bar. He responded with his fists, saying that his social life was none of her business. Her eight-year-old son tried to intervene. When her tears subsided, she wrote a note that said when he was ready to apologize he should call her cell phone. She then packed up a few things, put the kids in the car, and left.

She expected to hear a drunken apology that night, or at least a sober one the next morning, but no call came. Veronica had married a proud man but he was about to find out that beneath her passive exterior, the woman he married had some pride too.

A week later he called, saying she should come home, but he refused to apologize, so she refused to return. Somehow he had found out where she was staying, and he came to bring her back. Maybe it was the volunteers and the other guests that were watching, maybe it was the video camera he saw me holding, or maybe he had just been struck with a pang of conscience, but he left without incident. He was lucky he didn't stay long, because the police were on their way.

Veronica was lucky, though. She had the strength not to go crawling back, and her husband soon realized his mistake. As the time passed she worked out a detailed list of requirements that needed to be met before she would return.

He came to the Palace again, this time willing to say that he was sorry. We sat down together to flesh out an agreement they could both work with. Around the table sat a group of people that cared about them; their kids, the pastor of the church she went to, a counsellor, and me.

She and the kids went home with him that day, but only after he signed on the dotted line. In this contract, he agreed to a long list of things designed to ensure the physical safety and emotional stability of his wife and children. His friends mocked him but he finally had the love and respect of his family.

These are the things he agreed to. First, he would give up alcohol entirely for six months, and failing that would join an alcohol addiction program. Next, he had to enrol in anger management classes. They were offered at a nearby community center at a very reasonable fee. Third, he had to reimburse Vashti's Palace for his family's three-week stay. This was not something I threw in, but something Veronica insisted as a way of helping him begin to use their wealth to benefit other people. Many of their stresses involved the amount of time he spent out of the house, so he also had to promise to limit his work time to 50 hours per week as well as limiting social nights out with friends to two nights a week.

As I said, Veronica was one of the lucky ones. She was lucky because her husband realized the mistakes he had made. She was lucky because there were no recurring incidents and I never saw her again as a guest. The increased quality and quantity of time they spend together has meant their home is now a place of love and security.

Veronica's fortune then became ours. She now serves as a regular donor and volunteer. Our guests benefit from her experience, her understanding and sense of hope. Thanks to her courage, in our city there is now one less abusive husband, one less boy who will learn the pattern of violence from his father, and one less daughter who will grow up to tolerate it.

**Chapter 10 - Fair men of the Board**

When the morning of the big meeting came, Lydia arrived at the office at eight-thirty, her regular time. She was normally the first one there on Monday mornings, but this time two people got there ahead of her. Seeing that the lights were on in the boardroom wasn't unexpected. When Mr. Simmons was in town for board meetings, he was usually the first one in the office. Looking at her desk, Lydia was definitely surprised to see an elderly woman sitting comfortably in her office chair.

"Can I help you?" Lydia asked the woman.

"Oh yes, pardon me," she said nicely, momentarily putting down her knitting needles, "I am Gerald's mother. I am waiting for a Miss Lydia Phillips. Is that you?"

"That's me," she said, now reassured that this wasn't just some confused old woman walking in from the street. Lydia's own grandmother had passed away a few years before, and Lydia didn't go out of her way to talk to seniors very often. She brought an extra chair over from another cubicle so that the elderly woman could stay seated.

"When my Gerald told me that this project had started again and that you were leading it, I just had to come and meet you," the woman said, her soft voice seemingly keeping rhythm with the gentle clicking of her knitting needles.

Lydia had heard Gerald's mother being mentioned before in Westminster circles, but had no idea what role she played in the company. "Have you worked on this kind of project before?" Lydia asked, thinking this may be the opportunity this woman needed to impart some of her wisdom to Lydia, whether she would take it or not.

"Golly, no," she said with a smile. "I have no interest in business. I am just a homemaker, or at least I was until all my kids flew the coop and there was no more home to make. But I always told them to make sure they were making the world a better place, no matter what job they had. When Gerald started pub-lishing books, I told him he had a very big responsibility. He was never terribly interested in church, but he promised me some day I would see his company print a church book. Lately I've had to start reminding him if he wants me to see this book before I die, he might not have a lot of time."

"You shouldn't talk like that," Lydia protested. "I'm sure you've got many good years left."

"That's kind of you to say, but the good Lord has given me these eighty years, and when he sees fit to take me, I'll be ready to go." Lydia wasn't at all accustomed to this kind of morbid talk. "But I'm sure now that you are working on it, I'll be holding that book in my hands before long."

"I'll do my best," Lydia said. Maybe it was her optimism, her blunt way of speaking, or this new perspective on Gerald's upbringing but Lydia was starting to feel quite comfortable with this woman.

"I know you will, sweetie," the old woman said, resting her hand on top of Lydia's. "And there's something I wanted to give you before you ran off to your meeting." She slid a simple cardboard box across the desk to Lydia.

As soon as Lydia opened the box, an aroma of apple and cinnamon wafted out that made all her similarly scented candles pale in comparison. Lydia was flabbergasted to find an actual homemade apple pie, the kind where the top shell had been hand-pressed to the bottom shell and both seemed to be working hard to contain the filling. The pie sat snugly inside a ceramic pie plate and was accompanied by a simple card.

"This is such a thoughtful gift," gushed Lydia, still not sure what to make of it all. Lifting out the card she added, "How should I return this pie plate to you when I'm done?"

"That's yours to keep," the woman said, waving her arm dismissively. "Heaven knows my kitchen is already cluttered with more dishes than I need."

Lydia couldn't remember the last person she had met who, even in this moment of generosity, would try to deflect praise like this. The card in the box simply read, 'Praying for you' and the woman had signed her name. It was a touching sentiment but Lydia wanted to make it clear that the old woman was not working under a false understanding.

"You should probably know," she began apologetically, worried that she may sadden the woman, "I am not a Christian. This book won't be an expression of my faith. I'm just doing my job."

The woman's facial expression didn't change at all. She reached out her hand to rest it on Lydia's shoulder. "I believe with all my heart that you are the right person for this job."

Lydia impulsively reached out and gave the elderly woman a hug. No matter what Luke and Melvin thought of her ability to do the job and despite her own self-doubt, this simple old woman had just filled Lydia with a sense of confidence. She would love to have spent more of the morning talking with her, but there wasn't enough time.

"I really should get going," said Lydia, releasing the woman from their embrace. "I just have so many things to do before the meeting."

"You certainly do," she replied. "I'm so happy to have met you."

"I'm glad too," said Lydia.

"God bless you," the woman said as she packed up her things and left Lydia's desk.

Lydia headed to the photocopier feeling as though she had somehow inherited a grandmother. Still, she couldn't help but think that these warm cozy feelings would have to make way for the more practical thinking required to be taken seriously in this kind of meeting. As the last sheet of paper came out of the copier machine and all the necessary materials were ready, it was only the mental aspect of preparation that remained.

When the time came, Lydia walked nervously into the quiet boardroom. She sat alone while the board members and others shuffled into their seats. Gerald welcomed everyone and introduced Lydia and the project she was working on. Next, Lydia stood up to speak. She thanked Gerald for the welcome, thanked everyone for attending, and offered a general thanks to the whole company for the opportunity she had been given to head up this project. Gerald had told her ahead of time to be brief and hand out the documents without much description so as to not influence anyone's first impressions. She distributed the booklets to a room full of expressionless men with greying hair in expensive suits. The only two women in the room were Lydia and Gerald's mother, who happily knitted alone in the corner. Lydia walked over and gave her a copy of the documents too, but she only glanced at them and focussed mostly on her knitting. The clicking of her needles was the only sound Lydia could hear as the others quietly read through the articles.

As they read, some of the men scribbled notes in the margins and others circled and underlined portions of text, but most just sat quietly reading. Luke and Melvin were both reading closely, and they also looked up from time to time to gauge the responses from the various board members. Lydia was also interested in their reactions, but she noticed something that she didn't like; there was a lot of nodding when people flipped to the page where the piece written by Reverend Ballard was printed.

After about fifteen anxious minutes, everyone had looked up from their reading and glanced back and forth at each other to see who else had finished.

Gerald was the first to speak up. "Now that we've all completed the reading, Lydia, why don't you tell us some of your thoughts from having interviewed all of these people?"

"Certainly," she began, "but first I'd like to say again how grateful I am for the opportunity to lead this project." She wasn't normally the kind of person to kiss up, but having met his mother, she felt a lot better about Gerald, and she still felt that her assignment was an act of generosity on his part. Making a good impression with the board of directors also couldn't hurt.

Gerald smiled and nodded, then made a circular movement with his hand, gesturing as if to say that the thanks weren't necessary and that she should continue with her assessment.

"I was quite pleased to see that all of the candidates had presented themselves as clearly and succinctly in their pieces of writing as they did in their interviews, if not more. I enjoyed speaking with each of them. Naturally all of them have their own areas of expertise, which is why I contacted them for an interview in the first place, but they each have a number of other strengths and weaknesses, which became apparent to me. I'll talk about the candidates in the order in which I interviewed them.

First of all, I had a nice chat with Reverend Ballard. He speaks with confidence and professionalism, as you would expect from a man of his qualifications. He is very well-trained theologically and can expound at length on a wide number of topics. I did however get the impression that he speaks with an air of presumptuousness that I feel may put off some of our readers. I wonder if his education and his position of power impair his ability to connect with the common person.

Benjamin Worsley speaks from an interesting array of experiences and his passions line up with issues that weigh heavily on our nation's collective social conscience. He has a really folksy brand of humour and has a truly friendly character, but he lives in virtual isolation and his social skills reflect that, so that may create problems as far as making him marketable.

Alistair Graham is a very wise man. He speaks carefully and sincerely, and many say that his writings on prayer make him one of the most influential men in the country on the subject. What raises flags about him is his age. His wife died recently, and while he still looks quite healthy, I imagine the writing process would take quite a bit longer if he were selected.

Finally, there is Monica Lang. She has a fascinating story and is doing incredible work with her organization. I found her engaging and honest in a way unlike the other three. I do feel, however, that I caught her at a low point in her career, as far as enthusiasm goes, but I think this book project may lift her out of that."

Gerald looked up from the papers he was flipping through. "What are your thoughts on these book topic suggestions, Lydia?"

"I noticed that both Mr. Graham and Ms. Lang chose to write about their own institutions. Mr. Graham mentioned in our communication that his retreat center had been looking to write a new manual for their guests, and thought this project may be a good avenue for that. Ms. Lang would like to tell the stories of some of her guests, highlighting the work she and her volunteers have done. This kind of self-promotion doesn't align well with Westminster policy, but I think the stories and metaphors they present would still make their book quite applicable. Reverend Ballard seems quite confident that people want to read new parables, but I'm not sure that's a genre that can be revamped. Mr. Worsley's idea seems the most edgy, mixing the old and new. I recognize that all of the ideas would need some refining, but I think they are all still workable."

Gerald wrote down a few more notes as she spoke. He then looked up and looked around the table and inquired of the others in the room, "Let's see what the rest of us have to say. We can start at the back and then move forward. Does anyone have any comments on Monica Lang."

"Needless to say, we're all thrilled with the success of Feminine-ism," said an older board member Lydia had never met, "but I don't think that means we should give a book deal to every feminist that crosses our path."

"Right," added Melvin, "too many of this kind of book, and we'll be branded in ways that we may not want."

"I have worked closely with Soleil Macpherson from the beginning of our last big project until now," Luke added, "and I've got to say, she presented a number of obstacles to the process. This Mrs. Lang seems to be of the same ilk. I don't imagine the process would be much simpler with her, even if the leader of the development team would be softer to that kind of attitude."

"In defence of Mrs. Lang," noted another older board member near the back, "I did work with her husband's legal firm a while back, and they told me he was a man of integrity and good standing. Still, I'm not sure I can support this choice either."

Lydia hadn't sat in on too many of these meetings, but already she couldn't believe how easily her opinion was ignored. Also, in the seemingly unlikely event that they would endorse Monica as a candidate, they would all need to be reminded that she wanted to be called Ms. Lang.

"Okay, let's move on to Mr. Worsley."

"I've known about Mr. Worsley for a long time," stated one of the board members. "He's been quite vocal at anti-war and civil rights marches and demonstrations, but if you ask me, it is neither civil nor Christian to protest in a way that wreaks havoc and disrupts business."

"He may seem popular because of all the media attention he's gotten, but much of that is negative attention. I don't think we want our company to be tied to a man like that. His reputation could bring ours down with him."

"I think the hippie movement died a few years after I got rid of my last pair of bell bottoms," said Luke, eliciting laughter from around the table. "I think Mr. Worsley's ship has sailed."

The discussion went on to Mr. Graham, and Lydia was sad to see that he was just as easily dismissed. She couldn't believe that none of the discussion thus far had even mentioned the pieces of writing that were submitted. After all the candidates' effort, no one had discussed either the content or the style of writing in any of those pieces.

Then, what she feared most happened. At the mention of Reverend Ballard's name, various board members began telling stories of positive connections they'd had with the priest. Everyone seemed to love his appearance, his interpersonal manner and his speaking style. Also, they were finally discussing a written piece, but they were praising the one that Lydia thought was the least plausible of the four.

"I think this is the kind of brilliant work we've come to expect from Reverend Ballard," Luke said. "It's pleasant, it has a sort of biblical feel to it, and it leads nicely into a series of similar chapters."

"It seems his reputation has preceded him," added Gerald, trying to draw the discussion to a close.

"So all of you think this 'church and state' topic will sell?" asked Lydia, speaking up for the first time since her analysis was done. She thought back to his lengthy justifications of a church-state partnership at the restaurant. She remem-bered thinking that this topic would be tough to market to a large audience.

"All we need to know," answered Melvin, "is that this guy writes well and has a good look. I think he's a no-brainer."

"Looking around the room," Luke said, "the vast majority of us agree about which of these candidates is actually capable of pulling off this kind of project. I don't know what sort of bias or inexperience would make someone want to head in a different direction, but it would only serve to delay and delegitimize this project."

Lydia didn't know what was more frightening, Luke's second brazen insult or the fact that this challenge was met by nods from more than one of the board members at the table. She gave a frustrated glance toward Gerald who gestured for her to speak. She was happy to oblige.

"I never set out to disparage Reverend Ballard," she said, trying to hide her sarcasm, "who is obviously well-respected within this room, but throughout my communications with him he's demonstrated arrogance and an old-fashioned way of thinking. I don't know a lot of Christians, but I'd like to think that they would rather read a book written by someone with fresh insight than someone with merely a nice smile and a good resume."

"I haven't been to church since my second wedding," said Melvin, "and given how that turned out, I don't have any reason to go back any time soon, but I'm pretty sure Christians need to see little Bible references all throughout the book, and none of these writers did that. Only Reverend Ballard used a Biblical format of any kind."

"I've seen the studies too," said Luke, turning to look directly at Lydia for the first time in the meeting. "You need to understand that with Christians, or any other demographic, there are certain things that their core values tell them that they should want, and then there are the things that they actually do want. The Christian Contemporary Music industry makes sure that they have good-looking people on their CD covers and their book publishers do the same. We're just playing the same game they are."

Gerald broke the silence that followed Luke's critique. "Just so we're clear then, Lydia, who do you think is our best bet as an author."

"I am convinced that Monica Lang would do the best job," she said, feigning confidence. Heads began shaking around the room.

"And I think it's clear the rest have stated a preference that we go with Reverend Ballard. It seems clear to me that if you are prepared to work with Reverend Ballard, we can get started on the project right away, but if you don't think that's something you would be comfortable with, I'm sure you can see that puts this entire project in jeopardy."

Lydia hadn't expected an easy road but she also hadn't expected to have her opinion completely discounted at this meeting. If she had any interest in maintaining the status quo, she would have simply backed down and accepted the wishes of her superiors. However, this project had given her a taste of something; and that taste had only whetted her appetite. "I simply don't see Reverend Ballard as a marketable author. It is my professional opinion that by selecting him, we would be failing at maintaining the brand that we are trying to carve out for ourselves. His ideas are not cutting edge, his writing style is not dynamic, and I never got the sense that he would be willing to play by anyone else's rules than his own. Also, I don't personally feel comfortable in his presence."

Gerald looked over at his mother, who was still knitting quietly in the corner, and then he looked around the table. A wearied expression came across his face. "Does anyone object to us tabling this until our next meeting?" he asked.

"I take it this means that Miss Philips will be able carry out her regularly assigned duties in the meantime?" Luke asked after a short silence.

"Yes, until then she will return to her regular duties and the funding for this project will be frozen until we decide next month what to do." Sensing approval from around the circle, Gerald looked at Lydia and said, "Miss Philips you are dismissed, but I would like to talk to you before I leave today."

Lydia nodded and quickly left the boardroom. She walked over to her desk and waited impatiently for the meeting to end. A few weeks earlier, she would have gladly declined her assignment, but now she couldn't bear to think that it would be taken from her. Through the boardroom window, it seemed that they were still talking about her and the book project and she was sure the others were conspiring to replace her as head of the development team. She could see that Luke was talking a lot and she wondered if maybe he were campaigning for her position.

A few hours later the boardroom doors opened again and the men filed out. Eventually Gerald emerged as well and gestured for Lydia to come back into the boardroom.

Lydia entered the room and sat down without saying anything.

After a short pause Gerald looked at her and said, "I'm disappointed, Lydia. I drove a long distance to attend this meeting. I was hoping to leave having made some kind of progress on this project."

"I followed company guidelines and interviewed a number of quality candidates," Lydia said half-defensively and half-inquisitively, "but I got the sense that everyone in the room had made their minds up about Reverend Ballard before the meeting began. If that's the case, it doesn't make sense to have wasted company money or my time and energy interviewing all of those other candidates."

"There's something you need to know about Reverend Ballard," said Gerald. "We've tried to write a book about Christianity twice before. Once during the recession in the early 90s, and once when we were in the middle of merger talks. Both times it died on the cutting room floor, but both times Reverend Ballard was supposed to be the writer. A lot of people in this office and on the Board feel that they owe it to him to give him another chance, and I'll be honest; he is a close friend of mine and my family."

"Then why didn't you just tell me three weeks ago that this is who I was supposed to work with?"

"The reason, Lydia, is that I wanted you to choose him. The same goes for any candidate for any book. You've got to see or experience something that tells you clearly which way you want to go. Reverend Ballard couldn't fully convince you and it seemed like none of the other candidates could either. In that case, we shouldn't be publishing a book with any of them."

"So what do you want me to do until the next meeting?"

"When I see you again, you need to be convinced which way we as a company should go; so convinced that you are able to convince us. If that meeting doesn't go any smoother than today, I think you can see why I'll have to pull the plug. You can continue to do all the research you want, but on your own time, and without our budget."

"But," Lydia blurted out. She wanted to complain about the narrow-mindedness of the board members. She wanted to mention her chat earlier with his mother, but she could tell by the look on his face that he wasn't in the mood for reasoning or sentimentality. She simply said, "I won't let you down."

"If you need some help, you can start to put some people together for your development team, just don't give them any long-term promises."

"This is going to be a lot harder to do since I'll be going back to working for Luke full-time again," added Lydia.

"Miss Phillips," he said sternly, "your salary costs us money, this book project costs us money. Until we are actually selling books, the only way you make money for us is if you are also doing your regular job. So until this book is officially underway, you will do your regular work as assigned. Any other questions?"

"No, sir" she said humbly. "I understand. I'll see you in a month."

She left the boardroom and walked back to her desk feeling defeated. Any optimism she had felt had vanished. It was only when she returned to her own desk that her mood brightened a little.

On her chair was the brown cardboard box that she had almost forgotten. When she pulled the side flap open, the aroma of the pie wafted out again, and Lydia knew what she wanted to do next. Lydia quickly went to turn on the office percolator and find a clean plate. Soon she was sipping coffee, eating the homemade pie and wondering what her next month would look like.

**Chapter 11 - Stylish**

For a few days Lydia didn't do any more work on the book project. She was still confused by what happened at the board meeting on Monday and Luke was keeping her pretty busy with her regular tasks. She probably would have left it alone for the whole week except that Thursday after supper she ate the last piece of pie for dessert. She washed the pie plate with the other dishes from supper and thought about finding a place for it in her cupboards. When she pulled it out of the rinse water, she realized there was a message on the inside of it, hidden until now by the pie it had been holding.

Lydia would normally ignore or just not notice a message like "God Bless This Home," but when she read it, she imagined Gerald's mother speaking that short prayer as she prepared the pie. She wondered if the old woman contemplated these words each time she baked with it for her family and if she contemplated these words when she baked Lydia's pie. Looking down at the phrase in the pie plate, Lydia got out her notes again to have another look at the potential candidates. As she looked at Reverend Ballard's profile, she remembered that Gerald had said the priest was a family friend. That probably meant that he was a friend of Gerald's mother as well. If she liked him, was there something redeemable about this man after all? If she too were advocating for him, why didn't she speak up at the meeting?

While Lydia mulled over the implications of that relationship, she decided to give Oscar another call. He wasn't home, but she left him a message saying that the project had hit a snag and would he be interested in getting together to talk about it over coffee. He called her back at the office the next day and they set up a time to meet after work.

"So what's your fiancée doing today?" Lydia asked after the barista put their drinks on the counter for them to take.

"She and her mom are going shopping tonight."

"Wedding stuff?" Lydia asked as she put her coffee down and threw her jacket over the back of a chair.

"Probably," he said, choosing a seat with his back to the window, "but I don't ask questions about shopping trips."

"Maybe it's better that way," added Lydia. "Does that mean you're free to talk with me for a while then?"

"Oh yeah," he said reassuringly, "I've told her all about it, and she thinks it's important that I'm meeting you."

"Really?" Lydia asked, "Why is it important to her?"

Oscar realized he should have chosen his words differently. "It's nothing," he said, taking a sip from his coffee and hoping there wouldn't be any follow-up questions.

"No really," she insisted, "tell me!"

"Well," he began reluctantly, "she thinks you're sort of like a project I'm working on."

Lydia had gotten the sense from guys she had drinks with before that they were working toward a particular destination, but she was pretty sure that this wasn't the kind of goal the fiancée had in mind.

"What sort of project?" she asked.

"She thinks I'm trying to win you over, you know, to bring you to Christ."

"... and you're not?" Lydia asked, already mostly trusting that he wasn't.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Like I said before, I think your project is really interesting, and I feel lucky to be part of this journey with you, but I have no agenda beyond that."

"Well, I'm lucky she's so trusting," Lydia responded. "What else did she say about me?"

"She said you're very stylish," Oscar responded.

"Oh wow, that's a compliment!" Lydia could easily recall the skirt and blouse combination she had been wearing when Evangeline last saw her. She doubted however that the matching earrings she had selected would have been visible from the parking lot.

Oscar shook his head. "She wasn't commenting on your style," he said.

Lydia looked confused.

"That's her way of saying she thinks you're pretty."

"Oh?" Lydia said carefully.

"Yeah, it's complicated," Oscar said, putting down his coffee. "If I say that I agree, then she thinks I agree with what she meant and not with what she said, which is trouble. If I say I didn't notice, then she asks what I did notice, which is also trouble. If I say that I disagree with her, then she knows that since I don't know anything about fashion that I'm just trying to patronize her."

"I see," Lydia answered.

"Now don't get me wrong," he added, "it's entirely possible that through off-hand or slightly insensitive comments I've made in the past, I've given her cause to be suspicious. She's probably right to be critical of me, I just wish she'd come out and say exactly what she was thinking."

Lydia was now thoroughly amused both by his analysis of the situation and his own admittance of guilt. In her own "girlfriend days" long ago, she didn't view herself as the jealous type, but a few of her female friends had been guilty of playing this kind of mind game with their boyfriends too. Lydia had just never heard a guy decipher it so well.

"So what did you say?" she asked.

"I said that you probably just liked dressing up for the office, and then I told her that I really like the outfits she wears to her job too. I think that was good enough."

"Well done," she said. She resisted the urge to ask what he really thought, but she didn't want to give his fiancée any more to worry about.

"Also," Oscar added, "when she found out that you hadn't settled on the author yet, she told me I should advocate for her father because she thinks he would be a good candidate."

"Would he?"

"No," Oscar answered and then retracted. "Maybe I shouldn't answer so quickly. He is the lead pastor of a big church that seems to be keeping its members, so he must be doing a number of things right. He could probably sell five hundred copies in one Sunday at the church too. He just doesn't really have anything new and dynamic to say that you can't already get in the Christianity section of the bookstore. I also think the fame would get to his head."

"And this is the guy who's giving you his daughter's hand in marriage?"

Oscar figured it would be easier to treat her question like it was rhetorical, and not answer.

"So how did your Board Meeting go?" he asked.

"Not good. The Board rejected the candidate I like and I can't bring myself to work with the one they endorsed."

"But you were already suspecting that might happen, weren't you?" he asked. "So who did they want you to go with?"

"I suspected they'd go with the Anglican priest, but I didn't think they would ignore the others as easily as they did. Had you heard of Reverend Ballard before this project?"

"I know I've read his name in the newspapers, but I don't know much about him."

"What do you think of him as an author?"

"Well, I think all of your candidates are really interesting. I'd love to be able to pick their brains with you some more," Oscar said, "but I wouldn't say that I had any clear personal favourite. I'm not terribly surprised that they went with Reverend Ballard. He seems to fit the writer profile the best from what I read in the policy manual, but I can't see how his writing style or his intended content would have any kind of mass appeal."

"Thank you!" Lydia exclaimed. "You're the first person that's agreed with me on this. Maybe it's just the office he holds that everyone likes, but so far I thought I was the only one that wasn't under his spell."

"Well Lydia, there's something you need to know about priests and pastors."

"What's that?" she asked eager to gain a sense of understanding that had been missing thus far in the process.

"They are entirely unnecessary," he said.

"Come on," she protested. It wasn't that she disagreed; she just didn't want him to get too comfortable making inflammatory arguments.

"Not only do we not need them, but they know we don't need them. There are tons of stories in the Bible where Jesus tells someone off. Pastors love telling these stories, but the vast majority of the people he told off were the first century Palestine equivalent of pastors. They were perpetuating a religious system where they were the intermediaries between God and the people. But that wasn't what God wanted, that wasn't what the people needed, and it was exactly what Jesus came to replace."

"Should I be writing some of this down?" Lydia asked, more than a little confused.

"No," Oscar replied, realizing again who he was talking to. "Sorry if I'm over doing it with the Biblical arguments. Here's another way of looking at it. If you go to a music concert, you might be impacted emotionally by what you experienced there. Afterward you might want to thank the performers, and that would make sense because they created that awe-inspiring event. But if you have a spiritual moment listening to a pastor's sermon, even though the pastor orchestrated the whole morning program, he will likely say that it wasn't him, but the Spirit working through him, that allowed you to be moved. He or she might also rightly say that if you discipline yourself with regular prayer, Bible reading and fellowship with other believers, etc., you can maintain the spiritual high that you have experienced. So that's what I'm talking about when I say that they are unnecessary."

"You should probably know this better than me," Lydia said, "but pastors do a lot more than just preach sermons, don't they? They still get to make rules for people and rant about how evil society is, right?"

"It might not sound like it, but I actually feel sorry for today's pastors," Oscar answered. "Churches expect their pastors to do much more than preach sermons. In fact, congregations ask for so many things that there is no way the pastor can possibly have received adequate training to perform their complete job description at a professional level. Even in a small town church, pastors are essentially the CEO of a non-profit organization with somewhere around a hundred members, half a million dollars in assets, and over a hundred thousand dollars in annual revenue. From their first day on the job they instantly become part of the church's brand image and its main public relations representative. In theory, they are the first person their church members turn to for personal, family, and marriage counselling. They are asked to organize and perform any number of marriage, baptism and funeral ceremonies. They lobby on behalf of the church members to government, business and social institutions. And then, while they are doing all those other things, they still need to preach roughly 40 sermons a year that draw on almost two thousand years of Judeo-Christian literature and have some combination of inspiration, education, and entertainment. Maybe a potential pastor can be qualified to do a few of these things and have studied most of the rest, but all of them? No way!"

"It sounds like you're really blaming the people of the church," Lydia said, surprising herself by identifying with the pastor. "Why is it his fault if too much is asked of him?"

"Whose fault is it," Oscar asked, "the people that write up the job description, or the person that says with a straight face that they can do it all?"

"I guess I see your point. But why wouldn't they just be honest that the job is impossible?"

"When any of us are faced with a job that seems too big, we are forced to either play down the task or play up our ability to overcome it. With all that's involved in the role of pastor, it's really tough to play down the task. Depending on a person's ego, it can be really tough not to play up their abilities."

His opposition seemed more rational than hers, but Lydia still wondered if there was an emotional component of his argument. This wouldn't be the first time he seemed to be speaking against his future father-in-law.

"You don't need to sell me on pastors being frauds," Lydia said comfortably. "I'd love to sell this kind of thinking to the Board of Directors, but to market this book all of our main ideas need to have clear Biblical justification. Does the Bible say anything like this?"

"I could give you two answers," he began. "The short answer is yes. The old system was that people could only connect with God through the priests, but when Jesus died, the curtain separating God and humanity was torn in half. After that, we didn't need intermediaries anymore."

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Lydia said, "but I think I need to hear the long answer."

"I know you didn't grow up in the church, so that explanation won't make any sense, but just trust me that the short, technical answer is 'yes.' The long answer is that we're not supposed to read the Bible that way. Too many people, especially Christians, read the Bible with a particular question in mind, and so they turn to a particular passage hoping to find a particular answer. If the Bible was an encyclopaedia, that would be fine, but it isn't. The Bible is a collection of national history, family narratives, poetry, prophetic writing, letters between friends, and a whole bunch of story-telling. The Bible is a story of the relationship between God and his people, and sure there are overarching principles, underlying themes and core values, but the structure just doesn't lend itself to finding short answers to complex questions."

Lydia had been hoping for a more concise and direct answer, but it was still a refreshing opinion, and one that she as a literature student could appreciate.

"They gave me a month," she explained to him. "In that time I have to either sell them on one of the other three candidates or come to terms with using Reverend Ballard. I'd love to be able to find a better candidate, or at least something more interesting about the ones that I already have, but I think I've exhausted my resources. If nothing changes, I'll go back to the board and they'll tell me to get the priest to write the book, which I don't want to do, plus they'll know I've wasted a month of the company's time."

"I don't want to impose," Oscar said carefully, "but I've been reading over the documents you gave me, and I think I know a guy that would fit your company's expectations. I mean, he's a smart guy, knows his Bible, makes a good first impression, he has a lot to say, and I've been told he's a pretty good-looking guy. His name is Zack. If you'd be willing to meet him, I could try to set up a time with him."

"Who said he's good-looking?" Lydia asked, "Evangeline?"

"Well she said he always looks stylish, so I put two and two together," Oscar said with a grin.

"Sure, why don't we set up a meeting with him?" she agreed. "You've got better connections in the local Christian community than I do."

She didn't have terribly high hopes for this friend, but even if he wasn't as good as advertised, it couldn't hurt to have one more option available to her.

As they picked through the last of their fries and finished their drinks, Lydia went on to describe the rest of her week. She mentioned meeting Gerald's mother and receiving the pie as a gift and that she had no idea what she would do with the plate.

"You could try baking pies with it," Oscar suggested sarcastically.

Right around the time they were ready to leave, Evangeline called Oscar's cell phone to see if he was ready and asked him to come over right away. Lydia offered to give him a ride, but he insisted on taking the bus, so they went their separate ways, promising to meet again on Saturday.

Trinity Theological Seminary

Have you thought about coming to study and grow with us?

Listen to what some of our students are saying:

"The wide variety of courses offered by TTS allows any student to receive both a comprehensive pastoral training and a solid theological education."

\- Zack Mackenzie, former missionary and great-grandson of pioneering missionary to China, Isaiah Mackenzie

"The professors on staff bring a wealth of knowledge and wisdom to the classroom, and yet they are totally approachable whenever I have questions."

\- Brenda Mayberry, church librarian at Parkview Methodist Church and an elementary school teacher

"The administrators helped me to set up a flexible payment schedule and helped to arrange financial assistance."

\- Jorge Jimenez, pastor of River of Life Church/Iglesia Rio de Vida

"Everyone here is really motivated to bring out the leadership gifts within all of us."

\- Oscar Brandt, second year divinity student and protégé (and future son-in-law) of Rev. Mark Taylor

"The students and staff operate almost like a family. All of us, no matter where we come from, feel at home."

\- Hanguk Park, visiting student from Seoul, South Korea, participant in an international exchange program

**Chapter 12 - Oscar Braun**

Normally, the prospect of a Saturday business meeting would ruin her weekend, but Lydia was looking forward to this one. Oscar had sent an email asking if she could meet his friend for breakfast. Oscar was still convinced that this guy would be a strong candidate for the book but the morning was the only time he could meet on Saturday.

Lydia arrived first and was surprised when she looked up from her menu to see Oscar come through the door alone. He had neither his fiancée nor the new author candidate in tow.

"Where's your friend?" she asked, worried that she had lost another potential author without even having met him.

"He's on his way," Oscar said, hanging up his coat at the end of their booth. He took out a small pamphlet from his back pocket and put it on the table in front of her. "I thought you might like to see this first. It's a promotional brochure for the school we go to."

"Hey, that's you," she said after spotting his name and photo near the bottom of a testimonials page. "Did you ask them to mention your future father-in-law in your bio?"

"No, that was not my choice," he insisted. "When I showed it to Evangeline, I don't know who she was more proud of; me for getting picked or her dad for getting mentioned. Anyway, I'm not showing it to you to brag, the guy on the top of the page is who we're meeting today."

"Oh," she said, visually scrolling up. "Evangeline was right, he is cute."

"Stylish," Oscar corrected.

The photo was small but Lydia saw enough to be impressed with his appearance. She was less excited though about his credentials. She had heard a lot of bad stories of missionaries forcing people to abandon their traditional culture and religion and embrace Christianity.

"Am I supposed to know who his great-grandfather is?" she asked.

"No, not even most Christians would know who he is, but those that do would be impressed by the connection," Oscar answered. "He went over to China a long time ago. He was so successful that he not only won converts and established a big church there, but he was able to build a Christian school and a hospital. He wrote a lot of good articles for other missionaries about how to be more effective in various cultural contexts."

As Lydia listened to the explanation about the family connection, Zack walked in, spotted Oscar and walked toward their table. Without needing to answer any of her questions, Lydia already knew that he had passed the first test. More than any of the other candidates, this guy would look good on a book cover. He had a muscular build without looking like a meathead and his slightly tanned complexion went well with his medium length blonde hair. He wasn't really her type, at least not entirely, but Lydia knew plenty of girls that would go for a guy like him.

She stood up to greet him as he approached their table.

"Nice to meet you," they said to each other, almost simultaneously as they shook hands.

Oscar slid over to make room for Zack in their booth and handed him a menu. "Good to see you, buddy," he said.

"So Zack, how long have you known Oscar?" Lydia asked.

"We first met when he started taking classes at the seminary last semester," he said.

"And we're in a few classes together right now," Oscar said.

"Yes, we are," Zack said with a chuckle. "You should have seen him in our Systematic Theology class last week."

"Why? What happened?" Lydia asked.

"He stood up to challenge the professor, who didn't take too kindly to being interrupted. By the time the exchange was done, Oscar cowered back into his seat like a dog with his tail between his legs. The rest of us were just trying to keep a straight face."

"Trying unsuccessfully," Oscar added. "Look, I was just asking him why, when there are tons of other atonement theories out there, we only hear about penal substitution. It's academically irresponsible."

"And you know that Reverend Taylor wrote his Master's thesis on Anselm's view of substitutionary atonement?" Zack asked.

"Reverend Taylor is Evangeline's dad," Oscar said, trying to bring Lydia back into the conversation.

"Just admit that systematic theology isn't your strongest class," Zack said.

"That's fine with me," Oscar shrugged. "I honestly don't even think it should count as a class."

"It's a mandatory course, Oscar. It gives us the tools to layout precisely how we understand and relate to God."

"Zack, I'm going to set up an online dating profile for you. The tagline will read, 'True love is gathering, categorizing and systematizing as much information about each other as possible.' The ladies will flock to you."

"Is this how you really feel or are you just upset I got a better mark than you did?"

Oscar laughed and avoided the question. Then he looked at Lydia and added, "We're also in an informal midweek group study together, where this kind of argument happens pretty regularly."

"I get the sense that there are a few things you two disagree on," Lydia said, more question than statement.

"More than a few," Zack explained, "we disagree so loudly and so often that I could hardly believe he was recommending me for this project."

Lydia was a little taken aback by this. Watching them interact, it was clear that their confrontation was more playful than anything else, but she needed to know that Oscar held Zack in high regard. Before she could respond, the waitress came to see if they were ready to order, interrupting the conversation.

"So, what kind of garbage have you been telling this girl," Zack said to Oscar after the waitress left.

"He told me that religion is pointless," Lydia said before Oscar could defend himself.

"Well, there we would agree," Zack said. "True Christianity is not a religion, but a relationship with the person of Jesus Christ."

"That works if you're using Bonheoffer's definitions, but you'll have trouble convincing most people that Christianity isn't a religion," Oscar responded.

"Religion," Zack said, more to Lydia than to Oscar, "is all about blindly following a set of rules and going through a set of rituals and routines. Being a Christian means more than that, it means I'm journeying with Jesus and I live my life according to that relationship."

"Still," Oscar continued, "I'm sure you would say that a true Christian participates in communion as a rule and ritually prays, reads the Bible, and attends church."

"Of course, but we do those things to keep up our part of the two-way relationship we can all have with our Creator," Zack insisted.

"Okay," said Oscar, "but most people define a religion as a combination of a set of rituals and an inherent set of beliefs. Wouldn't you say that all Christians should believe a few core statements and participate in certain routines?"

"I brush my teeth every morning too, Oscar, and I believe that if everyone did the same, the world would be a better place. That doesn't mean we call dental hygiene a religion though, does it?"

Oscar laughed and was about to respond, then he looked over at Lydia. "We can play word games all day long Zack, but we should probably let Lydia ask the questions."

Lydia's notepad was open, but she wasn't sure what, if anything, of the current conversation was worth recording. She fluctuated between wanting to write down everything and wanting to write down nothing. Luckily, she had turned on her tape recorder as soon as Oscar arrived. She wasn't sure how or when to interrupt, so Oscar's interjection was a welcomed break. "I guess I'd like to hear a little bit about who you are and where you come from," she explained. "Usually I like to research my candidates, but Oscar just dropped your name out of the blue, so I feel like I'm at a bit of a disadvantage."

"Well, I guess the first thing I should tell you is that I grew up as an MK," he began.

"I'm sorry," Lydia interrupted, "what's an MK?"

"Oh," said Oscar apologetically, "in the Christian world, we have PKs and MKs, pastors' kids and missionary kids."

Zack continued, "There's almost an assumption that people like me will at some point rebel and try to throw off the expectations placed on them by their parents and religious community."

"I see," said Lydia, scribbling down some notes. "I need you guys to remember that I come from a different world. I don't use the same terms as you. Even the word missionary means something entirely different to me than it does to you." Lydia was trying to be funny, and while Oscar seemed to be concealing a laugh, Zack's emotionless nod indicated he didn't get the joke. "So please, no acronyms," Lydia concluded, wondering if she was guilty of using the same cultural terminology.

"No problem," said Zack and he continued introducing himself. He talked about the places his parents had gone and how growing up, he had usually been the only white child in the village except for his days at schools full of other MKs. He talked about his own teenage rebellion, which seemed pretty mild in Lydia's estimation, before he eventually came to grips with his parents calling and, at a relatively young age, he too accepted a missionary assignment.

His stories were interesting and he did tell them with the enthusiasm of a good storyteller. Still, Lydia didn't think it was enough to make a good first impression. That is to say, besides his physical appearance, she didn't know if he would make a good second impression. She assumed that once upon a time a missionary could command some kind of instant respect, but she was pretty sure that time had passed.

"So is this just some kind of short trip back?" she asked.

"No, he's back for good," interjected Oscar, "but I think this is where I think it gets interesting. Tell her why you came back."

Lydia hoped that he would say that he suddenly realized it was an incredibly intolerant remnant of imperialism or that it was fundamentally wrong to enforce your religious views on someone else. She doubted he would say any of those things, but she also doubted that she would find anything else interesting like Oscar suggested that she would.

"I came back for two reasons," Zack began. "The first was that I recognized that I wasn't needed. The church is so strong in many parts of the world that my presence as a western missionary only serves to undermine their ability to call and train their own leaders and teachers. Plus, with the reputation of western powers like the USA, politics can often distract from the message, meaning that church leaders from other countries don't have to deal with the same issues that I, as a westerner, do."

It wasn't the answer she was looking for, but it was more tolerant than she was expecting, and more importantly, it was more marketable. Maybe this explanation by itself might not sell him, but she could fluff it up.

"The second reason is that I am needed here. Christianity is gaining ground in many of the world's poorest and most oppressive countries, but in this land of unprecedented wealth and freedom, it's declining. Missionaries are needed here as badly as anywhere."

This second point was disheartening to Lydia. She, for one, felt that she had encountered enough Christians with missionary ambitions in her lifetime, and she certainly didn't want to be responsible for a book that encouraged other Christians to step up their proselytizing even more.

"It might not sound like much now," Oscar said cautiously, "but I think this is the premise of your book." She tried to hide her displeasure, but he continued, as though responding to her scepticism. "Before you write it off, you need to know that he's not saying Christians should be preaching on street corners and knocking on doors."

"Not at all," protested Zack. "I know some missionaries who would do that, but none of them would say it was their most effective way of building up the church. It's always the relationship that's paramount, and I think I've learned a lot about how to help people build more sincere relationships, and use those relationships to share the good news."

"Do you think Christians today want to be missionaries?" Lydia asked. If the book was going to be marketable, this question would need to be asked, but she definitely didn't like the idea so far.

"No," said Zack quickly, "but I do think they want to find ways to talk about their faith without being annoying."

"My guess, Lydia, is that most people are quite willing to hear new ideas," said Oscar, "but that they give much more credence to people they trust and people whose lifestyle is in keeping with the message they preach."

"What I want," Zack said, "is to call Christians to earn that kind of trust from the people around them before they feel the need to talk about faith issues."

"Remember that the topic of the book is chosen by Westminster Printers," said Lydia, trying to sound unbiased, "but what is an example of one of the things you've learned that would apply to this particular book idea that you're recommending?"

"One thing I learned overseas was that I was always advertising. It was what I ran from as a teenager, but I realized as an adult that this pressure was calling me to a high level of consistency. As the only white man in a southern Asian village, everyone knew who I was. So, if I helped repair the roof over the orphanage or if I helped negotiate higher wages for farm workers, people might notice that it was the white guy that did that, and then maybe a few more people came to hear me, or my dad, preach that week. But if I lost focus during the next week and I was disrespectful to a waitress, if I showed my anger to a fellow driver on the road, if I turned my nose up at a local dish, people would definitely remember that it was the white guy, and they would assume that my behaviour was a fundamental part of my character, part of my racial and national identity, and that it was a direct result of the message I or my father preached. Those things would definitely have a negative impact on how many people wanted to hear the good news."

"So what would you want your readers to learn from an observation like this?" Lydia asked.

"The important thing to remember is that all of us are advertising something."

Zack's message was delivered frankly, and with much more confidence than Lydia liked, but she had to admit that most of what he was saying had some self-critical overtones.

"Lydia, you too are advertising your own set of beliefs." She was going to ask to be left out of his illustrations, but she didn't like interrupting her candidates too often. "Before anyone will even consider accepting your beliefs, they have to be convinced by what they see. It's hard to present convincing evidence that your own beliefs are valid, but it's very easy to present counter-evidence. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that the Christian life is centered on doing good deeds. Christians need to speak the truth, but if their actions don't match their words, the outside world will see them and the whole church as frauds."

"Aren't they already frauds if their words don't match their actions?" Oscar asked Zack.

"I could answer that," he started, "but it would quickly become one of our semantic arguments, and I think Lydia wants to quickly get through some more questions."

Lydia was sort of hoping to hear his answer to that question, but hearing the two of them bicker didn't feel like progress either.

"What Zack is hinting at," interrupted Oscar before Lydia had a chance to think of another question, "is that he has to leave in about ten minutes."

"I hope that's okay," said Zack apologetically.

"Sure," said Lydia. "I would like to ask a few more specific questions though, if I could."

"Absolutely."

"And I'll try to stay out of it," said Oscar, returning to his breakfast.

"There are two questions I ask to all of my candidates," she began. "The first one is, what do you think is the most important part of being a Christian?"

"That answer is simple," he said confidently, "to further the Kingdom of Heaven. But let me unpack that for you. Christians are called to give their ultimate allegiance to God, and not to any earthly power. The reward for participating in that Kingdom is an eternity in paradise with our Lord, but like any other kingdom, we are constantly seeking to grow. So, we are constantly at war with the evils within ourselves and in our world, and we need to constantly be winning converts to our cause."

"Okay," she said, jotting a few things down, "and we've sorta talked about this already, but if we did pick you, whether we use this missionary idea or another one, what kind of people would need to hear what you have to say?"

He was quiet for a while. "I guess I'd hope that I could reach the people who think that the mission field is 'over there', the ones who think that we send missionaries, the farther the better, and that their own land is in no need of missionaries."

"Okay great," she said.

"So we're done?" he asked.

"Just one more thing, I think Oscar mentioned the sample piece to you, so how soon can you get that in?"

"I can finish it off and email it to you tonight some time," Zack promised as he put his jacket on and gathered his things.

Lydia wasn't crazy about all the answers he had given, but she conceded that she could do worse than working closely with a cute guy that met deadlines.

Zack reached for his wallet, but Lydia quickly said, "Don't worry, breakfast is on me."

"Technically," Oscar interjected, "it is courtesy of Westminster Printers, her publisher."

"Either way," Lydia said, not wanting to remind Oscar that the company had taken away any extra funding until the next board meeting, "don't worry about it."

"Okay, thanks," Zack said as he slowly put his wallet back in his pocket. "I appreciate it and I look forward to hearing from you." Then he gave a quick wave to Oscar and he headed for the door.

"And you're staying?" Lydia asked, looking over at Oscar.

He looked up from his unfinished breakfast and asked, "Is that okay?"

"It's fine with me," she said. She was more concerned that his fiancée might not approve of the arrangement, but she didn't want to mention that.

"So what did you think?" he asked.

"He's alright, I guess, but are you sure this is a guy you could work with as part of the book's development team?"

"Zack might not see it this way, but I do enjoy his company. He's got a lot to say and really cares about his subject matter. Plus, I think it's critically important to surround myself with people I don't necessarily agree with. Too many people surround themselves only with like-minded people. Disagreeing with Zack keeps me intellectually responsible."

"He certainly has a broad range of experiences," Lydia admitted, "but there are still some things I'm not sure about."

"Like what?" Oscar asked.

She wasn't sure how much of her skepticism he wanted to hear, but for her to be able to move forward with his idea, she needed to ask the question.

"It's the whole missionary thing. I feel like we as a society should have stopped allowing people to do that a long time ago. Hasn't the church learned that it's wrong to destroy a people's culture?"

Oscar nodded as he thought about a response. "I think it's terrible when people use military power or wealth or any other kind of trickery to coerce a people to do anything, especially if it is to embrace religious values. I personally believe it's contradictory to force people into a religious experience."

"But do you admit that missionaries destroy culture?"

"I can give you a yes answer and a no answer," he said after a short pause. "Which do you want to hear first?"

"You don't need to convince me with your 'yes' answer, so I may as well hear your 'no' answer first."

"Okay. It's important to remember that there are many things that define a culture. We could probably think of some obvious exceptions, but generally missionaries have no interest in changing a people's diet or the clothes that they wear. Most of them try to incorporate cultural singing styles into their church services. Some even try to accommodate some cultural festivals into the church calendar. Now, you can call that deception if you want, but by doing those things they are actively preserving the culture. All over the world Bible translating missionaries are helping to preserve languages that would otherwise disappear. I am almost certain that never in your life will you meet a person who could not read the Bible in their ancestral mother tongue. There are probably no greater protectors of culture in the world than Christian missionaries."

"Maybe," Lydia insisted, "but religion and religious festivals are still a fundamental part of the culture."

"Are they?" Oscar asked. "If there's an atheist living in Dublin, is he less Irish simply because he's not Catholic? The same for an agnostic in New Delhi, is he less Indian just because he's not a Hindu? Also, if someone doesn't have the freedom to accept a new religion, is that a culture you want to preserve?"

"I guess I've just heard a lot of stories about missionaries who are very disrespectful," Lydia said without answering the question.

"I bet I've heard about more," he admitted, "but I truly believe that they are the extreme cases. But that's the way life works; we hear about the extreme cases because they are extreme and shocking, but those negative examples ruin it for everyone else."

Lydia was still taking notes and the tape recorder kept rolling. "You had a 'yes' answer too?" she asked.

"You probably won't like this either," he began, "but I think destroying cultures is at the heart of the Christian message. Culture is all about assigning yourself an identity, a sense of worth and a place in the world based on who your parents were and where you were born. Jesus sees as so much more than that."

Lydia was quiet for a while. She wanted to argue back, but she also wanted to be nice. "Sorry to say Oscar, but you still haven't convinced me that missionaries are a force for good in the world."

"That's fine," he said. "I'm not trying to convince you. I'm trying to give you what you need so that you can convince your Board of Directors about this project, and maybe so that you can work on it with a clean conscience."

Flipping back to the end of her Zack notes, Lydia asked. "So what did you think of his last two answers?"

Oscar paused for a moment as he thought about what he had said. "I think that 'advancing the Kingdom of Heaven' was a good answer, but Zack, like a lot of Christians, thinks that the Kingdom life mostly involves fighting metaphorical military type battles against its various enemies. The way I see it, living in the Kingdom of Heaven means doing the work of the King. I think we advance the Kingdom by being the Kingdom. When people recognize Christians as people who feed the hungry and comfort the disturbed, then the Kingdom is advanced."

"Sorry for my ignorance, but can you explain to me what you and Zack mean by Kingdom of Heaven?"

"Right. I shouldn't assume you know that phrase either," apologized Oscar. "In Jesus' day everyone assumed that whatever nation was the strongest, obviously had the biggest god. That mindset was a big problem for the Jews, who were subject to the Romans at the time. But most Jews believed that a promised leader was coming who was going to come and kick the Romans out of Israel. When Jesus came, people thought he was this promised leader, but then he started talking about a different kind of Kingdom. When he saw a rich man give up his savings to the poor he said the Kingdom of Heaven had come to that place. He said it was the kind of Kingdom that some people might have to die for, but one that couldn't be kept by killing for it. The Kingdom he was talking about isn't an earthly kingdom. It's a kingdom of the mind, one you voluntarily join, one that's more important than the nation you live in on earth, and one where the King knows everyone by name."

"Could you ever write a book like this?" she heard herself asking.

"I don't have the face or the credentials to help you sell any books, and my ideas probably aren't edgy enough to be cool, and not cool enough to be profitable."

"Just throwing it out there," she said, taking the last sip from her coffee mug.

"So what happens now?" he asked.

"I meet with the Board in a few weeks, and then my fate is in their hands."

"Are you ready for it?"

"I have to be. If I'm not, there will never be another chance like this for me," she said with an air of resignation in her voice.

"You are already good enough, Lydia," Oscar said. "You have the education, you have the skills, and you have the determination. Whether you believe it comes from God or yourself, or some combination of the two, you are already good enough, and they have just not yet been convinced."

Lydia wasn't expecting this pep talk, but it struck a chord with her. It really was too bad that Oscar didn't want to put himself forward as a potential author. Suddenly, she had an idea.

"We've talked a few times about Christian hypocrisy," she began. "Oscar, could you send me an email, like a longer one, where you explain one particular example in depth? And I like how you normally do it, by adding some redemptive aspect to it. Could you do that for me in the next few days?"

"No problem," he agreed, puzzled by this specific request. "And you'll let me know how it goes as soon as your meeting is done?"

"Yeah," she laughed. "If I fail, you can help me drink my blues away."

"What about if you succeed?" he asked without mentioning that he didn't drink alcohol.

"If they like it, then the project begins, and since you agreed to be on my development team, you officially become my slave."

"So I guess I'll hear from you either way."

_Zack Mackenzie_ _has recently returned from northern Africa where he was serving as a missionary. Both his father and grandfather were prominent missionaries, and his great-grandfather had a number of schools named after him across northeast Asia as a tribute to the extensive church planting work he did there. Mr. Mackenzie is currently a Masters of Divinity student at Trinity Theological Seminary and is a frequent guest speaker at churches discussing missions and outreach programs. He returned from his overseas assignment convinced that the locals were fully capable of doing the job better themselves and wants to encourage North American Christians to see their homeland as their mission field._

" **The Follow-up Question"**

" _Are not all these men who are speaking Galileans? Then how is it that each of us hears them in his own native language?" – Acts 2: 7, 8_

Language is fundamentally important in any mission work. Whether it was my great-grandfather setting out to build a hospital in a remote village a hundred years ago or me starting study groups at a communist Asian university, learning the local language is the first thing on the to-do list.

While I always had a proper classroom setting to help me learn these languages, my father, grandfather and great-grandfather rarely had textbooks or official schools where the language was taught. Sometimes they even had to find a way of transcribing the language into an alphabet, which often turned out to be important for the development and preservation of the culture as well. But whether it was them contributing to the history of the language or me just learning it, the local people were always impressed that we were even putting in the effort.

Nowadays it's often the locals who are the ones trying to learn the language of the missionaries because English will help them for business or educational reasons. While that often helped me get a foot in the door, it was also often a crutch I would lean on, slowing my acquisition of the language.

Learning a language is a humbling process. One has to memorize the vocabulary, adjust his mouth for the correct pronunciation and adjust his thought process to fit the grammatical structure, and even then it may not be possible to understand the locals speaking at their natural pace.

As valuable as classroom learning was for me, there was no better way to learn than to force myself into situations where I would need to use the language. Even though I knew this, I was still frightened to try. When there was a sentence I wanted to say, no matter how much I had rehearsed, it amounted to nothing if I couldn't understand, and then answer, the question that came next. I could of course study and come up with a list of things the person might say back to me and I could prepare what to say in response to each of those things. Then I would be ready, except I would only be extending my reliance on the textbook. A pre-scripted conversation isn't a conversation.

It is easy, as a missionary, to start an assignment with stereotypes or generalizations about the group of people you have been called to minister to. In the beginning stages, when you still don't have a full grasp of their language, you can only observe body language and social interaction. This will teach you a lot and it may even serve to confirm or deny your preconceptions, but it still leaves you on the outside. Knowing the language allows you to get right in close to native speakers, and the more you understand what you hear, the better able you are to assess their needs. When you begin to meet those needs, as a friend, as a fellow community member, and as a citizen in the Kingdom of Heaven, then they will be more receptive to your message of good news.

Of course, you cannot and sometimes should not embrace the language fully. Often there were greetings or blessings that were essentially tributes to other gods, so I didn't incorporate those. I would also refuse to adopt expressions or idioms that were demeaning to women, insulted neighbouring tribes or were inherently violent. It was important for my own conscience but also for the image I was trying to present for me to keep my tongue clean.

In our world there are entire subcultures built around professional sports, TV programs, exercise routines, etc. They all have their own sacred rituals they practice and idols they worship. These people are also in need of missionaries; people who understand them and can speak their language. Luckily, the church is already full of people who do. There are all sorts of languages that we've learned without even knowing it, and just as we often need to be careful to speak those languages in a wholesome way, we also need to commit ourselves to using that language for wholesome purposes.
_Oscar Brandt_ _is a second year divinity student at Trinity Theological Seminary. He is currently working closely with local prominent pastor Mark Taylor. Oscar is passionate about making the Bible accessible to the common person. He believes that there are many incorrect assumptions that people, especially Christians, make about faith and he hopes to add a new refreshing voice to the conversation. He has a strong dislike for pastors who abuse authority and people whose faith doesn't make them better people._

" **Graceless Power"**

" _Amazing Grace"_ is a popular song. A favourite among church-goers, it is one of the only Christian hymns that is well-known to people outside the church. Popular musicians record covers of it and marching bands play the tune with bagpipes in community parades. But despite its widespread religious and non-religious popularity, within the story of its composition is an "anti-institutional" message and a profound demonstration of God's grace.

The actual lyrics make little mention of Jesus directly, which makes the song easier to swallow in secular circles. Christians, however, hear in these words a story of forgiveness that rings true with their view of God. The verses contain an incredible amount of guilt and shame, presumably belonging to the songwriter. This isn't just shame from a few unfortunate choices or worry about some kind of damaged reputation; this is guilt from having lived a life blinded by a fundamentally flawed view of the world.

Many people have also heard the story of _Amazing Grace_ 's origins. John Newton was a tough man, hardened by difficult life circumstances. His naval career progressed to the point where he was charged to oversee the delivery of newly captured slaves from Africa. The guilt he gradually felt from observing and leading the dehumanizing treatment of slaves led him to write this hymn.

John Newton was also a mentor of William Wilberforce, the British politician who lobbied hard in favour of abolishing slavery in that country. He eventually succeeded, but not before _Amazing Grace_ was composed. So why is this important? When these lyrics were written, the grievous sin being confessed to was still a fully legal enterprise. It seems the songwriter can hardly imagine his sins will ever be forgiven, but in the eyes of his church and his state, he is not condemned. In those days the Church of England would never dare oppose the Kingdom of England, even if it wanted to, so slavery was not only state-sanctioned but also church approved.

So John Newton felt guilty, not just for owning slaves, not just for selling slaves, but also for the capturing and trafficking of his fellow human beings. When he felt this guilt, he had nowhere to turn. If he turned to his government law officials and confessed of the blood that was shed under his watch, they would have told him he had committed no crime. If he went to his church officials and confessed of the compassion that was withheld from fellow members of God's creation, they would have told him that those things did not make him a sinner.

As much as any of us can truly know anything, John Newton knew that the church and the state were wrong. Looking back now, we too can say with confidence that the church and the state were both wrong on this matter. John Newton was in need of counsel; he was in need of hope. He found no comfort in reassurances offered by the established institutions of church and state, telling him that he was not guilty of any offense. In fact, that stance interfered with the forgiveness he so desperately wanted. John Newton needed to refuse the grace of the church in order to receive the grace of Jesus.

Churches and religious institutions, especially the big ones, often have trouble accepting change, partly because it requires recognizing that the things they were doing before weren't good enough. You would think that this concept would be easier to grasp for a group of people who, in order to become Christians, have accepted Jesus' call to "Repent for the Kingdom of Heaven is near."

No religious organization would exist unless they believed that their deity or set of moral guiding principles endorsed their existence, but it is easy to confuse that sense of general endorsement with an assumption that everything the organization has ever done and the way they've done it has a divine stamp on it. That mindset not only interferes with progress and change, but it also gets in the way of living out the relationship that they have been called into.

Fortunately, there were some churches that opposed slavery and at the same time preached a message of grace and forgiveness. Unfortunately, contemporary churches and individual Christians often fall into the same pattern. They are afraid to make moral decisions until mainstream society and governmental policy makes it easy to do. This isn't the way it's supposed to be.

**Chapter 13 - The Most Attractive Candidate**

Despite her fear, Lydia resolved to project an aura of confidence and professionalism. Maybe Oscar was right that if it looked like she was convinced, it would be easier to convince the board members. More than once, she had repeated his line to herself, that she was already good enough, and that the Board just had not yet been convinced. From the clothes she wore and the way she did her hair to the speeches she had prepared, she was going to look like a person who had everything together.

Half an hour before the meeting was to begin, Luke approached her desk.

"Lydia," he asked, "how are things coming for your big presentation today?"

"I have all my handouts ready to go and I've prepared everything I need to say," she replied confidently.

"Great," he replied. "I was counting on that. Listen, we need some food for the meeting. Can you head over to the bakery to get the usual order?"

"Can't someone else go?" she asked quickly.

"You said everything was ready, didn't you?"

Lydia couldn't help but think that he was intentionally trying to humiliate her. She sensed there was something going on that she didn't know about. She could try appealing to Gerald or even try to get someone else to run the errand for her, but she decided it would be less of a hassle to just do it herself. Luke had not yet been convinced of Lydia's qualifications, but he soon would be. Besides, this was still technically in her job description and there was more than enough time to go there and back.

On her way out the door she bumped into Soleil. After Lydia's book project, the next item on the agenda was a board discussion with Soleil to discuss aspects of the promotional tour and to try to finally lock her into a contract for a second book.

"Getting cold feet?" Soleil asked.

"No," she smiled, "I'm just running a quick errand before the meeting."

"They're making you run errands too? The meeting starts in less than half an hour!"

"It's fine," said Lydia, hiding her frustration. "I have everything I need ready for the meeting, and the bakery is just around the corner."

"This is your big meeting and they are making you get the coffee break? They may as well ask you to wear a short skirt and drive the beer cart for them as they play a round of golf after the meeting."

"Well, it was just Luke," Lydia said, to correctly channel Soleil's frustration.

"Somebody else should really be doing this," insisted Soleil. "I'm going to go have a talk with that good-for-nothing, son of a..."

"No," interrupted Lydia, "don't worry about it. They can say what they want about the project, but I don't want them to have any reason to say that I don't do my job here."

"Okay," said Soleil hesitantly, "I guess I'll see you in the meeting then." Soleil kept her word and didn't confront Luke, but she made a mental note to mention it to Gerald.

The order was ready quickly at the bakery just as Lydia expected, and she was back at the office in plenty of time before the meeting, but the amount of food she had brought meant that she had to make several trips from her car. Since it was near the door, she put everything on her desk rather than take it directly into the conference room. When she came in the second time with the carafes of coffee, a familiar face greeted her at her desk.

Gerald's mother was sitting in Lydia's chair with the same knitting bag on her lap that she had at their initial meeting.

"I'm so glad you came again," said Lydia. "I wanted to thank you again for the pie. It was delicious."

"Oh, never you mind about the pie," she said humbly. "It was no trouble at all. Come to think of it, now that you have a pie plate, I should give you my recipe."

"I'm not much of a cook," Lydia replied. "Is it easy to make?"

"No, but it used to be that we didn't eat anything that was."

She was about to say something else when she quickly drew a handkerchief from her purse and started coughing.

"Are you okay?" Lydia asked. "That cough sounds pretty bad."

"Oh, these old lungs," she began with a weak laugh, "they just can't deal with the dry winter air as well as they once did. I'm going to see my doctor tomorrow and he'll likely give me a little something for it. But don't you worry about me. Anyhow, I wrote up a little card for you."

Lydia looked down at the envelope with her carefully handwritten name. She quickly read the note and smiled up at the old woman. "Thank you so much," she said.

"Now, I know not everyone likes hearing this, especially my grand-children, but I am praying for you. Whatever you need for this project, whether it's the right helpers, money, or strength, I'm sure it will be given to you." With that she drew the handkerchief to her mouth and coughed some more.

Lydia would have found it more comforting if the giver this woman had been referring to was Gerald. Since God had little to no influence at Westminster Printers, Lydia was sure those prayers were in vain. Lydia didn't quite know what to say, but it wasn't because she was uncomfortable. In fact, with the love and hope this woman conveyed through her smiling, wrinkled face, Lydia realized that she had perhaps never been this comfortable in a discussion involving God.

"Now what's all this?" the woman asked, alleviating Lydia's anxiety about what to say next.

"Oh," she answered quickly, "these are the refreshments for the meeting."

"Well," the grandmother exclaimed, "you shouldn't have to take care of this, not today, not with what you are doing in the meeting." And with that, she picked up the boxes of muffins and pastries and turned toward the boardroom.

"No," Lydia said quickly, "please, you don't need to do that." Lydia tried to take them away, but the old woman made it clear she was not going to let go. Lydia picked up her folders, the carafes of coffee, and the knitting bag, and followed her to the boardroom. Because of the senior's slow pace, Lydia was still able to open the door for her when she arrived at the boardroom.

"Mother," said Gerald, interrupting a conversation he was having with a board member, "you shouldn't have to carry these things."

"And I suppose you think she should," his mother said with a scowl. Meanwhile Lydia had begun arranging the food and drinks on the refreshment table.

Gerald looked over at Soleil who was also staring at him, and then he gave a disappointed look toward Luke.

When the time came for Lydia's presentation, she distributed the new documents she had prepared. "Now I know you have all brought your folders from the last meeting," she said once all the papers had been handed out, "but in today's package you'll find two new candidates as well as some more information on the other four. I know your time is valuable, but I'm sure you'll find this new information will prove worthwhile."

Between meetings, Lydia had kept up her correspondence with the other four candidates and she had included a few of their comments in the package. She had also asked them to fill out an estimation of the kind of start-up money and royalty percentages they would expect. The only part of this new information that was noteworthy to Lydia was the remuneration that Reverend Ballard was expecting. It seemed exorbitant to her, but given the warm reception his name had received earlier, she had no idea if this would change anyone's mind about him or if they were prepared to gladly pay the amount.

Also, despite his opposition, Lydia presented Oscar as a candidate. She had simply taken the email he sent her after the breakfast and rearranged it into the format of an article. If they liked him she was sure he wouldn't say no, and if they didn't, then Oscar never had to know she had done this.

She was fully prepared to defend either Zack or Oscar. She still didn't know what she would do if the board members were still convinced that Reverend Ballard was the best option. She thought that maybe if Oscar was on the development team, then it could be bearable.

The boardroom was quiet as everyone read over the new material. Lydia was hoping for any kind of sign of approval or disapproval, but the men all read quietly without displaying emotion. As a non-board member Soleil wasn't entitled to participate. The only things breaking the silence were Soleil flipping through her own notes for later in the meeting, Gerald's mother clicking away with her knitting needles, and Gerald taking out a calculator and entering some numbers.

Finally Gerald spoke up. "I think we've all had sufficient time to have a good look at the material. Miss Phillips, is there anything you would like to say first?"

"Thank you, Gerald," she began, trying to project her most confident voice. "After the previous board meeting, I followed your guidance very seriously. I got some more information from Reverend Ballard and some excerpts from those conversations are provided in the materials. While I recognize his immense wisdom and respectability, I am still not convinced that either his writing style or his content is in keeping with Westminster's brand image."

To her surprise she noticed that some of the board members were nodding. She also noticed that they were not looking at his written material or the conversation excerpts, but at the financial proposal he had submitted.

She continued. "In contrast, both of the new writers included in your packets are young men, edgy thinkers and dynamic writers. Either of these two options would be much more in line with our company's requirements. Also," she added, deviating from her notes, "they have more modest financial expectations."

There were more nods.

Maybe she hadn't meant everything she said, but it was all a part of the plan. Still, she saved the biggest lie for last. "I'd love to hear your thoughts," she said with a smile.

Part of the reason Lydia felt so comfortable submitting Oscar as a candidate without his permission was that he never said he didn't want to do it; he only insisted that he would never be chosen for the task. To Lydia's dismay, his prediction quickly proved correct. Various board members spoke up, saying that his ideas were non-conformist and anti-institutional and therefore not marketable. They pointed out that he was actually attacking the very institutions they would be relying on to support the book. They also mentioned that he didn't have a particularly marketable appearance.

Lydia knew that if they were half as critical of Zack as they were of Oscar, all of her pre-emptive confidence would be for nothing, but much to her surprise, the first comment was actually positive.

"There's something I like about this guy," said one of the board members carefully.

"He certainly seems to be a man with a bright future," said another.

"With this audience, one has to walk a fine line between edgy and rebellious," said Gerald, "and I think this young man has found a way to do that."

"I think we can all agree that this is our most attractive candidate."

With that Soleil glanced over at the photo on top of the profile the man beside her was reading. "He _is_ cute!" she exclaimed.

As the conversation continued, Lydia looked around the room. She couldn't believe what was happening. At first she had been hiding her fear and anxiety and now she found herself suppressing her happiness.

"We'd really like this process to go quickly," said Gerald, involving Lydia in the conversation again. "Can this gentleman get started right away?"

"Absolutely," she said, not having to fake confidence this time. "In our correspondence he told me that his weekend speaking schedule keeps him busy and he has a part-time course load at the seminary, but he is excited about this opportunity and he's assured me that he is ready to start immediately if he were to be chosen. I should also add that he has proven himself to be quite prompt with regard to deadlines."

Gerald took one last look around the room then said finally, "Okay, Miss Phillips, we'll go with Mr. Mackenzie. I trust you'll get everything in line quickly."

"Yes sir, I will."

"Good. You can go now, but I'll talk to you afterwards about your development team."

Lydia hadn't expected the meeting to go this well or this quickly. She hadn't needed to use any of the extra arguments against Reverend Ballard that she had prepared, or her logic behind the importance of having a young face on the book cover. She hadn't even had a chance to eat one of the muffins that she had brought from the bakery.

When she arrived at her desk Lydia decided that she was entitled to a little coffee break of her own. She resisted the urge to quickly send a rejection letter to Reverend Ballard and instead hopped in her car and headed toward her favourite nearby shop. From experience and having looked at the agenda, she knew that all of her immediate superiors would be in that meeting for at least the next hour so no one would mind or even notice her absence. She would celebrate more after work, but this little trip was at least a small outlet for her joy. If nobody else would do it for her, Lydia would at least reward herself.

She returned forty-five minutes later to start writing some of the letters that would soon need to be sent. Her excitement had subsided a little but it was being buoyed again by the sugar and caffeine she had just consumed, making it hard to concentrate.

She sent a quick note to Zack confirming that he had been selected and asking when he could come in and fill out some legal documents and contracts. She was almost done drafting up a kind letter of regret to her first four candidates, certainly kinder than the one she wanted to write to Reverend Ballard, when the boardroom doors opened.

A few of the board members were chatting with Gerald while a few others headed for the restroom. Soleil emerged, smiling and shaking hands with a few of the men near the door. She looked in Lydia's direction and began walking toward her.

"Congratulations, Lydia!"

"Thanks, but it looks like your part of the meeting went well too," said Lydia surprised to see both Soleil and the various board members looking happy at the end of one of these meetings.

"You could say so. I've signed a contract for two more books."

"That explains why they're in such a good mood," said Lydia, gesturing toward the board members still milling about, "but why are you so happy?"

"Let's just say that the book sales have convinced them to be fairly generous."

"Good for you! What's the next one going to be about?"

"I'll be writing the next one jointly with my husband. It will mostly follow the format of the last book, except we'll be giving advice about marriage."

"I can't say I'll need to read that for a while," Lydia said wryly, "but that sounds like a fun project for you two."

"Yeah, I think we really needed something like this. I'm looking forward to it."

"So for this marriage book, who's going to be the head of the development team?"

"They're still trying to figure that one out," Soleil explained. "I suggested you, since I'm so comfortable working with you..."

"Oh thanks, Soleil."

"... but they raised a good point, saying that since you've never been married, you don't have enough familiarity with the subject matter."

"I won't even pretend to contest that."

"Luke said he was up for the job, but I insisted that, in the same way, his two divorces disqualify him."

Lydia let out a giggle, then quickly looked around to see who could hear their conversation. "You said that?" she asked.

"You can say anything in a business meeting as long as you tie it to profit margins and viability."

"I'll try to remember that," said Lydia, not sure if that was the business model she necessarily wanted to emulate. "So what now?"

"My husband and I are going to take some of this advance money and go to Europe for a few weeks. Then, in two months when your project goes off to the printers, ours gets started."

Lydia hadn't yet discussed a timeline with Gerald, and even though two months was in keeping with what she would have expected, it still sounded really short when Soleil said it out loud like that.

"Oh, I think Gerald is trying to get your attention," said Soleil.

Sure enough, he was waving in their direction. Lydia waved back and nodded and then started to get ready to go.

"Looks like he wants to have a quick meeting with you before he and the boys go out for lunch," said Soleil. "I'll let you go then," she added, "Congratulations again."

"Send me a postcard from Europe." Lydia's papers were still piled beside the computer, untouched since the meeting, so she quickly picked up the stack and headed to the boardroom to speak with Gerald.

"Have you been in touch this morning with Mr. Mackenzie?" he asked, looking at his paperwork to remind himself of the name.

"I've sent him an email, but haven't heard back yet."

"Okay, if you don't hear back in a few hours, give him a call. I'd like to have those contracts signed and in my hands in by the end of the day, if possible."

"Got it," she said, scribbling a note in her planner.

"Now, I have been putting some thought into your development team as well, Lydia."

"Great," she said without realizing she had interrupted her boss, "I have too."

"Here is a list of names," he said, sliding a sheet of paper across the table, "I'd like you to contact them and assemble a committee of five from those who express interest.

"I've already been contacting a number of people," said Lydia, trying to maintain her composure.

"Are they on that list?"

"Some of them are, yes."

"Good, then use those." This was a game Gerald had played before; speaking in a crisp and confident manner conveyed his level of seriousness.

"According to the policy manual, as chair of the team, I am supposed to be consulted in the selection of the other members. I've already done a significant amount of work selecting and contacting these people." Lydia handed her list to Gerald. She had listed all the people she contacted, their qualifications, and responses. She had put it together for her own analysis, but it was pretty handy for this setting as well.

Gerald took the list, but before putting on his glasses to read it, he set out to explain himself clearly. "You can consult the list, and if more than five people express interest, you can choose. You should consider yourself quite fortunate to be in the position you are in. I know it would be easier if you could pick all of your friends, but if the publishing process is easy, the book will be terrible. I know you and Soleil had some disagreements with Luke, but it is those struggles that made that book the success that it is." Then, quickly glancing over the list, he asked, "is there one person in particular on this list you think deserves a spot more than the others?"

"If I had to pick one," Lydia said, not at all prepared for this negotiation, "I would say Oscar Brandt."

"Isn't he the other candidate you suggested this morning? Don't you think he would resent being second best?"

"Not at all," said Lydia, hiding the real reason, "he was quite confident he would not be selected as a candidate, and explicitly expressed interest in working on the development team. He and Zack attend the same seminary, attend a few of the same classes and are even in a Bible study together. I've seen them interacting, and I really think that a guy like Oscar pushes Zack to explain himself more clearly."

"I think you understand why we cannot have friends, neither of the chair, nor of the author, on the development team."

"I do fully understand that," Lydia said respectfully, "but let me reassure you that the two of them have a very odd relationship, almost adversarial. They really hold quite divergent views, as you probably gathered from their pieces. Also, after reading over the development manual that I showed him, it was Oscar who recommended Zack to me. He's already demonstrated an understanding of this company and of our process, and I think it's quite natural that he be given a place on the team."

"And what kind of _relationship_ ," Gerald asked, adding careful emphasis to the word, "does this Oscar have with you?"

"We both know that I am under no obligation to answer that question, but since I think it helps my cause, I will tell you. He is an old acquaintance of mine. I knew that he was a religious man, and he has been instrumental in helping me to understand the mindset of our target demographic for this book." Her hands were shaking under the table from her uncharacteristic display of confidence.

Gerald looked back down at the two lists and picked up a marker. "I'll make you a deal, Miss Phillips. You can have this Oscar gentleman, but then you also need to go with my two selections here."

"That's absolutely fine," she said without even looking at who he had picked.

"Then you'll only need to pick two more from this list," he said, sending his original list back across the table.

"No problem," Lydia said, taking the list gracefully from the table.

He then spent the next five minutes outlining some other expectations he had. She hoped the next two months, which was in fact the timeline he had given her, wouldn't have too many more of these informal meetings.

Gerald left for his dinner with the board members and Lydia returned to her desk. She had a barrage of emails to unleash, both to close out the interview process and to lead up to the first development team meeting later that week. She could hardly believe that Oscar's advice had come true; she was already good enough, and now, they had been convinced.

From: Lydia Phillips

To: Development Team

Subject: Christianity Book Project – Meeting #1

Greetings Development Team Members,

As head of the development team, I look forward to working with all of you over the coming two months.

This letter is to inform you of our first official meeting, this coming Wednesday from 4-7pm. It will be primarily for familiarizing everyone with Westminster Printers' official policies and the specific timeline we are expected to work with as well. It will also be a good chance to get to know the other people on the team.

We will be using group emails as our primary mode of communication, so if this is not the address you want used for that, let me know.

Please also note that you can contact me at any time with your concerns or suggestions for the project.

See you all on Wednesday.

Sincerely,

Lydia

From: Oscar Brandt

To: Lydia Phillips

Subject: Re: Christianity Book Project – Meeting #1

I'm looking forward to the meeting, Lydia. Anything I can do before then to help you prepare?

Congrats again on getting the project approved.

\- OB

From: Lydia Phillips

To: Oscar Brandt

Subject: Re: Re: Christianity Book Project – Meeting #1

Hi Oscar,

You can help by giving me ideas on just how to lead this team. A colleague of mine, the woman who wrote our last book, says I should do whatever I can to make sure things go my way. I'm just not sure I have that kind of iron fist personality.

Guess I'll figure something out by then.

Later,

Lydia

From: Oscar Brandt

To: Lydia Phillips

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Christianity Book Project – Meeting #1

You'll do just fine.

I think if you're not an iron fist kind of person, then it's hypocritical to enforce your way of doing things. If you have an idea of how this team should work, just communicate it clearly and be consistent about it and people can't help but follow your model. I'm guessing the ones that resist would do so anyway.

Jesus says, "If you live by bureaucracy, you die by bureaucracy." Well, he was talking about "the sword," but I think this counts as being what he meant.

See you at the meeting,

\- OB

**Chapter 14 - The Development Team**

Lydia looked around the boardroom at the development team members who had gathered. It was ten minutes after the meeting was supposed to start and five minutes had passed since she had called the last person on the committee to see if he was on his way.

"We're still waiting for Melvin from our marketing department," she said, "but we may as well get started without him. I was going to begin with introductions, but I know that Melvin is familiar with our company's policies and procedures, so we'll go over that first, and since Melvin will join us shortly, we can get to know each other after that."

Lydia passed around the company documents and together as a committee they went through the company slide show. It was the first time Lydia got to control how quickly the slides progressed, and still it was agonizing for her. The Westminster staff members in the group were relatively familiar with the information, but for the benefit of the community representatives, Lydia gave a thorough explanation of what the company did and why they did it.

When she started work on the development team for Feminine-ism, she was genuinely excited, much more excited in fact than she was now. Sure, she was nervous then about living up to the responsibility that had been given to her, but at that time she had no idea of the difficulties that lie ahead. Now, all she could think about was the long impersonal meetings, the mechanical, emotionally removed analysis process and the un-healthy food that they always ordered last minute. There was no looking back now, but she definitely wasn't looking forward to going through all of that again.

In a few phone conversations with Oscar, he had been encouraging her to run the meetings however she wanted. He said that not only was she the chair, but that her own experiences had taught her what worked and what didn't. On the other hand, she had gotten the sense from Gerald that she shouldn't do anything different at all. The policy manual only dictated the outcome of the meetings, and not how they were to be run, so while Lydia had no intention of being openly rebellious, she felt like she had been given some freedom to change things around. She had followed all of Gerald's counsel thus far. Those concessions had helped her to maintain her position as chair, ensure the viability of the project, and keep up a good relationship with her superiors.

Melvin joined the meeting just as Lydia had finished answering a few clarifying questions. Lydia had always seen Melvin was the kind of guy that had not yet accepted he was in his late forties. His leather shoes didn't quite match the suits he wore to work, and the sports drinks he brought to the office were meant for people who actually worked out, not just those who wanted to convince others that they did. In his defence, he wasn't quite bald enough for his hairstyle to count as a comb over.

"You're just in time for introductions," she said, "and since everyone is looking at you, you can start. I would like everyone to just say your name, why you're here, what your hopes are for this project, and, if you feel comfortable, maybe share about a spiritual 'aha moment' you've experienced."

"Okay," he said, still standing from when he came in. "My name is Melvin. I am the most senior staff member on this committee and I just hope to help produce another quality Westminster Printers publication."

"Do you have a spiritual 'aha moment' you want to share with us?" Lydia asked after he had sat down again.

"Religion is a private matter for me, Lydia," he answered quickly.

"Okay," she said carefully, "and that's perfectly fine."

Beside Melvin was Larry from Finance. He was the one Lydia talked to whenever she had job-related expenses that needed to be reimbursed. He had a narrow face, thin glasses and wispy brown hair. He was friendly enough, but Lydia couldn't remember him demonstrating anything resembling personality. After saying his name, he explained, "I don't know much about writing, but I do want to help the company's bottom line. And I'm more the kind of guy that gradually figures things out than the kind of person who makes sudden discoveries, spiritually or otherwise."

"I'm Sheila," said the next woman around the table, "and I work in the Distribution department here. I haven't been part of a book project like this for a few years, but I am glad to be doing it again." Sheila was the only person there who was both on Lydia's original list of names and on the one Gerald gave her. There was nothing noteworthy about Sheila; her greying black hair hung just past her shoulders and she wore mostly bland-coloured pant suits to work, but Lydia still wondered why she hadn't gotten to know Sheila better. "I guess an 'aha moment' for me happened a few years ago. I was never close to my dad and so for various reasons I always bristled at the notion of God as Father. I have a few kids of my own and as I watched my husband interact with them, I saw his protective instincts and the pride he had in those kids no matter what. My husband would be the first to admit that he's not a perfect father, but I realized a few things about the way that God saw me. I'm no expert, but for me, it's not about gender anymore, and it's all about love."

The person around the table least familiar to Lydia spoke next. "I'm Gus," said the man with thick grey hair and a moustache. "I guess I'm what's called a community representative on this team. I am a retired college professor. I taught literature at Lakeshore Community College for 25 years. I am also an elder at St. Alexander's Cathedral, where Gerald Simmons and his family attend. Perhaps the greatest 'aha moment' in my life was when I took my family to Rome and we saw St. Peter's Basilica. It took my breath away."

"I'm Oscar, and I guess I'm the other community member on the team," he said blankly. "I think there are a lot of misconceptions about the church, and I hope that by being on this committee, I can help clarify some of them. I'm jealous of those of you who have these spiritual discoveries that make you feel a little closer to the divine. My 'aha moments' seem more like God is trying to reveal to me just how far from him I've gone."

While she appreciated his point, Lydia was almost worried that because of his dull and downcast expression the other people might not think Oscar had a right to be there. Today was the gloomiest she had ever seen him and it looked like he was short on sleep and his mind was somewhere else. She hoped he would stay after the meeting so she could ask him about it.

"And I am Zack Mackenzie. I know Lydia has already sent you my bio, so I won't add too much more." If Oscar's introduction made Lydia look bad, Zack's more than compensated. He spoke in a way that made it clear he was quite comfortable speaking in public and he had a way that seemed to engage everyone in the room. He continued, "You may be looking at me and wondering to yourself, 'Is this all we have to work with?' If you are, I don't blame you. I have some mornings when I look in the mirror and ask myself the same question. But it truly is an honour to be working with you and I look forward to your input in our project. I hope this time will be a blessing to all of us."

"Thanks everyone," said Lydia, turning to the speech page of her notebook.

"Wait," interrupted Zack. "Don't we get to hear about your 'aha moment'?"

In all of her preparation, Lydia hadn't even considered that she too would be expected to answer this question. "You're right, I forgot to include myself, but that reminds me of an important point: to be on this team you don't need to adhere to any one set of religious principles. This book may have content that you disagree with, but we all need to focus instead on the professional task of assembling the best possible book. While I can't think of any specific examples, I've had a number of spiritual discoveries that have affirmed the value of each individual's experiences and opinion, and that's how I want this team be run as well. That means we are a committee of equals. My name may be at the top of the list, but that only means it is my job to right the ship if we get off course. Not everyone will be as old or experienced as you or have the same convictions about the subject matter, but I ask that you give everyone an opportunity to speak. I also want to emphasize that the completion of a successful book is only possible if you want it to be a success. I don't want you to begrudge coming to meetings or staying late, so if something comes up, or you'd rather be somewhere else, you are free to go. Does anyone have any questions or comments?"

Melvin's face barely concealed a smile, either because he was laughing at having been late himself or because he was amused at this policy; Lydia couldn't tell which. Others merely nodded, as though they thought this was how these meetings were always run.

The meeting progressed exactly as Lydia had hoped. They went through the expectations they were working under and the direction they hoped to take. Not everyone believed that weekly meetings for two months would be enough, but according to the company model, that was all they would need.

The committee also looked over Zack's original submitted piece. He explained that he'd been brief to keep within the word limit. Various people asked him to clarify specific points or to elaborate on certain stories, and those explanations, at least the helpful ones, became notes that Zack would edit into the piece later. Gus suggested a number of grammatical and structural alterations, and Zack agreed to implement them, whether or not he understood Gus' lengthy justifications.

Lydia was quite pleased with how smoothly the discussion was going, but she was disappointed that Oscar had spoken so little.

"Do you have anything to add, Oscar?" she asked at an appropriate break in the conversation.

He looked up, almost as though he quickly remembered where he was and what he was doing.

"I do have one thing," he said. "Zack, I think your stories are interesting and your points are valid, but I think you are writing consistently from the wrong perspective."

"Perspective?" asked Gus. "Are you saying you don't want him to write in first person?"

"I don't think he should write in first person singular," Oscar replied, "I think he should write in first person plural."

"That doesn't make any sense," Gus objected.

Oscar continued undeterred. "In a sermon or in a book like this, you could write in the third person, telling stories about things that happened to other people at other times. You could write in second person, giving heavy-handed directives on what your readers need to do to improve their lives. But when you do either of those, you can come across completely removed from the plight of your audience or you can present yourself as a know-it-all, looking down on everyone else. Using first person singular can still cause those problems. Writing in first person plural means that you are co-experiencing the events with your readers."

As he spoke, there were some nods and confused looks, sometimes coming from the same people.

"So how does this passive writing style fit with this particular text?" Gus asked.

"I'm not just saying he should replace every 'I' with 'we'," Oscar insisted. "Zack, you have a lot of stories where the other people misunderstand you. The way that you write, it usually seems that they were the abnormal ones, but misunderstandings are almost always mutual. You and I both know that the nature of cultural disagreements is that neither person is the right one, or the normal one, or even the logical one."

"But doesn't that take away from the point?" asked Zack.

"Precisely," added Gus, "and it also takes away your right to deliver the point. An author is allowed and expected to speak from a position of strength and authority."

"But what if the reader identifies with the weakness of the writer?" Oscar asked. "If you tell those stories, making clear that you were simultaneously misunderstanding and being misunderstood, it reminds other Christians that their value system is not universally held and that their preconceptions are just that, their own preconceptions."

Gus still wasn't convinced by Oscar's rationale. "If anything, he should write with more confidence, if only to establish himself in the mind of our readers as an expert and an authority on the subject."

"Can you think of any specific examples?" Lydia asked Oscar. She realized that she was ignoring Gus' points, going against her own stated ideals of how the committee should be run. "Either of you?" she asked Gus as though she were finishing a question that had been meant for both of them all along.

"I was thinking more about a general writing style," said Gus, "something a first-time writer needs to do in order to be taken seriously."

Oscar looked up with his finger on the page. "You talk here about how your old schoolmates would play harder against you than against other kids. If they defeated you, they would celebrate much more than over any other students. I'm guessing that you are inviting your reader to see a spiritual connection here too, that if you present yourself as a Christian or even a person with high ethical standards, people will celebrate your moral failures. I think you could flesh out that connection a little more, but in both cases you could improve your point by considering the other's point of view. Those African kids grew up in a culture where the scars of colonization mean that the people see themselves as victims of and/or generally inferior to white Westerners. You, as a white kid, would have no way of understanding that and you certainly weren't guilty of it, but that sense of victimization is at the core of their worldview. Also, when we perceive that someone else is challenging us to live by a higher moral code, it is natural for all of us to celebrate that person's moral failings, because it means that we don't need to take them or their belief system seriously. In both cases, if you respond angrily, you will only validate their assumptions, and undermine your own values."

Zack nodded his head. He jotted down a few notes. Lydia also scribbled a few things on her notepad. Everyone else was looking to the two of them before adding any other responses, but Lydia noticed only how much time had passed.

"Well it's now after six o'clock," she said, which came as a surprise to some, "maybe now is a good time to close things up for today. Zack, you'll make some edits to this chapter based on what's been said?"

"Right, and I'll email out my next chapter draft tomorrow night."

"Good," Lydia continued, "and the rest of us will read the chapter and prepare some suggestions before we get together again. Since our next meeting will carry into supper, I'm suggesting we take turns either bringing something or choosing the restaurant, so I will take care of that next week. Any other questions?"

"No," said Melvin quickly with his coat already on, "let's get out of here."

There was some small talk, but the boardroom was soon empty with the exceptions of Lydia, Zack and Oscar.

"I have an idea I'd like to run past you," Zack said to Lydia after the last other member left.

"Sure," she said, but before he could ask, she had already interrupted him. "Wait, what are you doing for supper? I'd love to hear what you guys thought of how the meeting went."

"Yeah, my evening's free," said Zack with a shrug.

"What about you?" she asked Oscar.

"Zack's my ride, so..." he said, having slipped back into his emotionally removed disposition.

"Are you alright?" Lydia asked. "You seem a little out of it today."

"His girlfriend is mad at him," Zack said with half a grin.

"Do you want to talk about it, Oscar?"

"Maybe over supper," was his melancholy response.

Once they were seated at the restaurant, Oscar could sense in the initial silence that Lydia wanted to ask him what was wrong, so he explained. "When I told her that I had recommended Zack to write this book, she was initially happy for him, but then she realized that it meant I hadn't recommended her father, at which point she became quite upset."

"That's all?" asked Lydia. "Isn't that a little vain?"

"Well, that in itself may not have been enough to cause all this, but then I proceeded to explain at length why I hadn't recommended her father."

"At length?" asked Zack.

"I may have said a few things more than I needed to," Oscar answered, a smile almost forming on his face.

"So, how bad is it?" Lydia asked.

"Let's just say we haven't cancelled any of our reservations, but we won't be ordering the invitations until this all gets worked out.

"Wow," said Lydia, recoiling at the scope of the problem and at the seemingly trivial nature of its origins.

"So, tell her about your idea," Oscar said to Zack, intentionally breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"Right," Lydia said, "Let's hear it."

"I was going to do this on my own, but then I thought I should check with you to see what your company's policy is, and what your personal opinion is," he explained casually. "I'd like to get Bibles for everyone on the committee."

"I think that given the nature of the project, that might be appropriate," Lydia said. "I just wouldn't want anyone to think that it was mandatory. Did you have a specific use in mind?"

"I would like to include a number of scripture references and mention other passages," Zack explained, "and I think it might make the discussions a little more productive if everyone had some familiarity with the parts I mention."

"I don't know about the others," said Lydia, "but I've never read the Bible, so even if I was given a copy to look over, I don't think I'd be in any position to comment on what's written in it, and what it's supposed to mean."

"That's fine," Zack agreed. "I just want everyone to know what's being discussed. Obviously, for this project we wouldn't be relying on the insights of first time readers for content."

"That makes sense," Lydia said, opening up her day planner, "I can see if the company would cover the cost, but I won't make any promises."

The waitress caught them off guard when she came to take their order. Both men agreed that they would eat whatever Lydia wanted; Zack because he knew Lydia was paying and Oscar because he was quite used to the woman he was eating with insisting on ordering food her own way. Lydia was glad to have been given the authority to choose and ordered a pizza she really wanted.

"You know, Lydia," Oscar said after the waitress had left, "you're really lucky."

"Because I get to use a company credit card?" she asked, rather amused. "I still have to justify my expenses. A meal here and there is one thing, but Bibles for everyone, free taxi rides and fancy new business cards are a tougher sell." Until then, she hadn't thought of getting new business cards, but now she wondered if she could order some that said Development Team Chair as her title.

"No, I mean about the Bible." This time it was Zack that looked at Oscar with surprise. "The Bible is fresh for you. I've been reading the Bible for years. People have been reading it to me for even longer. If you tell me how a verse starts or if you tell me the question at the beginning of a story, fairly often I can tell you the rest. I could probably give you hundreds of examples. And Zack is much more pious than I am," he added sarcastically, "but people like us can often tune out because we know what happens next. We think we know what it means and so we miss out on any new revelations."

"I know what you mean," Lydia said, nodding her head. "My best friend in University was a huge Jane Austen fan. She read and re-read everything Austen wrote. If you ask me, I think if you're reading a book for any more than the fifth time, you're just trying to raise your status in the fan club."

"But this is something entirely different," Zack said, trying his best to direct his frustration toward Oscar, not Lydia. "Nobody builds their life's Philosophy on the teachings of William Shakespeare. We believe that the Holy Spirit is ready and able to inspire our reading of the Bible, no matter which part we are reading and no matter how often we've read it."

"The Spirit is willing, Zack, but the flesh is weak."

"That's not what that means, Oscar."

"I'm not trying to limit the Holy Spirit. I'm just saying that we are capable of ignoring the inspiration of scripture and I'm suggesting that maybe we can get worse after a hundred readings."

Zack and Oscar continued their disagreement a little longer until they realized that Lydia was no longer interested. They also recognized that neither of them was having any success at convincing the other. They apologized for their semantic argument and, for Lydia's sake, shifted to a debriefing of the earlier meeting. Generally they agreed that it had gone well. Lydia especially thought so, comparing it to the development team meetings for the last book.

After the pizza had been eaten and the bill arrived, they got up to leave.

"What are you doing tonight, Oscar?" Lydia asked.

"I have a phone appointment with Evangeline," he said begrudgingly. "This has been our routine every night for almost a week. If things don't change soon, I'm going to crash from lack of sleep."

"I want to get home and work on some writing right away," Zack said.

"Yeah, it will be work for me too," Lydia said. "I need summarize the meeting for my records."

They headed to their respective vehicles. When Lydia opened her car door, she looked up and said, "So, Oscar, I guess all this trouble over your future father-in-law will damage your impression of pastors even more, won't it?"

Oscar grinned, but before he could say anything Zack interjected, "Well, he's training to be one, so he'll get over it soon enough."

Lydia flashed a confused look Oscar's way and he just shook his head, hoping to convey that he would explain later.

They all drove off, both men in Zack's car and Lydia alone in hers. She couldn't shake her sense of confusion and disappointment. Of course it made sense with him studying at the same school as Zack he would be following the same career path. She wondered how he could hold the opinions he did and still want to become the kind of man he apparently despised. Either he was lying to her, trying to get her attention with an edgy point of view, or he was lying to himself. Either way, she wanted to find out where he really stood.

From: Oscar Brandt

To: Lydia Phillips

Subject: about my line of work

I'm guessing that based on the look you gave me in the parking lot, Lydia, I need to explain something.

Like Zack, I am pursing a Masters of Divinity, and most people, including Zack, naturally expect MDiv grads to accept a pastoral position upon graduation. Some go into writing, which I doubt would work for me and some continue their studies, getting further degrees, which I can't afford and I'm not sure my marks would be good enough for that anyway. So, while it's not a foregone conclusion that I'll become a pastor, I likely have few other options, but I also think I'm being led in that direction.

I do believe what I told you the other day. I don't want to be the kind of pastor that you and I and many others complain about, and I would refuse to work for a congregation that would expect me to be like that. I do believe that there are a lot of Christians out there that want honest and humble leadership and that my understanding of God, the Bible and spirituality is such that I can help people who want to understand the same things.

I know I often ridicule the church and its officials, but that doesn't mean that I love Jesus any less or that I'm somehow not a part of the church anymore. I've promised to follow his teachings and if I can find work helping other people who are committed to the same thing, I'll take it.

Don't worry too much about my engagement. I'm starting to think that this little crisis was actually quite necessary. We probably needed to work through a lot of these issues before the wedding anyway. She's starting to see that too, plus, it's important to her that we patch this all up before Valentine's Day. We're going out Friday and I expect everything will be fine after that.

Either way, I promise to be more focussed at our next meeting.

\- OB

From: Lydia Phillips

To: Development Team

Subject: Preparation for the second meeting

Hi everyone,

I'd first like to say that I was really happy with how our first meeting went. If we can continue to build on that level of cooperation and willingness, I have no doubt that we'll have a successful book when we're finished. I also have a few items of business:

1) Zack is offering to provide a Bible to everyone on the team that is interested. He will be quoting and referring to a number of passages, so he'd like it if we could follow along. This is not mandatory by any means but if you are interested, say so in your reply so he'll know how many to bring for the next meeting.

2) Zack has sent me the draft for his next chapter as well. I've attached it to this email and I want everyone to have read it for the next meeting.

3) Also, if possible, could you "reply all" with your comments and suggested revisions on the piece if you have any?

Thanks, and see you on Wednesday,

Lydia

\--- Attachment: ShowingProof.docx ---

Draft: Showing Proof

" _Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have." – 1 Peter 3:15b (NIV)_

My dad grew up on the mission field. He was a student in village huts and in western-style boarding schools and sometimes he simply learned in the makeshift classrooms my grandmother created for him. Because they moved around so much, my father never felt that he was able to develop any close friends during those childhood years. Then, when he turned nineteen, he went to North America for four years of higher education, and his years of loneliness ended. He enrolled in a Foreign Missions program at a reputable Christian university and in his first year there, he met my mother.

I've heard from multiple sources that my parents were inseparable in those days. They were rarely seen apart from each other, as though their identity had been fused into one. Shortly after he graduated, my dad had been given his own overseas missionary assignment, and more surprisingly, he was able to convince my mother to marry him and to go overseas with him. After the wedding, they packed up a few meagre belongings for their big move, set aside a few important items for safekeeping with relatives, and sold the rest.

In their new country, they expected to have difficulty learning the language and they expected to have some trouble adjusting to the local culture, but because of my father's training and experience he thought he was ready for almost everything else.

Around the time they arrived, their new country had set up a national health insurance program. Even though their supporters in North America covered their medical costs, they thought it would be wise to register since they would be able to save their supporters some money. Naturally, they applied as a married couple so that my mother could receive the spousal rate. Among the identification required with a submitted application form was their marriage certificate. There was a small problem, though. That certificate was packed safely away in my maternal grandparents' basement back in North America.

My parents tried to negotiate; they showed their wedding rings, which had a matching pattern on them and they showed their passports with matching last names, but they soon realized that they had no tangible way of proving they were married. Eventually they agreed to pay for one month at the regular rate with the assurance that they would be given another chance to prove they were married.

Later that week, an officer from the ministry of health arrived unannounced at their door. He demanded that he be allowed in to look around the house and my mother consented. He wasn't all that interested in the wedding photo displayed in the main room or in the photo albums my mom offered to show him, but apparently he saw enough to be convinced that my parents were in fact married.

Being in a relationship with Christ doesn't provide the proof that we often expect to convince other people. Our baptism certificates, church membership and even Biblical knowledge won't prove to the world that we are Christians or that our faith is doing anyone any good. Our actions will sometimes contradict our stated beliefs. We claim that our relationship with Jesus guides our lives, but other people might see us being guided in a different direction than we claim. If our response is to make a list of rules for ourselves so that nobody ever catches us in our hypocrisy, we are missing the point. All we can do is to make sure we are living out that relationship all the time.

My parents weren't following a set of rules in case the government official came; they were simply living out their marriage relationship. In the chaos and apparent disorder of their home, this official saw proof that they were married, and not just putting on a front for financial benefit. People are watching us and we will need to prove our relationship the same way that my parents did, without knowing it.

**From:** Larry Robertson

**To:** Development Team

**Subject:** Re: Preparation for the second meeting

#1 – I don't have a Bible. I hope this isn't coming out of the company budget, but either way, I'm not interested. I'll just install the app on my smartphone.

#2 – What was the savings as a married couple? Was it worth the hassle?

Larry Robertson

Finance Dept, Westminster Printers

**From:** Oscar Brandt

**To:** Development Team

**Subject:** Re: Preparation for the second meeting

First, I've already got a Bible.

Second, good article Zack, a great read. I suspect there were cultural differences in your story that would have made the situation more complicated. If you know of any them, they might be worth pointing out. The staff may have had reason to suspect your parents were trying to take advantage of the system. Maybe they had different cultural ways that husbands and wives demonstrated their relationship. If you know any of those cultural points, they might be worth elaborating on.

Also, while the headline verse is great, I wonder if this one might be more relevant (and funnier). "When Isaac had been there a long time, King Abimelech of the Philistines looked out of a window and saw him fondling his wife Rebekah. So Abimelech called for Isaac, and said, 'So she is your wife!'" - Genesis 26: 8-9a (NRSV)

\- OB

**From:** Gus Leighton

**To:** Development Team

**Subject:** Re: Preparation for the second meeting

Good day all,

We have a Bible in our home, but it's so large it would be cumbersome to bring it along to every meeting. It is a family heirloom as well, so moving it with any kind of regularity would risk damaging it. Thus, I would be happy to receive from you a smaller more portable version, however, while I know there are a number of newer and more "contemporary" translations available, I find none of them compare with the poetic form and cadence of the old King James.

With regards to the submitted article, there are a number of grammatical inconsistencies, but to fix them, I'd have to rewrite the whole thing, so I'll save my corrections for the meeting. I disagree with Oscar's point though; I think there is already too much emphasis on other cultures. Making every effort to defend their host culture doesn't make the point any stronger, and any energy spent explaining who they were and why they acted as they did is energy not spent on explaining your point. This draws attention away from the issue at hand. If I fully understood the point here I would tell you how best to elaborate more fully, but since I don't, all I can say is to explain yourself more clearly at the end.

Sincerely,

Gus Leighton

**From:** Sheila Thompson

**To:** Development Team

**Subject:** Re: Preparation for the second meeting

I have a Bible, but I appreciate the offer.

I don't have any specific comments about the article except that it'd be interesting to know just what the officer found that convinced him they were married. It might be fun to speculate on what it was that he found. I wonder if that officer would find the same thing in many of the homes of our modern married families.

**From:** Melvin Bamford

**To:** Development Team

**Subject:** Re: Preparation for the second meeting

I think I have a Bible somewhere. The hotel people want you to take them home right? I can't say I've opened it any time recently, but maybe if I knew where more of Oscar's fondling passages were I'd probably read it more often. I'll try and remember to bring it along to the meeting.

I agree with Gus' point too about putting too much emphasis on world cultures. Sure Zack's family was in another country when this happened, but this isn't a book on the cultures of the world, it's a book on Christianity, so let's keep the emphasis where it belongs.

\- Melvin

**Chapter 15 - Like a Deer in the Headlights**

It was the last Friday before Valentine's Day and Oscar was getting ready to see Evangeline. He was actually going to wear a tie and even put on cologne. In their last few phone calls she had been a lot more sentimental and he had been much less cynical. They were now at the point where they had agreed to get together to patch things up formally. She would soon be by to pick him up in her little red car.

Over the course of their relationship Oscar had never tried hard to be the stereotypical good boyfriend, he just wanted to be himself. For the sake of tonight's date though, he decided to try being a little more traditional. He had cleaned his apartment, so that if she wanted to come in, the mess wouldn't scare her off. Breaking out of his blue jeans and sweatshirt routine, he was wearing a shirt buttoned all the way up to the collar. He normally waited for Evangeline to come up and pick out a tie and tie it for him, but today he would take care of that himself. On the way back from campus that day he had even picked up a single red rose to give her.

Evangeline would usually just barge in, but today she walked slowly down the hall to his apartment unit and tapped gently on his door.

After they exchanged awkward smiles at the door, Oscar handed Evangeline the rose. "To our future," he said.

"That's so romantic." She took a sniff of the rose before adding, "You look good in that tie. It's the exact one I would have chosen."

"Is there anything else you wanted to do before going to the restaurant?" he asked.

"No, let's go," she said quickly. "I'm starving."

Both Evangeline and Oscar were on their best behaviour. He complimented the way she looked and the smell of her perfume, and at the restaurant he opened doors for her and pulled out her chair for her at the table. She asked him about how his seminary classes were going, listened without interrupting and even laughed at his jokes. She didn't ask about Zack, Lydia or the book project, and he didn't ask about her dad. She didn't criticize him when he ordered his steak well done and he didn't tease her for ordering a salad as her meal.

Everything that happened, from the drive to the restaurant to the ordering of the food, gave Oscar the feeling that they were going to be okay. Their relationship wasn't just back to normal, but it was going to be even better than it was before. Still, he had prepared a few things to say, and when the waitress finished taking their order and headed back to the kitchen, he thought it would be a good time to express his thoughts.

"Evangeline," he said, reaching his hand across the table to meet hers, "I'm really glad we're working things out and there are a few things I wanted to say. I really do love your father. I love him for the values he instilled in you, I love him for the love and protection he still offers you, I love him because God wants us to love everyone, and I love him because you love him. I respect him as a pastor too, for the spiritual calling he has followed and for the counsel he has given to me and especially to you over the years. When I recommended Zack, it was a response to the marketability requirements set out by the company and in no way was it intended to be a show of disrespect toward your father, his work, or his theology. My initial response to you was overly defensive and I said some things that I didn't really mean. In doing that, I insulted you, your faith, and your family, and I needlessly weakened our relationship. For all that and more, I am truly sorry."

Evangeline wiped away a tear that had formed in her eye. "Oscar, I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything. I just had to get that off my chest. I wanted you to know how I truly feel." Then, after a short pause he added, "But it would be nice if you said we could get back to planning the wedding."

"Of course we can," she said enthusiastically. "A wife's primary responsibility is her husband, and I guess in all the busyness of the planning and the issue about Zack, I may have lost sight of that."

"Both of us will make the other person our first priority," Oscar insisted, "so let's put all of that other stuff behind us and just have a normal date."

"Okay," she agreed, "but we are way behind on some wedding planning details, so we need to talk about some of that too."

As the evening went on, they were able to have a really nice time together. For about fifteen minutes Evangeline had her wedding notebook open. Oscar focussed on making only positive comments about the wedding planning and Evangeline made a concerted effort to take a lot of input from Oscar. And rather than Evangeline doing all the work, they also agreed to divide up some wedding tasks. Unlike their regular dates where they would rush off as soon as the meal was done, today they actually took the time to enjoy the food and also ordered a dessert.

Even though it was cold outside, they decided to go for a walk together in a park nearby instead of rushing back. As they strolled along the path in the February air, Oscar felt the urge to be playful and pushed Evangeline into the snow. While she would normally have found this annoying and juvenile, today she giggled happily. She would have scoffed at seeing this display from a younger couple, but today she just let herself enjoy it.

"How about we pick out a movie and go back to my place to watch it," Oscar suggested when they arrived back at her car.

"Your place?" she asked. "Are you sure?"

"It'll be clean," he insisted. "I spent a few hours tidying up before you got there."

"You know we can never agree on a movie."

"I promise, I'll let you pick whatever movie you want."

"Okay," she agreed, "and I'll let you pick the movie next time."

In the car, they discussed their options, and Oscar was good to his word. He didn't mention the documentaries or the silly comedies he wanted to watch, and instead gave Evangeline absolute freedom. Almost as though she was testing his limits, she asked if they could watch the sappiest romance she could think of.

"Maybe we should pick up some candy on the way home too," Oscar suggested, much to Evangeline's delight. Despite his warnings, she would always eat so much candy that she would feel uncomfortable and complain afterwards. Today he wouldn't hold her back.

Evangeline was thinking about what kind of gooey and gummy candies she could choose from as she sped through a wooded area.

Suddenly Oscar shouted, "Whoa, Evangeline, slow down!"

A deer was blocking their path and Evangeline was barely able to stop the car in time. "Why won't it move?" she asked Oscar when the creature stood still. "Is it afraid?"

"Just wait," he said. "She knows what she's doing."

Ignoring the waiting vehicle, the deer looked behind her to the side of the road and two young fawns emerged carefully and walked past their mother.

"They're beautiful," said Oscar, admiring the display of nature.

"Doesn't it make you want to reach out and touch them?" Evangeline asked.

Soon the doe followed the twin fawns into the forest and Oscar and Evangeline were on their way again.

Once they had arrived at his place, Oscar got the TV ready and Evangeline prepared the snacks. As the movie played, the two of them sat quietly and comfortably on the couch together. Then, when the snacks were gone and the movie was almost over, Evangeline spoke up. The look in her eyes caught Oscar off guard. He had never seen her look at him like this.

"You've been really great today, and you wouldn't have had to be. It shouldn't have been that big of a deal who you recommended, but with all the stress of wedding planning, I let it become a distraction. I should have said this before, but I overreacted too. I should have trusted you, but I didn't, and I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."

At that moment, if Oscar had hesitated even a moment, the wave of emotion flowing through Evangeline would have culminated in her weeping uncontrollably. Instead, he immediately slid closer to her on the couch and put his arms around her. He was pleasantly surprised by her unexpected and sincere apology. She looked up from their embrace to see that in fact his eyes were watering too.

She reached up to kiss him and he gladly kissed her back. She smiled and got up to turn off the lights while he reached out to turn off the TV. Evangeline would soon have to leave for home, but she wanted to stay in the arms of her fiancé for a little while longer. Her thoughts quickly shifted from remorse and regret to closeness and joy as she accepted the forgiveness that was offered to her. And even with the lights out, Oscar could clearly see the appreciation that she wanted to show him.

When Evangeline left and Oscar went to bed alone, he put his head to the pillow with every reason to believe that their relationship was going to be just fine.

**Chapter 16 - Chicken Wing Consolation**

The fourteenth was a normal day at the office. Lydia sent and received emails like any other day. She ran errands and worked on the book project with her regular enthusiasm. When five o'clock came and she still hadn't started to pack her things up, Luke approached her desk.

"Working late on Valentine's Day, huh?" he asked. "Aren't we a sorry lot?"

Although he had spoken in first person plural, Lydia couldn't help but see this as a one-way insult. She had been thinking of staying at the office longer. It wasn't the first time she was using work as an excuse for not having plans later. Focussing on her job helped her almost forget that she was perpetually single and alone once again on Valentine's Day. Generally she didn't lose any sleep at night from not having a boyfriend, but today she couldn't get away from all the commercialism of the holiday and all the other cutesy stuff that could make a woman question her self-worth. Still, Luke's insinuation that she was at least as pathetic as him allowed her to choose to leave with some dignity intact.

"I'm heading out in a few minutes," she said. "There were just a few more things for my book project I wanted to finish." She resisted the urge to emphasize 'my'.

"So do you have a date tonight?" he asked.

"Are you going to make a habit of asking your staff this kind of personal question?" she responded. Her professional demeanour betrayed her inner disgust at the idea of talking to him about that part of her life.

"Yeah, neither do I," he said, ignoring her cues. "Well, I'll let you get back to your work so you can go."

Luke walked back to his desk, and Lydia left the building soon afterwards. When the initial sting of the perceived insult had passed, she wondered if maybe Luke had actually been trying to demonstrate some kind of friendship, but she certainly wasn't ready to accept full blame for having been offended.

Lydia hadn't been home very long when the phone rang. She was surprised to hear Oscar on the other end. She was even more surprised when she found out why he was calling.

"Remember when you were waiting to hear about whether the book project was a go, and you said if you didn't get it we'd have to go out to drink your sorrows away?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Does that invitation still stand?"

"You mean tonight?" she asked, but without waiting for an answer and without clarifying that she had no sorrows to drink away, she continued. "Sure, why not? God knows I have nothing else up tonight." She used this self-deprecating humour as a way of avoiding all of the obvious questions, like what happened to his big plans with Evangeline for Valentine's Day and why was he calling her, of all people, to talk about stuff that almost certainly had nothing to do with the book project?

He asked Lydia to pick a bar that she knew, since he had no idea which ones were good. She also made sure to pick a bar that served food she wouldn't actually feel ashamed to call her supper.

Oscar was already downtown when he called, so he was waiting for Lydia when she arrived. Still, she had to get his attention in the relatively quiet bar before he noticed her come in. It wasn't because he was talking to some of the other customers or watching one of the televised sports games; he was just staring off into space. She would have been more worried about him except that she saw he was only drinking a soft drink and not something harder.

"Have you eaten yet?" she asked, trying to sound upbeat as she arrived at the table.

"No," he answered, snapping back to reality. "I haven't had chicken wings for a long time, so I was going to get that, but I was waiting for you to get here before I ordered."

"Oh, I was thinking about maybe getting something a little healthier," she said as she inspected the nearby daily specials chalkboard for a hearty salad or something light. "This is my supper after all."

"Yeah, it's my supper too... and my lunch."

Lydia wondered if this was just a slip of the tongue or a cry for help.

When the waitress came, Oscar ordered another cola with his wings, so Lydia decided not to get any alcohol either. When the waitress was gone, Lydia couldn't hold off asking any more.

"Are you alright, Oscar?" she asked. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

"In a bit maybe. Can we just talk about the book or something for a while?"

Lydia had no interest in talking about work outside of company time, especially since she'd already punched out for the day. Instead, she told him about the movie she'd seen on TV the night before. He'd seen it too, but in the theatre a few years earlier. They shared their opinions about it and talked about the lead actors.

The small talk was boring Lydia but she played along, hoping that soon Oscar would feel comfortable to talk about what was really on his mind.

Then, after he'd finished his first order of wings and there was a bit of a lull in the conversation, Oscar finally spoke, almost blurting out, "It's over. Evangeline and I, we're officially done."

Before Lydia knew what to say, the waitress arrived with their orders. "You sure you don't want a beer instead?" Lydia asked.

"I'm okay," he answered.

"Do you mind if I have one?"

Oscar shook his head and Lydia asked the waitress for a light beer with a lime in it. Then Oscar turned to the waitress too and asked, "In about five minutes can you bring me another batch of these wings? And can you make them a little hotter?"

When the waitress left, Oscar just sat there staring blankly, giving no indication that he was going to be the next one to speak. Lydia waited a minute or so in silence before asking the question she thought was most appropriate. "Is there any chance you two can work this out and get back together?" She also felt it necessary to inject a sense of hope in her voice; as though this is what she thought was best for him.

"I don't know," he said with both hope and despair in his voice. "I still want to marry the girl that I proposed to, but I don't know if that girl exists; she probably never did."

"So what happened?"

Oscar cleared his throat and showed some discomfort and uneasiness in his face.

"I'm sorry," Lydia continued, "you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, no, I want to tell you. Everyone else I could have called knows me as Evangeline's boyfriend or fiancé. You know me as me, that's why I called you. I want to talk about it, I just don't know how."

Since long before he and Evangeline began dating, Oscar was well aware that this was her city, and their friends were predominantly her friends. Not only was her father a well-known pastor, but so was her uncle, as well as her maternal grandfather. He literally knew nobody else in the city who he thought was capable of seeing his side of the story.

"Don't worry," Lydia said. "With the relationships I've been in and the ones my friends have told me about, there's nothing that'll surprise me. I've heard it all." It was a bit of an exaggeration, but she was just trying to make him feel more comfortable; and it seemed to be working.

"Okay, so you know we had that disagreement a few weeks ago? I think I remember telling you that it was pretty serious."

"Right."

"As bad as that was though, I don't think either of us thought we'd cancel the wedding because of it."

"So how did you resolve that one?"

"I guess we somehow managed to convince each other that our relationship was stronger than that. I hadn't intentionally set out to hurt her and I think I was finally able to help her see that. I said that I really did respect her father. She admitted that she had overreacted and that she was truly sorry. Despite all that supposed sincerity, I don't think either of us learned any lessons."

"So things were good then?" Lydia asked.

"Apparently, a little too good," Oscar said. "After all that apologizing, we were in pretty good spirits, so we did some relatively intimate celebrating."

"I still don't see what the problem is."

"Well, neither did I, but the next morning she started feeling guilty about maybe going too far and she thought maybe I should feel more guilty too."

Lydia had experienced a few of her own regretful mornings, so for a brief moment she found herself identifying with Evangeline. "Oscar, is there a chance that you put pressure on her to do things she wasn't comfortable with?" she asked cautiously.

"I never got the sense that she was withholding permission," Oscar said frankly. "It seemed to me that she had at least as much fun as I did, if not more, but I guess none of that matters now."

After a few minutes of not knowing what to say and watching his cheeks turn red and his eyes water from the wings, she finally blurted out, "So you had sex. Big deal!"

This actually brought a smile to Oscar's face. He started shaking his head. "No, if we would have had sex, she'd probably marry me out of shame. I won't go into details, but we were still a few steps away from that."

"So if you haven't broken that precious little rule of yours, why is she so sure that what you did together was so wrong?"

Oscar wiped the wing sauce from his face before saying, "She came to that conclusion in consultation with her father."

"You mean she told him about...?"

"Yup," Oscar said, answering the question that Lydia was too flustered to finish. She motioned to a nearby waitress to bring over another beer, and he continued on with his story. "The good Reverend told her that we shouldn't get married unless I apologize. Then I said I didn't want to marry into that family unless her father apologized to me for sticking his nose in our business. I also said that when she told him what we did, before telling me she felt guilty about it, she had chosen her loyalty."

"Did you really expect them to say sorry?"

"No. I fully expected them to stick by their ultimatum, so I thought I'd present one to them that was equally ridiculous."

"So it's over then?"

"You know, during our last break I had almost started to understand that we were very different people. I almost got to the point where I could imagine that she was better off with a different kind of guy and I was better off with a different kind of girl. The thing that I couldn't understand was that I really thought that she was an answer to my prayers. When I asked God to put someone special in my life, that's when I met her. When I prayed about whether or not we should get engaged, I was pretty sure God was saying that we should. Isn't that pathetic? All the other mysteries of God don't shake me, but now, when I can't work things out with my girlfriend, my trust in God is shaken."

Lydia sat quietly for a while and then said, "Boy Oscar, I hardly know what to say."

"That's the thing," he said, "most of my Christian friends would know exactly what to say. Even before I was finished talking they would have their advice and a scripture passage ready. I appreciate the way you are just hearing me out."

Lydia took a sip from her beer and added, "Well, I hope she comes to her senses."

Oscar nodded. Then suddenly he stopped and asked, "Do you really?"

Lydia let out a nervous giggle, a little louder than it would have been had she been drinking colas. "Would it be awkward if I said I think you are better off without her?" After adding that, however, she slowly realized the potential misinterpretation of what she'd just said, so she quickly added, "Only because I think she..."

Oscar laughed. "Don't worry, I get what you're saying, and thanks, but that might take a little while to sink in."

"But if you two get back together, you can forget everything I just said." Then, wanting to avoid putting her foot in her mouth anymore, she asked, "So this must be the worst Valentine's Day ever for you?"

"Easily," he said. "What's your worst Valentine's Day?"

"I guess I had a few good ones with this guy I dated in university," she said thinking back, "but I haven't done much ever since." The more she thought about it, the more she saw that every February 14th since then had been a little more depressing than the last. Then, partly so that Oscar wasn't the only one talking about heartbreak and partly for her own cathartic release, she went on to explain her own failed relationships over the past ten years. The stories kept coming and somewhere along the line Lydia stopped keeping track of how many drinks their waitress had brought her.

After a while Oscar tried to shift the conversation to spare Lydia any more pain. At first when he asked about her thoughts on the book project, she just said she didn't want to talk about work outside the office. She gave a polite answer about how good the team was and that there was still a lot of work to do. But with a little prodding from Oscar, she started to open up a little more. It was the first time he heard her complain about anyone, but he listened so well and Lydia was full of liquid courage. She felt comfortable telling him exactly what she thought about some of her co-workers and other members of the development team. What he'd only assumed before, from observing her raised eyebrows and listening to her carefully constructed responses, was now being put into words.

Lydia switched to talking about her tasks for the next day, and only then did she think about what time it was. When she looked at her watch, it was the first time Oscar thought about how late it was too.

"Maybe it's about time we get going," Oscar said, spotting a clock over the bar. "Let me give you a ride home."

Lydia knew, of course, that he had only taken the bus to the bar.

"I'm the one with the car, silly," she said with a laugh.

Oscar knew roughly how many glasses the waitress had carried away, and given Lydia's slender frame, it wasn't hard to do the math.

"Yes," he said, looking her in the eyes, "but I'm the one that's sober."

Lydia looked down at the drink she had just finished and remembered that it wasn't her first or even her second. She looked up to tell Oscar that she was fine but when she met his sceptical glare she let out another giggle, which was enough to convince her that she did in fact need a ride.

Oscar covered their tab at the till and Lydia surrendered her keys to him in the parking lot.

It was a quiet ride home. Lydia was increasingly aware of how the alcohol was affecting her and she did her best to hide her drunkenness and maintain some dignity in front of Oscar. He, on the other hand, had begun in the silence of the car to contemplate again the reality of no longer having Evangeline in his life.

Upon arriving at Lydia's apartment, Oscar got out of the car too, and offered to walk her to her door. She said it wasn't necessary but he insisted. Deep down she didn't mind. If anyone saw her, it might look a little more respectable to be with someone rather than stumbling in on her own. And even though it was her place, it felt better in her condition to be with someone that she trusted.

"Well, here we are," Lydia said as they arrived at her door.

Oscar still had her keys and he took them out to unlock the door for her. "Is it alright if I wait here for a cab?" he asked, hanging up her keys on the hook beside the door.

"Sure," she said, "but you know, you could just spend the night here. I can bring you home on the way to work. That way you can save the cab fare and get to bed sooner." Then, sitting down on the sofa and gesturing around the apartment, she added in a voice that was becoming increasingly slurred, "You can sleep wherever you want."

"Thanks for the offer, but you'll want to drive straight to work, and I'll want to sleep in."

His reasoning didn't convince her, but she wasn't going to try any harder to convince him. "Okay," she said, stretching it out into three syllables, trying to communicate that the offer still stood

"Do you have a phonebook?" he asked.

As Lydia got up to show him where the phonebook was, she suddenly felt queasy. She slowly sat back down, but before she could stand back up again she started throwing up all over herself. Oscar ran over to guide her to the bathroom. While she emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet, he went to the kitchen to bring some paper towel to clean up the smelly trail of vomit from the couch to the bathroom.

When Lydia was convinced that she was finished throwing up, she took off the jeans and blouse she had dirtied to soak them in the sink. Then she took a face cloth and started dabbing her face and chest to wipe off any extra vomit.

Oscar finished wiping up the various spots on the floor and headed over to the bathroom to discard the dirty paper towels and to see how Lydia was doing. He wasn't at all expecting, when he walked in the open bathroom door, to see her standing at the mirror in her underwear.

"Oops, sorry," he said, trying to avert his eyes, and he immediately backed out of the room.

"Oops," she said semi-apologetically. "How much did you see?"

"Nothing," he answered quickly, "just enough to know I should back out." But Oscar was lying. He had in fact seen almost everything. It was a picture he had not yet allowed himself to imagine.

Lydia quickly wrapped a bath towel around herself and emerged giggling from the bathroom.

"I think I'll go call for that cab from the lobby," he said, gathering his things together.

"It's even later now, Oscar," Lydia said. "You may as well spend the night now, after all of that."

Oscar didn't respond, but he was still resolved that he had to leave. 'All of that' was precisely why he couldn't stay.

His cab arrived fairly quickly and the light late night traffic meant that he arrived home in good time. He climbed into bed right away and eventually fell asleep, a little easier than he had the past few nights. Back at her place, Lydia fell asleep quickly too, feeling much better than she would the next morning.

**From:** Lydia Phillips

**To:** Development Team

**Subject:** New chapter submission from Zack

Thanks in advance for reviewing this. Following my format, please add any comments or suggestions that you wish to make, attaching it to the relevant section and including your initials. You can also add your initials to a suggestion someone else has made that you agree with. (LP – Lydia Phillips, ML – Mevlin Bamford, ST – Sylvia Thompson, LR – Larry Roberston, GL – Gus Leighton, OB – Oscar Brandt)

\--- Attachment: CulturalThing.docx ---

Draft: It's a cultural thing

" _Here there is no Greek or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all." – Colossians 3: 11 (NIV)_ 1

If you've ever tried making a home in another culture, you've probably noticed that a funny thing happens; people start offending you. It might not happen every day, but often, and usually when you don't expect it.2

I grew up as a missionary kid and my dad grew up as a missionary kid. We thought we were immune to making unhealthy cultural assumptions, since in many ways we really had no culture of our own. We even celebrated the richness of all the cultures we had lived in. But every now and then we realized that we lacked the stability of being from one clearly defined culture. It was also clear at times that we had accumulated baggage from the many cultures we had experienced. Getting offended was a regular occurrence for us. I'm not talking about remote tribes where the men and women walked around naked3 or other blatant cultural practices that would offend our sensitive western eyes; I'm talking about much more subtle ways of being offended. 4

My mother had an average body shape by North American standards5, and like most women, some parts of her body were a little bigger than she wanted them to be. In a few of the African communities we stayed in, my mother would be praised publicly for the slightly larger than average size of her bottom6. In some of the Asian countries we visited, store owners would meet her at the door and tell her that because she was so fat, they had nothing in her size. No matter where we were, women, especially older women, would feel free to tell her what she was doing wrong in terms of housekeeping, raising her children, or how she interacted with either her husband, or any man7 for that matter8. Sometimes when I would see this happening or hear her retelling a story, I would ask her why she didn't say something, but she would always reply that this was merely a cultural difference. It was much more important and much more likely that she adjust than the entire local cultural rubric9 be changed for her sake. I always admired my mother for the grace with which she dealt with these situations.

I decided that perhaps I too could adopt this mindset, not just in particular situations where I felt offended, but as a whole, whenever I dealt with anyone whose cultural10 assumptions were different than my own. When I did that, I slowly began to realize that I was no longer being offended. More than that, though, I was getting along with more people than I had before. I would often realize that the source of my discomfort was a personality issue, either someone else's insensitivity or my own over-sensitivity. When I would write it off as a cultural difference, the interaction was allowed to progress peacefully and constructively11.

Taking this attitude into my interactions with people of the same culture proved equally beneficial. Even with people of the same nationality and the same worldview12, writing off annoying behaviour by saying "It's a cultural thing," makes13 relationships much easier to manage. Certainly there is a time and a place to voice your displeasure so that the relationship can grow14, but often these "cultural" differences are unchangeable15 and you need to learn to deal with them in the same way that other people are continually adjusting to your "cultural"16 distinctive behaviours17.

Inevitably the dominant culture will wear off on smaller ones and those whose cultural traits are more desirable will positively influence the others. The Kingdom of God has a distinctive culture, but the dominant cultures around us, no matter what country we live in, oppose Kingdom living18. Our task as Christians is not only to live out Kingdom culture, but we also need to resist absorbing other dominant cultures and we need to make Kingdom culture19 appealing to other people.20

21, 22

1 – I'm not sure if you're trying to be consistent or if you just like the original NIV better, but the wording of older translations, like the NIV, seem to suggest that these differing cultures no longer exist, while the newer translations include the phrase "no longer" which seems more in line with the point you seem to try to make with your article, that they still exist but they don't matter. (OB)

2 – This sentence is awkward to read. (GL)

3 – That's what I'm talking about! (ML)

4 – This whole paragraph is awkward to read. This is a disturbing trend. (GL)

5 – It would be nice if you could include a statement about how the standards by which women's bodies are judged are unhealthy. (LP, ST)

6 – This may be more awkward because she's your mother, but it would be less awkward for the reader if you just said, "for her generous curves" or "for her big butt." (LR, ML)

7 – I appreciate the cultural anecdotes, so some more examples here would be good. (ST)

8 – "For that matter" is of a different tone than the rest of this chapter and your writing level, try replacing it or simply delete it. (GL)

9 – Good use of the word 'rubric'. (LR)

10 – I know you switch from talking about actual culture to perceived culture, but this might also be a good place to put culture in quotes. (LP)

11 – You should speak more assertively and make it clear that it was their error and you made the effort to overcome it. (GL)

12 – It's unclear here if the people you're talking about are the same nationality and the same worldview or is it one or the other and maybe both? (LR)

13 – You need to reword this sentence so that the verb tense is consistent. (GL)

14 – Voicing your displeasure is sometimes necessary, even if you don't want to improve the relationship. (ML)

15 – Is it unchangeable or can it still be influenced? You contradict yourself. (GL, ML)

16 – Drop the quotes and use the adverb form. (GL)

17 – Nice inclusion of self-critique, but would it be better to end this sentence "the distinctive behaviours of your 'culture.'"? (OB, LP)

18 – Is the idea of the Kingdom of God, and its affiliated culture and lifestyle universally understood in Christian circles? (LP)

19 – Too many uses of the word 'culture' in one paragraph. (GL, ML, LR, LP)

20 – I think it would be more accurate to talk about Kingdom culture more abstractly. I don't think it's healthy to assume that every Christian in the world has a perfect grasp on Kingdom culture. (OB, ST)

21 – While I think the point you're trying to make is clear enough, I think it would be helpful if your advice included a bit more hands on, accessible advice. (LP)

22 – It's nice to include your mother as the hero of this story. Maybe another mention of her at the end of the article would be good. (ST)

**Chapter 17 - The Funeral**

Luke never wore a suit to work. A shirt and tie most of the time, but never proper black pants with a matching jacket. It came as such a surprise to Lydia that when she saw him, she asked without hesitation, "What's with the suit?"

"I'm going to a funeral in the afternoon, and I didn't want to go home in between." From the way he spoke, Lydia wasn't sure what he thought was a greater inconvenience, having to go home in between or going to the funeral in the first place.

"Who died?"

"Just a family friend," he said dismissively, "nothing for you to worry about."

Lydia was only asking to get an idea of what kind of grief Luke might be experiencing. She didn't need to be told not to worry, but something seemed odd about the way Luke dismissed her question. He emphasized some things he expected to happen in his absence and then Lydia went back to her desk and Luke gathered his things and headed out the door.

When she opened her inbox she saw a new email from Oscar. Their ongoing conversation about the book and religious stuff played out as often through emails as it did through phone or face-to-face conversations so this came as no surprise, but the content of this particular message, left her speechless. The text was plain enough:

"Hey Lydia, Not sure if you knew about this already, or if you're going, but I figured it was worth passing your way." - Oscar

Below that was a link, and when she clicked on it, she saw a familiar face that brought a smile to her lips. That smile soon disappeared when she realized what kind of website she was looking at.

Beneath the photo of Gerald's mother, a woman Lydia had only met a few times, was her name, her date of birth, and her very recent date of passing. It wasn't that long ago when Lydia had talked to her, and despite the persisting cough she still seemed to be quite full of life. The obituary included details of her family, the organizations she had been a part of and where she had lived, but there was no information about how she died, only the name of the hospital.

The funeral was listed as being that afternoon. When she got over the initial shock, she began thinking about what would be involved in attending. She realized that this was almost certainly the same funeral that Luke was already going to. She had no interest in travelling there with him, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that he likely didn't want her to go either. Now she understood why he'd been so intentionally ambiguous about whose funeral it was and why he'd placed so much emphasis on the tasks to be done while he was away. In his defense, Lydia admitted to herself that he couldn't have known what her interactions with Mrs. Simmons meant to her, and there really was a lot of work to do.

Thinking back to her two encounters with Gerald's mother, Lydia couldn't remember a time when this woman and Luke would have even exchanged glances. She figured this was at best an unspoken company obligation or at worst something Luke was doing to increase his standing in the company. Either way it didn't seem likely that he would let her go if she asked. Even if he did, she was quite sure the skirt she was wearing was inappropriately short for a funeral. The last line of the obituary scared her off more than anything. It read, "Reverend Joseph Ballard officiating."

After half an hour of work, Lydia realized that she wouldn't be able to get the funeral out of her mind. She decided to give Oscar a call.

She was about to hang up when he finally answered the phone. He tried to pretend he hadn't just woken up, but Lydia knew better.

"So how well do you know her?" he asked after Lydia explained the situation.

"I only met her twice, but I feel like in a small way that if it wasn't for her, this project wouldn't be happening, and even if it was, I wouldn't be in charge of it."

"Well, I say if you feel any connection with her at all, and if you can spare the time, you should go."

"I don't know, my boss is going and I don't think he wants me to go."

"What's he going to do? Fire you? For going to a funeral? Come on, he can't be that big of a jerk." Oscar was trying to be reassuring, but his counter-evidence wasn't doing a good job of helping Lydia to see Luke in a rational light.

"Maybe you're right."

"Did you even ask him if you could go?"

"He had already left before I found out."

"Where is the funeral anyway?"

"It's at St. Alexander's Cathedral," Lydia said, reading from the obituary page still open on her computer.

"That's perfect," he shot back. "That's really close to your office and it's a really big building. You could easily zip over, slip in, sit somewhere near the back and zip out when it's done. No one would even have to notice you were there. What else is holding you back?"

"It might sound pretty minor, but I didn't come to work today dressed for a funeral."

"Mmhmm."

"And I've never gone to a funeral by myself either."

"You're right, that is pretty minor," Oscar said unapologetically. "You should just go."

When Lydia was finally convinced that she should go, she began to calculate what would all be necessary to be done before she could go. There was too much work to be done for her to leave the office for any length of time. There certainly wasn't enough time to go to her apartment for a change of clothes. If she could convince Oscar to help though, it might work.

"If you're so insistent on me going, can you do me a huge favour?" Lydia asked.

"Sure," he said, with less enthusiasm than Lydia was hoping for.

"I have some clothes at the dry cleaners. If you come here, I'll give you the tickets so you can go pick up the outfit I need. Could you do that for me?"

"Well, I do need a reason to get out of this house. Anything else I could do today involves confronting members of the Evangeline support group, and I'm not sure I'm up for that just yet."

"Okay," she said with a sigh of relief. "When you get here I'll tell you how to find the drycleaners."

In the meantime, Lydia rearranged her work schedule for the day and let a few people in the office know where she was going. She also put a little thought into what she might say if someone else from the company saw her there. If Luke said anything she'd just say that she didn't find out about it until after he'd left, which was true, and if she saw Gerald, she'd try to find a professional but sincere way of saying how meaningful her two encounters with his mother had been. She was really hoping she wouldn't have to talk to either of them.

Lydia expected Oscar to just roll out of bed before heading to meet her at the office. When he showed up, however, not only was it clear that he had showered and shaved, but he was dressed as though he was planning on going to church.

"Were you thinking of coming with me?" she asked.

"Is that okay?"

"Yes, I was going to ask over the phone, but I didn't think you would be up for it."

"Did you think I had something better to do?" he asked with a wry smile.

Lydia gave him a handwritten map to the drycleaners, her credit card so he could pay for the work and the keys to her car so he could get there and back quickly. She didn't own too many outfits that she would feel comfortable wearing to a funeral, but she was able to mentally throw together an ensemble from the clothes Oscar would be picking up.

Lydia had also told Oscar where he could pick up lunch for the two of them. After eating a quick meal with him at her desk, she changed and they left for the funeral.

As they pulled into the church parking lot, Lydia thought about how glad she was that she had changed her outfit. Granted, they were almost all seniors, but the other women she saw walking into the church were already considerably more modestly dressed than she was.

Inside the front doors, Oscar picked up a program for the funeral and pointed Lydia toward the guest book, which she reluctantly signed. "Do you want to stop at the casket?" he asked.

She didn't want to, but it looked like everyone else was. "Yeah, we probably should," she said, "but I don't want to stay too long, in case my boss sees me."

When it was their turn Oscar stood with Lydia at the casket for what he thought was an appropriate amount of time. He was about to gesture that they move on when Lydia started crying, which came as a surprise to both of them.

"It's just that... ," she began after managing to pull herself together.

"It's okay," said Oscar, who by this point had his arm around Lydia. "It's okay."

They sat quietly as they waited for the service to start. Oscar was sure to pick out a pew near an exit at the back, so that they could leave early if they needed to.

"I guess I won't get her pie recipe now," Lydia said.

"I didn't think you baked."

"I don't, but when I was with her, I thought that maybe I could."

Lydia was browsing the program as they waited. It had a brief obituary, an outline of the service, and an image on the front of pearly gates. "Do you think she's in heaven now?" she asked after a while.

"No, I don't think she is."

"Really?" she asked.

"Sorry," he said quickly after sensing surprise, anger and disappointment in her voice. Looking around, he saw no sign of the funeral starting, so he gave a longer explanation.

"With all the conversations we've had about theology, I thought you were asking what I believed about the afterlife, not about whether or not this particular woman is good enough to get into heaven. I'm sure she was a wonderful person, and from what I've read in this program and the little you said about her, I have every reason to believe she meets the criteria most Christians and mainstream people might have for getting into heaven. I just understand the timing differently."

"I don't get it," Lydia said, confused but slightly reassured by his explanation. "What timing are you talking about?"

"Well, most church people believe that when we die we are immediately sent to heaven, hell, or something in between, where we wait for everyone else. The Bible generally explains the afterlife a little differently though. It talks about everyone being judged at the same time, the living and the dead. So I don't believe she's in heaven now because I think she'll get into heaven the same time as... everyone else... who's going to heaven."

"So you think that when we die we just wait in nothingness for a while?"

"Sort of, but I think the way we understand time is restricted because of the limits placed on us by our physical reality. So, when we die, we are released from that restriction."

Lydia shook her head and said, "Doesn't that sound a little too technical?"

Oscar replied, "And you were looking for something a little more...?"

"Comforting?" she suggested. "We are at a funeral, aren't we?"

"Some religious people like to use the afterlife as an incentive to be good, just like some parents use Christmas as an incentive for their kids to behave. But if you look back on your childhood, I'm sure you could think of lots of other reasons to be respectful and kind besides just getting stuff for Christmas. Eventually you stopped believing in Santa Claus, but you knew the gifts were still coming. How meaningful those gifts are doesn't depend on whether you've been naughty or nice, but on what kind of relationship you've built up with the giver of the gifts."

Lydia was almost wishing she'd brought her notebook along. She realized that this was her first Christian funeral in a long time and Oscar's views on the afterlife probably warranted recording some information. Since she thought it might look a little odd if she was taking notes at a funeral, she figured it was probably best that she had left it at the office.

The organ started to play and Lydia turned around to see a procession coming down the aisle near them. She wasn't sure if she should hide her face from Gerald, but his head was mostly down and only slightly forward, so he didn't notice her as he walked by.

Until now, she hadn't thought to look for Luke. She quickly spotted him sitting near the front with some members of the Board of Directors. Also, in the pew opposite that group was Gus, the professor from the development team. Lydia was still glad she had come, but as Reverend Ballard came in and took his spot near the pulpit, she was glad she was sitting so close to the back.

The service started with some singing. Lydia was glad to see that Oscar was fumbling through the songbook and tripping over the rhythms of some of the songs like she was. Somehow everyone near them seemed to know the songs quite well.

"I grew up with a different song book," Oscar whispered after Lydia snickered over one of his slip-ups, "and the church I go to now just uses a digital projector instead of books."

After the hymns, a few people gave some words of tribute. Even though they had only met twice, it seemed that Lydia's impression of the old woman was very similar to what was expressed by the grandchildren and some of the other senior ladies from the church.

Gerald was the last one to give a tribute. Even though it was a funeral, Lydia wasn't expecting the show of emotion or the continuous outpouring of affection from this man she knew only from professional settings. For the second time that afternoon, she found herself crying.

After the sharing, Reverend Ballard took his place behind the pulpit. He had the same presence as a public speaker as he did during his interview with her. She wondered why everyone else couldn't see through his obviously fake smile. While she believed his compliments of Gerald's mother to be true, they sounded so generic that they could apply to almost anyone.

He went on to describe the paradise into which this woman had been released. Maybe it was because of what Oscar had said earlier, but the fanciful description of her new surroundings, the long list of newly possible reunions and all the activities she could now do without pain all sounded like fluff to her. As Lydia looked around the sanctuary at a congregation made up mostly of seniors, many were happily nodding in agreement with those depictions.

"This is almost a little too comforting, even for me," she whispered discretely to Oscar, "but they all seem to be buying it."

Oscar carefully put his arm on the pew behind Lydia, not so that his arm was around her, but so that he could lean in closer to her ear and wouldn't have to speak as loudly. She wasn't entirely uncomfortable with his arm being on the pew behind her, but she really didn't want Luke or Gerald to see it.

"Preachers sometimes have to say what the people want to hear, and sometimes what they need to hear. At a funeral, it's a combination of the two."

After they had been in the church for an hour, Lydia started to shift around. It turned out that she wasn't at all accustomed to sitting in wooden church pews. As she moved, part of her blouse rubbed against Oscar's hand, which was still placed casually behind her. He realized for the first time the awkwardness of what he'd done and instinctively pulled his hand back. The whole time he was dating Evangeline, she would never let him put his arm around her at church. When they were engaged though, she invited him to do it, and in front of as many people as possible.

Lydia's physical discomfort from sitting so long was soon alleviated when the congregation was invited to stand for a final liturgical reading and hymn. During the last verse, the family began to recess out through the middle aisle where they had come in. This time, some people along the aisles would reach out to shake their hands or offer words of condolence. After greeting a few of these well wishers, Gerald was heading toward the pew where Lydia was standing. She didn't want to hide from him, but she wasn't going to take a step out to greet him either. Unaware of her indecision, Gerald stopped at their pew and smiled.

"Lydia, I'm so glad you came. I really must move along, but there are a few things I'd like to say to you about my mother. Will I see you at the committal service?"

"Of course," she said confidently as he nodded and continued walking.

"He wants you to come along to the cemetery," Oscar said after Lydia looked at him with a confused expression on her face. "There's a short program before they bury the casket."

"Oh, okay," she said. "I guess I'll have to call the office about a few things on the way. Maybe you should drive."

When she got off the phone and the procession hadn't yet arrived at the cemetery, Lydia looked up at Oscar and said, "Who do you think gets into heaven?"

"At various times in history, the wrong answer to that question could get a person killed," he answered.

"Relax," she said with sarcastic reassurance, "this isn't the Inquisition, I'm just curious what you think."

"I think the best thing about heaven is that God will be there, and in the same way, the worst thing about hell will be that God won't be there. So to put it simply, the people who have demonstrated that they want to be with God will, and people who haven't won't."

"Okay," Lydia said. "I can handle that."

"What about you? What do you think is the criteria for getting into heaven, or do you believe in heaven at all?"

"I guess I've never really thought about it," Lydia admitted. "I would like to believe in heaven, and just that you had to be good to get in, but I wouldn't know where to draw the line between good and bad."

"Do you find that more comforting?" Oscar asked.

"Being comforted isn't the necessarily the point is it?"

"You know how people say that religion is the opiate for the masses?" he asked.

"I've heard that a time or two," said Lydia, not wanting to admit that she had also repeated it more than once.

"Well," he continued, "if you find someone in pain and you take away their drugs, even if it's because the medicine is worse than the disease, aren't you still obligated to give them something for the pain?"

"So you're okay with religion just being a pain-killer?" Lydia asked, assuming his question was rhetorical.

This was the first time Oscar had thought about it this way, so he thought for a bit before he answered. "It shouldn't just make me feel better, but it should make me respond to the hurting of the people around me too. Religion shouldn't just kill my pain, but it should help me kill the pain of others."

"So are you saying that religion isn't completely useless?" Lydia asked.

"I guess not," he conceded. "Oh, and unlike other pain-killers, there shouldn't be any negative side effects either."

"Hey, you know how drug companies make TV commercials for their new products and they tack on a long list of disclaimers about potential side effects? What do you think an ad for a pain-killer called Christianity would look like?"

"I've never thought of that before," he said. "Most churches would probably want it to sound something like this: 'Talk to a pastor to see if Christianity is right for you. Side effects may include humility, generosity, hope, love and peace.'"

"I think I would prefer something like this, 'Christianity may not be right for everyone. If you have a history of self-righteousness, you should think twice before joining a church. Christianity should not be used in combination with aggressive military or political campaigns.'"

"Yeah," Oscar added. "Talk to your pastor if you are prone to bouts of apathy or if you have an aversion to being associated with losers. Be sure to read the directions carefully."

When they arrived at the cemetery, Lydia had to take a second regain a solemn expression on her face.

Getting out of the car, they bumped right into Luke. He was also walking toward the burial site.

"I thought you were supposed to be taking care of the office," he said.

"Everything is under control there," she said apologetically. "It's just that I only found out about the funeral after you left this morning, and I really felt compelled to attend.

"I'm sure you did," he said with a condescending smile. "You should probably head back as soon as possible."

"Yes, I was going to go back straight from the church, but Gerald said he wanted to talk to me here."

"I see. Well then I guess I'll see you back at the office." Then, as he left, Lydia noticed Luke flash an odd grin at Oscar.

"What was that all about?" she asked as they started walking toward the small crowd of people.

"What do you mean?" asked Oscar, who had been politely quiet during the brief conversation.

"He gave you a really weird look as he walked by you, like you two were part of some underground society or something."

"Oh, that," he said with a slight smile. "I think that was his way of saying he's on to my game plan."

"What do you mean? What's your 'game plan'?" she asked.

"If anything, he should have given that look to you, not me. You're the one who brought me here. You're the one who's taking advantage of me in my time of vulnerability."

"Oh," Lydia said, letting out a burst of laughter, both at what Luke had said and Oscar's euphemistic explanation. Her laugh was much louder than she wanted it to be, given her surroundings.

"Don't make me laugh," she implored, giving him a smack on the arm. "We are still at a funeral."

"Lydia, when you die, do you want everyone moping around at your funeral, suppressing every possible happy emotion?" he asked.

"Maybe not," she conceded, "but still... and for your information, I didn't invite you. You came here on your own."

At the cemetery there was more singing, praying and other rituals that Lydia didn't quite understand. After the casket was lowered and people started to leave, Lydia made her way over to Gerald.

"It was a beautiful service," she said, "a fitting tribute to a woman of your mother's character."

"It was, wasn't it? And thanks again for coming," Gerald said. "I wanted to say that even though my mother only met you a few times, she spoke highly of you. She was glad that you were the one to head up our latest book project, and she had high hopes for your work."

"That means a lot to me," Lydia said, starting to well up again. "It's too bad that she won't be here to see it come to completion."

"It truly is. It was nice of Luke to tell you about the funeral. I never thought to send a company memo about it."

"Actually, it was Oscar from the development team that told me. He was nice enough to come along too, so I didn't have to come on my own." Then, trying to be as diplomatic as possible, she added, "Luke didn't tell us at the office where he was going this morning, and he didn't know I was coming. I only decided to come after he left."

"I'll see to it that you don't get into any trouble for coming," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Keep up the good work on the book project."

"Thank you," Lydia said with a friendly smile.

"So what did he say?" Oscar asked as she walked back toward him.

"He said his mom had talked about me," she said. "Isn't that nice?"

"How much did you two talk about the book?" he asked.

"Only as it related to his mom," Lydia replied. "I wasn't going to bring up work stuff today."

Oscar pointed back towards where Gerald was standing and asked, "Do you think they're talking about work stuff?"

Lydia looked and saw him standing amidst a group of Westminster Printers people. There was Luke and Melvin from the office, Gus, Reverend Ballard and a few men she recognized from the Board of Directors. Given that circle, she sincerely hoped that they weren't talking about the book.

"So where are my keys?" Lydia asked as they approached the car.

"Oh, I've still got them," Oscar said, taking them out of his pocket.

"I can talk to everyone when I get to the office." Lydia said, extending her hand. "Give me the keys. I'll drive."

Draft: From Orphan to Overseer

" _I tell you the truth," [Jesus] said, "this poor widow has put in more than all the others." – Luke 21: 3 (NIV)_

After a year of working at my first missionary assignment I was given permission to take a short vacation. Where I was living was a twelve hour bus ride from one of the villages I had spent some time in as a kid. I wrote to the church my parents had started and they assured me that the church was still very much active and that they would love it if I would grace them with my presence. An old friend was mentioned as someone who was especially interested in hosting me in his home.

I was about five when Jacques' parents were killed. It was never exactly clear what had happened, whether it was a tribal conflict, a robbery gone bad or if his parents had some underworld connections, but one night Jacques was sent out to get supplies from another village and when he returned he found his parents and siblings had been murdered. At the age of fifteen, alone in his grief, he was left to tend the farm all by himself.. Though his family had never been connected to the church, my parents responded immediately. My father organized and paid for the funeral. My mother and the other women prepared food for him, and they continued to do that for years. Other farmers from the church dropped in to help with farm labour, lend tools and supplies and offer farm training. This grateful and shy boy started attending our church and was embraced as one of the family. He would often stand up at church and tell how others in the community despised him because of his poverty but that he was grateful to have found a place where he was loved. My parents spoke of him often, as though he alone was tangible proof that they had done some good in their time in that country.

When I got off the bus I was surprised to see that this once poor and painfully thin teenager could now almost be called fat and he was wearing relatively expensive clothes. He showed me around his farm and took extra effort to show how many animals he had and how many other people were working for him. I was expecting a straw hut, but he had one of the nicest homes in the whole village.

"God has been good to you," I said.

"I have received many blessings," he replied.

That Sunday I joined him and his family at the old church. The building was still standing, but Jacques made sure to point out the additions he had single-handedly paid for. Inside I was disappointed to find that there were almost no new families from when my parents left. Attendance was around half of what I remembered. I observed that many people spoke politely to Jacques, but he was once a loved and cherished member of the church, and those sentiments were missing that morning.

When I first arrived I asked him what had happened to the poor, skinny boy I once knew.

"That boy is no longer here," he told me happily.

The longer I stayed in that village the more it became clear that Jacques' had become a power family within the church. No one dared sit in the pew that was unofficially reserved for him and his wife. If he withheld support from a pastor on a certain issue, the pastor was forced to either back down or he was fired. Everyone was careful to seek his approval for church policy decisions because he would hold back donations if he didn't like changes and he would complain openly until they were fixed. Worst of all, in the eyes of many in the community, this church was more famous for his involvement than for any of the good work they did or positive things they taught.

Power families exist in almost all churches. While strong families and extended family networks provide stability in a church setting, those power dynamics interfere with the work a church is supposed to do. Families like these have the power to mobilize their congregations to carry out the word and work of the gospel but they also have the power to muzzle pastors and stifle church growth. The Kingdom of God needs parents who model humility for their children and who follow Christ's model of servant leadership. The church also requires rich people and influential individuals who model generosity to those who would otherwise inherit their fortune.

Well-established families who put their own interests ahead of the Kingdom will not empower the churches they presume to serve, instead they will lead to the downfall of the churches that will inevitably refuse to serve them.

**Chapter 18 - A Person of Influence**

Even though there was a development team meeting a little later on that same day, Oscar showed up at the office at noon the day after the funeral to see if Lydia wanted to join him for lunch. Lydia had brought her own brown bag, but after a rough morning she was ready to get out of the office for a bit. They went to a nearby food court where Oscar picked up lunch at a deli counter.

"Are you doing alright," Oscar asked, "after yesterday and everything?"

"Yeah, thanks," she said, "I had no idea that funeral would impact me the way it did."

"Well, you only found out about it that morning."

"And how are you doing with everything?" Lydia asked. "Have you talked to Evangeline lately?"

"No. Her little sister called and is trying to set up some sort of meeting, but I'm not holding out much hope. But at the same time someone, presumably her father, has suggested to the student aid department of my school that because of my lack of moral integrity, I don't deserve either the degree I'm studying for or the scholarship that's helping me pay for it. So now I have an appointment with the academic dean tomorrow."

"Wow! What are you going to say?"

"I'll just tell an abridged version of the story. I'll also say that while I respect Reverend Taylor's protective instincts over his daughter's emotional well-being, my actions were in keeping with my Christian faith and did not in any way go against the code of conduct for my school."

"You've practised that explanation, haven't you?" Lydia asked.

"Can you tell?" Oscar joked. "But seriously, if I lose this scholarship, I can't afford to finish the program."

"So he'd try to take your scholarship away because his daughter is mad at you?"

"Yes, but to be fair he only helped me get the scholarship in the first place because his daughter liked me," Oscar conceded.

"I guess you live by the scholarship and you die by the scholarship."

Oscar laughed. "I thought I was the one who quoted the Bible in this relationship."

"That's from the Bible?" Lydia asked.

"What are you expecting to happen at the development team meeting today?"

"Well," she began cautiously, "I'm hoping that we'll be able to read, analyze and discuss the next chapter and make some ground on previous edits."

"That sounds good, but what are you really expecting?"

"What do you think of Melvin and Gus?" she asked instead of answering his question.

"I don't know," Oscar shrugged.

"I can't figure out if Gus thinks he's too good for this project and Melvin is just an idiot or if they're working together to get the whole thing cancelled."

At first Oscar wanted to be clever and ask why it couldn't be both but he resisted that urge and instead asked, "Do you think they have the power to interrupt the project?"

"I didn't before," she answered, "but since I saw Gus and Luke cozying up to Gerald at the funeral, I'm not so sure anymore."

"Well, I don't want to be weird about this, but I really feel like God has a plan for this book. I think it'll all work out in the end."

Without even looking at him, Lydia replied, "Isn't that what you felt about Evangeline?"

"Ouch," he said, pretending to pull a fake knife from his chest.

Lydia rolled her eyes and said, "Either way, faith doesn't come as easily for everyone else as it does for you."

After lunch they headed back to the office where Lydia got back to work and Oscar hid out in the otherwise empty boardroom while he waited for the meeting to start. Zack was the next member of the team to arrive and he headed straight for the boardroom too. From a distance Lydia could see him and Oscar talking, but it didn't look like their normal friendly banter. When she approached the door a few moments later, their tone seemed normal enough but she wondered if they were hiding a certain amount of irritation toward each other.

"Still," she heard Zack say to Oscar when she came in the room, "you shouldn't give up meeting together as some are in the habit of doing."

Since Oscar said nothing in response, Lydia jumped in with some revisions that she wanted Zack to look at. The rest of the committee wasn't far behind and soon the room was full of the regular crew again.

Gus and Melvin came in together, which only added to Lydia's suspicions of a conspiracy. Melvin sat down and started pulling papers out of a file folder he had brought while Gus already had a stack of papers in his hand and he walked up to Lydia and gave them to her.

"What's this?" she asked, wondering what sort of scheme he was up to.

"Miss Phillips, I've often alluded to the grammatical errors within the chapters we've reviewed so far. I've finally looked over them all again and made the revisions I had mentioned and a few others that were also necessary."

"You didn't need to do that," she said appreciatively. She immediately thought that depending on how he'd done it, this would likely only complicate the revision process further, and putting this on himself also served to undermine her ability to make these same revisions, but she decided instead to focus on the amount of work he had likely done and see that as a constructive step and a demonstration of his investment in the project. "This must have taken you quite a long time to do."

"I'm just doing my share of the work," he said before heading back to his seat.

Lydia had been worried about the meeting would go, but it certainly started well. Sheila brought a tray of cookies that was being passed around and enjoyed. People were chatting and getting along well. Everyone had brought a copy of Zack's latest chapter. Things were off to a good start.

After getting a few administrative details out of the way Lydia invited everyone to take turns making comments about the latest chapter.

Sheila was the first to speak up. "I really like what you have to say about official and unofficial power families within churches. The church I grew up in had them too. I know that within my own faith it is natural to see members of these families as representatives of the church and their moral failings reflect on the whole faith. I think your distinction will be an important one for a lot of people."

"I think this may be your best chapter yet," Oscar added. "It's very honest. This guy represents a pivotal moment in your parents' career, and to see what he had become must have been a painful moment for you. I think that pain comes out in your writing, and I love how you tie it in to this universal Christian problem as well."

Lydia wanted to wait and see what other people had to say, but since nobody spoke up she offered her opinion. "Zack, I think it would have been easy for you to have focussed on the rags to riches story and milk that for what it was worth, but your willingness to rebuke Jacques and to use him as an example of the problems of the western church make your point even stronger."

After another brief silence Larry raised his hand before speaking. "I hate to be the lone dissenting voice here, and I know that as the finance rep I am not here to offer my literary critique, but I worry about the financial impact of criticizing rich people. I can't talk about the social dynamics within a church, but if the people with influence are also the people with money, saying that they interfere with the mission of the church will not make this a best seller in those very important circles."

"I'm glad you brought that up," said Melvin, "and as the marketing rep I would have to say that I agree with you. I'd also like to point out that I don't like the tone of this chapter. I guess deconstructionism is all the rage these days, but this book is supposed to be encouraging, and even if this point were correct, we're not offering any encouragement by saying how bad things are now."

Gus' opinions were no more supportive. "This time I'm not confused about what you're trying to say," he finally added, "but I am quite confused about why you chose to make your point the way you did. You thought you could play a trick on your readers by using the term 'power family' derisively, and while others may have been fooled by it, not everyone will be so easily deceived. Naturally, in any community there will be some people with more influence than others, and if in a church that influence gets passed down to future generations who continue to be involved in and loyal to that church, that is a good thing, not a bad thing."

Melvin nodded while the rest of the room was silent for a moment.

"Zack?" Lydia asked, as she did at every meeting, "what do you think about the various comments we've all made?"

"I appreciate all of the notes you've given me. I'm glad that I was able to connect with some of you who enjoyed reading it, but I would also like to try to respond to some of the criticisms. First, I would like to say that I've spent most of my life outside of North America and I'm largely unfamiliar with the self-help book genre, but it seems to me that if we want to help people, we need to be willing to point out the potential negative things in their lives."

Melvin interrupted. "Let me point out an important distinction for you Zack - we're trying to sell books, not help people."

"Melvin!" objected Lydia.

"It's true," he insisted.

"I wonder if we could print some Westminster brochures with that motto on them?" asked Oscar who gestured as though he was reading from a slogan on a fake brochure in front of him. "We're trying to sell books, not help people."

"It sounds heartless, but if we don't sell books, this company folds up and dies. So if some of our advice makes a small group of people feel better, but it scares off a whole big group of potential customers, we need to change our advice. We rely on a steady stream of people who need help and who think that they can get that help by spending twenty bucks on a book."

"I guess it's not the healthy who need a doctor, right Melvin?" Oscar asked.

"I'll take your considerations about marketability to heart," Zack said, "but about the other concerns, I never spelled out that there was anything wrong with people being rich or having influence in the church. I also never spoke against that wealth or influence being handed down along family lines. The greater problem is the feeling of self-righteousness that comes with it. The role of the church is to comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable."

"Thank you for the cliché," Gus responded, "but if that's your point, then why do you spend almost the whole time talking about his wealth and influence and spent almost no time talking about his actual flaws?"

"Let's try to maintain a constructive and respectful tone, please Gus," urged Lydia, "and in Zack's defence, it seems clear to me that Jacques' character flaws are his misuse of wealth and influence and we wouldn't understand that if we didn't know about his wealth and influence to begin with."

This discussion continued, often degrading to an exchange of thinly veiled accusations and insults. Zack insinuated that Melvin and Gus weren't spiritual enough to understand his point; Sheila voiced her suspicion that Gus was part of a church power family, and Gus and Melvin insisted that this chapter and others like it were not fit for distribution. The meeting eventually ended, but only because of time constraints, not because anything worthwhile had been accomplished. So much had been said during the meeting that nobody stayed afterwards for chitchat and they all quietly left in their various directions.

While others were frustrated and fatigued, Zack was facing the reality that this book may not happen, while Lydia, who had accepted that possibility, started to wonder if her job might be on the line as well.
From: Oscar Brandt

To: Lydia Phillips

Subject: I gotta get outta here

Evangeline's sister called tonight. She's been trying to get Evangeline and me to sit down and talk together for a little while. Apparently Evangeline almost agreed to meet with me, and then their dad talked her out of it. Everywhere I go too I keep bumping into her friends who either ignore me or find subtle ways to tell me I should just apologize for whatever I've done. I think I could use some time away from everything, but I guess that's not really an option for me.

From the way you looked at the end of the meeting today, I guess you could use some time away too. Anyway, I just thought I'd drop you a line to say I thought you did pretty well at the meeting today. Just hang in there.

OB

From: Lydia Phillips

To: Oscar Brandt

Subject: Re: I gotta get outta here

Hey Oscar,

Can you believe this? Before the meeting, Gus gave me a stack of papers and said it was grammatical revisions. I just read through it when I got home and realized he had made major changes, rewording significant chunks, often fundamentally altering the meaning. What am I supposed to do with that? I'd really like to know what's going on inside that guy's head.

Also, what were you and Zack talking about before the meeting?

Tell me more about your whole getaway idea. If you can think of a place to go for the weekend, I may be persuaded to come along.

\- Lydia

From: Oscar Brandt

To: Lydia Phillips

Subject: Re: I gotta get outta here

Don't let Gus get to you; he's from a power family. What do you expect? 

And don't worry about Zack and me. He just thinks I've been skipping too much church since the break-up. It's no big deal.

If you're serious about coming along, I think I've got a good place in mind for an escape. Can I just meet you in the parking lot of your office after work tomorrow and then we can head out together from there?

OB

From: Lydia Phillips

To: Oscar Brandt

Subject: Re: I gotta get outta here

This sounds good Oscar. Actually, I was being serious. I'll see you in the parking lot tomorrow at 5pm sharp.

\- Lydia

**Chapter 19 - Momentary Clarity**

Lydia had a lot on her mind at work on Friday. She had fallen hours behind on her regular workload, because of the development team meeting the day before. Luke, whom she assumed was also part of the conspiracy against her and the book project, wasn't the least bit under-standing about it either.

It was hard to focus on her other tasks when she was thinking about how poorly the meeting had gone the night before and how little progress they had made. Gerald was coming in on the following Monday to review her work, and rather than having made progress, it felt to her that after their last meeting they were actually farther behind.

The other thing on her mind was this hastily planned weekend. A few times she almost picked up the phone to call Oscar and cancel. Perhaps she had written back too quickly without actually putting much thought into the idea. After all, she had just agreed to go on a weekend away with a guy. Even if he was not thinking romantically, he might start wondering if she was. She regretted not asking him to provide more details, but she had packed a variety of clothes to be ready for almost anything he had planned.

The main reason Lydia wanted to back out and stay home for the weekend was that she wanted to get as much done as possible before Gerald came. However, she could only show the progress which the committee had agreed upon together, and no amount of extra work would change the fact that there was very little the team had agreed upon to that point.

A few times, however, Lydia found herself looking forward to the weekend away. She was curious about where Oscar was taking her and she was sure anything was better than spending another weekend at home doing office work.

At one minute past five, when Lydia emerged from her office, Oscar was leaning on the hood of her car with a full backpack slung over his shoulders.

"You want to drive again?" she asked, surprising Oscar.

"Really?" he asked. "Wow, Evangeline never let me drive her car on road trips."

"Don't get too excited," she said dismissively. "It's only because I'm tired and you know where we're going."

Lydia opened the trunk for him to put his backpack in before handing him the keys. He eagerly took them from her and ran around to the driver's side.

"So is it common for people to check up on your church attendance?" Lydia asked once they were on the road. "Or is this just a Zack thing?"

"Zack may be more vocal about it than others, but when you're engaged to the pastor's daughter and all of a sudden you're not there anymore, people notice."

"So did you just tell him to mind his own business?" Lydia asked.

"No," Oscar answered calmly. "Zack is just concerned about me. That's fine. I just tried to explain my side of the story briefly, that given the circumstances it's probably better that I not go there. He didn't see my point, so we left it at that."

"What's the big deal? You can skip church a few Sundays can't you?"

"Sure you can, but it's important to me. I still went to church; just not the one I had been going to until then."

"What's the point of going to church anyway?" Lydia asked, switching from personal to general questions.

"Ideally there are two relationships that people nurture by going to church. Obviously people go to church to enhance their connection to God. We go there so that we can worship God, learn about God, or somehow enter into God's presence. At some level we believe God contributes to the service by blessing the people who gather to worship and we believe that to some degree God benefits from, or at least appreciates, being worshiped. The other part that's involved, that a lot of people forget about, is the relationship with the community. Individuals have a responsibility to the group and the group has a responsibility to each individual. The people with needs should be able to approach the group and anyone with extra resources or special insight should be willing to share them with the group."

"So at both the spiritual and social level there is supposed to be some give and take?"

"Yes," said Oscar, "but those other people in the group can sometimes distract from the big picture experience. So in my case, if Evangeline's crew and their judging eyes and inappropriate comments interfere with my act of worship, I'm better off not going. In the same way, if my presence fills them with bitterness, I'm doing them a favour too by not showing up. But since I still want to participate in that individual and corporate worship experience, I go somewhere else instead."

"Did you tell Zack you were going to a different church instead?"

"He didn't ask."

Lydia was already quite willing to accept that she didn't understand male friendships, and maybe the religious dynamic complicated things, but she had no idea why these two guys were friends. As she thought about it, she realized that a lot of cars were driving by them.

"Why is everyone passing us?" she asked curiously.

"Probably because I'm driving speed limit," Oscar answered.

"Oh! Is there a reason you're not driving faster?"

"Are you in a hurry?" Oscar asked.

"Well no, but..."

"Driving the speed limit actually makes a lot of sense," Oscar said plainly. "When this road was designed, the engineers took into account what the speed limit would be, so everything, from the width of the lanes to the grade of the curves, was set up with this speed limit in mind."

"Do you mean to tell me that you drive around constantly stressing over every driving law, in case you might be breaking it?"

"No, what I do is trust that the lawmaker had my best interests in mind. I internalize the rules of the road, and so when I see a police officer, I have nothing to fear. Instead, I could drive however I want, but I'd be checking behind every tree, overpass, and billboard to see if a police officer. Then if I see one waiting for me, I would have to wonder about which law I might be breaking. Which one of those sounds more stressful to you? Let me tell you, when I look in my rear-view mirror and seen a police car, I never have to freak out. That's not stress, that's true freedom."

Lydia wasn't convinced by his driving logic, but she was pretty sure that he was speaking in religious metaphors again. She would normally double-check to see if that was, in fact, what he was doing and what he meant, but this time she was pretty sure she knew what he was getting at.

A little farther down the road they picked up supper to eat in the car. Lydia even fell asleep for a while after the meal. When she woke up it was already dark and she didn't recognize their surroundings at all.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" she asked.

"In a bit maybe."

"Can you answer this at least?" she asked, letting her curiosity get the best of her. "This place that we're going, are you taking me there as Oscar my friend, Oscar the development team member, or as something more?"

"Does spiritual advisor count as something more?"

"I guess," Lydia answered, no closer to understanding what was going on. There was a growing awareness in her that she was getting more out of her time with Oscar than spiritual advice, and she hoped he was getting more out of it too.

"Okay, here goes," he began. "I have been thinking for a while that I needed to get away somewhere, away from all of Evangeline's family and friends, away from all of my school issues and away from all my other worries. I just wanted to find a quiet place to reflect, meditate and pray. I know you've been going through some crap too, so I thought you might benefit from the same thing."

"You know praying isn't really my thing, right?" Lydia asked.

"I know that," he answered quickly, "and that's why I brought you this." Oscar reached into his winter jacket and handed her a hardcover notebook. It was exactly the type of notebook she would sometimes buy for herself. She had dozens of books like that in her apartment, ones she had bought for journaling or for writing short stories, but all of them were less than half full.

"The other people will be reading their Bibles, journaling or praying," Oscar continued, "so when they're doing that, you can feel free to reflect on what's been happening, just space out or write in here to occupy your mind."

"Wait! What other people?" Lydia asked. "Where exactly are we going?"

Oscar didn't say a word; he just kept driving. Then, as Lydia looked out the window she started to see a few things, even in the dark, that reminded her of a previous trip she had taken.

"Are you taking me to Bethpage?" she asked.

"Yes."

"What? Didn't you hear me say how glad I was to leave after only staying for a one hour interview?"

"I didn't think you would have come if I told you where we were going, but I really think you should give it another shot. This is exactly what you need right now."

"I can live without my cell phone for the weekend," Lydia conceded, "but, what about their gender segregation rules? Are you and I as a man and a woman even going to be able to see each other while we're there?"

Oscar laughed. "We'll be able to spend plenty of time together. We just won't be able to sleep in the same room, which neither of us would want anyway, right?"

"Fine, I'll try to make it work, but if it gets too weird, promise me we can leave!"

"I promise. You just say the word and we'll pack up and go."

At the reception desk both Oscar and Lydia turned in their cell phones without even being asked.

"There's a one hour prayer service at nine, an hour of quiet time starting after that at ten, and then lights out at eleven," the woman at the desk said after pointing out where their rooms were.

"Why so early?" Lydia asked.

"The morning prayer service is at six," the woman answered matter-of-factly.

"Then maybe I should keep my cell phone, it has my alarm clock."

"We ring a bell," the woman responded simply, speaking as though she was entirely familiar with this kind of conversation.

Lydia stared blankly at Oscar when they got back to the car to get their bags.

"Look, I can't force you to pray," he said without being prompted, "or even to relax, that would sort of defeat the purpose. You don't have to attend anything that you don't want to participate in. But a while ago you told me that prayer was something you didn't understand. You said it was too easy a response to people's problems. For what a lot of people call prayer, you're right, but prayer is supposed to be hard work. I think you'll see that here."

Lydia's greatest question about prayer at this point was mostly an internal one; why did it sound so demeaning when ordinary Christians said they would pray for her but it was so empowering to hear that from Gerald's mother? She decided that if spending some time at this place could help her to answer that question, it might be worthwhile after all.

"Okay," she said, "but at least help me take my stuff to my room."

Oscar agreed and took Lydia's bags from the trunk. He brought them into the building and set them outside the door of the room she shared with seven other women.

Lydia might not normally have made an effort to get to know a group of women like this, but she decided to approach it as a research assignment. The other women were already telling each other why they had come to the retreat center. Lydia listened quietly as they shared what was weighing on their minds; a few of them were in marriages that were falling apart, a few needed to make decisions about what school to go to, one wanted to get pregnant, and a few women responded the same way that Lydia did, saying that they were feeling overwhelmed by work.

Oscar was surprised to see Lydia when she sat beside him in the chapel in time for the evening prayer service. "An hour is a long time to just sit in silence," he warned, "so if you can't handle it, feel free to leave; just try to go quietly so you don't disturb anyone else."

"I'll be fine," she said, gesturing toward the journal book and Bible she had brought with her.

The hour started with a few songs that Lydia didn't recognize and a few Bible readings that she didn't understand. Afterwards, the leader at the front of the room said that with five minutes remaining he would invite everyone to start singing again.

In the silence that followed, she tried to meditate, at least for a little while. She tried to empty her mind of work stresses and all of her self-doubt. When that didn't work, she started observing other people instead. She saw that some people were silent while others whispered and others spoke aloud, some people sat motionless while others raised their arms, wept, or made a rhythmic bowing motion. It would normally all look pretty weird, except that she knew what some of the people were praying about from her previous conversations. Oscar was moving his lips and his face was strained, but wasn't making a sound. Lydia was sure that he was praying about his situation with Evangeline, but she couldn't tell if he was praying for a reunion or for help to get over it. One of the women whose marriage was falling apart and the woman who was trying to get pregnant were crying. At other times in her life she might have scoffed at their misplaced emotions, but Lydia found herself sympathizing with them, and the more she did that, the guiltier she felt about watching them voyeuristically.

She decided instead to return to her own meditation. Maybe she would even try praying, just to see how it felt. Immediately, she realized how uncomfortable it was. Even at the beginning, she had trouble addressing God. She didn't really know many of the religious titles for God. Any relational titles like Father seemed insincere. Some words sounded too formal and some were far too casual. Then, the more she prayed, the more she started to feel guilty about asking for things that she wanted, especially if the thing she truly wanted was for physical harm to come to someone else.

Soon she realized that she had no idea what time it was and that she may have been praying for a long time or maybe there was still a long time to go. Then she realized that she couldn't check what time it was because she wasn't wearing a watch and that she hadn't worn a watch much since she started carrying a cell phone and that the only watch she owned was almost entirely decorative and only went with a few of her nice outfits. Then, she realized she was realizing too many things and not focussing on the task at hand.

When the prayer service finally ended, Oscar walked sombrely to the door motioning to Lydia that he didn't feel like talking. Lydia nodded and headed back to her room. The other women agreed they should go to sleep early so that they could wake up in time for the early service, but Lydia still had to listen to them talking for over an hour about the complaints of their lives and speculating over what God would do for them.

The bell that rang at 6am was soft, but there was no bell in the world soft enough to provide a gentle wake-up for Lydia at that time of the morning. She somehow managed to climb out of her bunk and drag herself over to the chapel. Oscar would have been impressed to see her there except he too was in an early morning stupor. Lydia found herself going through the same thought process as she had the night before, but to make her praying or meditating even more difficult, she was also trying to stay awake.

"I see what you mean about praying being hard," she said to Oscar when they were finally able to talk again over a simple breakfast. "I could hardly focus, and even when I could, I had trouble thinking of anything worthwhile to say."

"Talking isn't the hard part," he answered, shaking his head.

"What other part is there?"

"Prayer isn't just talking Lydia, it's conversation, and I find the listening harder than the talking."

"I guess it's sort of like monkey brain," she conceded. "My friends who are big into yoga and eastern meditation always talk about that."

"Monkey brain is mostly about not being able to focus or empty your mind. Prayer is supposed to be talking, thinking about what you say, listening, thinking about what you hear and then figuring out how you'll respond."

"So does God talk to you?" Lydia asked.

"I might say God pushes me."

"And you have to focus on feeling the push?"

Oscar shrugged and said, "Okay, so maybe it's more of a nudge."

Their conversation was cut short when Alistair Graham entered the room. "It's good to see you all," he said to the group when everyone quieted down. "There is a lot of work to do out there, so if everyone could sign up for a few work-ship time slots, that would be great." He then sat down to eat with some of the other guests.

"I'm going to go sign up for a job," Oscar said, standing up to leave the table.

"See if there's something I can sign up for too."

"Are you serious?"

"Of course I am," she insisted.

When the decision was made to choose Zack rather than the other candidates, Lydia tried calling everyone to let them know, but Mr. Graham wasn't available to speak on the phone at that time. She had left him a message and he had sent a brief written response. Lydia wasn't looking forward to seeing him, but she resolved to be professional and go talk to him.

"Hi, Mr. Graham," she said as she approached his table. "I'm Lydia Phillips, from Westminster Printers."

"Yes, Lydia! Please have a seat," he said with a smile. "I was praying over the names on the guest list and when I saw yours I was hoping I'd get a chance to see you."

She wasn't expecting he would be praying for people before they even arrived, but as she contemplated his words she wondered if maybe she was getting more used to the idea of being prayed for.

"I just wanted to thank you again for being a part of the interview process and to say thank you for being so understanding about the way things worked out."

"That's quite alright," Mr. Graham said with a gentle smile. "I had a sense that things would turn out the way they did. I prayed about it so I was ready for whatever happened."

"What did God tell you about it?" she asked.

"Sometimes we get what we pray for, and sometimes prayer helps us to be ready when the thing we're hoping for doesn't happen. This was the latter."

They talked a little longer and Lydia left wondering if she would have advocated for his candidacy a little stronger if she had enjoyed her first encounter with him as much as she enjoyed this one.

Oscar signed Lydia and himself up for work in the sugar bush. There were quite a few maple trees on the property and as the snow was beginning to thaw, the sap was now beginning to flow. Oscar stayed by the woodstove, gathering and chopping wood to fire the boilers while Lydia was assigned to collect the sap. She could tell that Oscar was enjoying his work and getting along well with the rest of the crew, but her arms were soon aching from carrying heavy buckets of sap and her legs were getting tired from trudging through the snow and mud.

When their supervisor noticed she was having trouble, he reassured her that she didn't need to strain herself and she should work at a more relaxed pace. So, a few loads later, Lydia stopped to sit on an old stump and take a rest. From where she was sitting she could see quite a few others still going about their work. She knew some of them were visiting the prayer retreat center and participating in the "work-ship" out of religious ritual duty and some were brought there by life crises. She couldn't help asking herself if this was worth it, if being here was doing them any good. Then she perceived a response, which seemed to be coming from within her, but not from her, and it said, "Why not?"

Taking a second look at the various guests, she had to agree. Oscar was having more fun than she had ever seen him have. One of her roommates who had been crying the previous night, during and after the evening prayer service, looked genuinely happy and at peace. As she sat on the wet, moss-covered stump, far away from the other workers, Lydia began to think about the whole idea of faith. She thought back to her encounters with Gerald's mother and the things Oscar, Zack, and some of the other author candidates had said to her. As she reflected on all of this, it seemed that little tidbits of all of these interactions and all of her previous experiences were weaving themselves together.

Suddenly, it was clear to her that at the center of it all was something pure, maybe even something holy. For a brief moment it seemed as though that entity was accessible. The parts of her that had been full of doubt, anxiety and bitterness, now felt at peace. She could see that it was not Christianity that was ugly, but the ways in which it had been distorted.

Then, like waking up from a dream, the clarity and understanding were gone. Unsure of what to make of it all, Lydia stood up, grabbed hold of her sap buckets and walked back to join the rest of the crew. She was starving by the time lunch was served and was surprised to hear compliments about her work ethic as they ate.

Lydia and Oscar had set aside the afternoon for a time of quiet study, which she used for napping. They were going to leave after supper and Lydia wondered if there was time to tour the property a little more before they ate.

"I want to see what it's like to walk through the woods without carrying heavy buckets of sap," she said to Oscar. "Do you think it's okay if we go out for a walk through the woods?"

"Sure," he agreed, "but wait until nobody can see us before you try holding hands with me."

"Stop it!" she exclaimed, giving him a playful shove.

She immediately wondered if some people might see this as flirting. Even though Oscar was joking, given the retreat center's policies, she realized she should probably pay attention to who might be watching. These worries also reminded her of a brief conversation from the night before.

"You should probably know that one of the women in my room thinks we're dating," she said when they were safely away from the buildings.

"Oh, why?"

"Well, she told me how lucky I was that my boyfriend would agree to take me to a place like this."

"So what did she say when you told her I wasn't your boyfriend?"

"I couldn't tell her!" Lydia exclaimed. "She had just spent the last twenty minutes explaining to everyone how terrible her marriage was and how she was increasingly convinced that there really weren't any good men out there. I didn't want to burst the one little glimpse of hope she got from us, I mean you."

"I see what you're saying," Oscar said, "but she probably would have been able to handle the truth."

Lydia was hoping that being in the woods again would reignite her moment of clarity and that maybe Oscar could help her to understand what she had experienced. Her revelation didn't come, and she didn't feel comfortable talking to Oscar about it either. Also, the physical work of carrying sap buckets had warmed her up more than the casual walking they were doing now. Oscar also didn't want to walk too far since they didn't know the trails and the sun was already starting to go down. Soon the dinner bell rang and they headed back to the base together.

The other guests at their table were either staying for the whole weekend or just finishing stays of one or two weeks. The day before, Lydia saw them as mildly interesting people to observe, but now they were fascinating people to converse with.

The drive home with Lydia at the wheel was quiet, but it was a relaxed and peaceful kind of quiet. They chatted a bit about some of the people they had met and Oscar explained where some of the terminology they used came from. Someone had mentioned 'putting out a fleece,' so Oscar explained the story of Gideon from the Bible and how he tested God's call in his life by putting a dry fleece outside his tent before bed and even though it hadn't rained, in the morning the fleece was sopping wet. Other people had used the phrases 'trials and tribulations' or 'powers and principalities' so he explained to her the context of those Bible verses as well.

During another period of silence Lydia weighed in her mind again about whether she should tell him about her moment of clarity in the sugar bush. She eventually chose to ask one of the questions that had been on her mind ever since.

"Isn't it all ridiculous?" she blurted out.

"You're going to have to be a little more specific," Oscar said, temporarily confused.

"Isn't all of Christianity based on a bunch of stories that are scientifically impossible?"

He just looked at her and smiled, which infuriated Lydia even more.

"I'm asking you a serious question. This is something that prevents me from taking your whole world view seriously, and all you can do is sit there with a silly grin on your face?"

"I'm happy for you," Oscar said with a laugh. "Now you're asking questions as a regular person, not just someone who's trying to sell a book to the Christian demographic. I think that's a big step. If you weren't driving, I'd give you a big pat on the back."

"It doesn't feel like much of a step forward when I'm still full of doubt and scepticism." Until now he had always been fine with her disbelief, but now when she actually wanted him to be reassuring, he wasn't.

"Yes, but now your scepticism bothers you," Oscar said, "now you know that your personal doubt isn't the end of the story. That is a step in the right direction."

"But then what do I do with my scepticism?" she asked, still frustrated. "How do I as a rational personal take those stories seriously?"

"For what's it worth, this is how it works for me," he said. "Science and religion don't always need to be at odds, but you're right that for much of our story to be true, a bunch of pretty impossible things need to somehow be possible. Christians often are criticized for rejecting scientific explanations, but everyone rejects science from time to time. There is no consistent medical scientific evidence that chiropractic care, naturopathy or acupuncture actually do anything. That's why they're called 'alternative medicine' because they've failed the conventional tests. People still use alternative medicine though, not because they are irrational or superstitious, but because either it works for them or because traditional medicine has proven to be inadequate. At some point I'm pretty sure you've fallen in love and had your heart broken. Scientifically, you are going through a temporary chemical imbalance in your mind, which produces a negative emotional state. But if someone ever thought that this was an appropriate time to tell you that, you would happily give up your status as a rational being and ignore the scientific perspective."

"I guess I sort of understand," Lydia said. "But wanting to validate your emotions is on an entirely different plane than believing that someone could literally come back from the dead, for example."

"Right and I won't deny that it's a huge intellectual leap to make, but my point is that when a person's internal experience is strong enough, it overrides their externally enforced education."

"Yes but that's my point," Lydia insisted. "Every day we witness some form of death and the older we get the more our own mortality becomes real to us. We don't have to be taught death; we see it. You have been taught by your religious institutions to believe that the resurrection happened, you don't experience it."

"That's where you're wrong Lydia. Every day there is life and rebirth all around me. Grass grows in the cracks in the sidewalk, birds fly back after being away all winter, and broken hearts begin to mend and consider the possibility of loving again. The Christian understanding is that we as human beings are predisposed to pride, selfishness, lust, violence and greed and that mindset separates us from the God who designed us to live in harmony with creation. Jesus' life and teachings went directly against our human tendencies. As human beings, we automatically think of our own needs before anyone else's, we submit automatically to temptation, we demand respect without having earned it, we slip into automatic patterns that are void of love and affection, and so death is yet another inevitable event for all humankind. Jesus' teachings of others-centered living opposed those assumptions. In his interactions and relationships with other people, he overcame those assumptions. His resurrection is really just the next manifestation of that. Christians reject those automatic assumptions and we are invited to participate in Jesus overcoming them."

"So what does that participation look like?" Lydia asked, less frustrated than before.

"It means rejecting temptation and doing what God wants, rejecting your own wants and living for other people, rejecting self-preservation and accepting the hardships of a life of faith, and it means rejecting your earthly, national citizenship every day and embracing instead your citizenship in the Kingdom of heaven."

"So just like prayer, it's hard?" Lydia asked.

"It is if you're doing it right."

Then after a short pause Lydia asked, "Do you think Evangeline and her dad are doing it right?"

Oscar laughed. "I think they're doing the best they can. She has a father who refuses to let her take any major life steps on her own. He is surrounded by a group of yes men who endorse his every thought. He's leading a congregation of people who think every character trait he has is one God in Heaven shares with him. They're both at a disadvantage in some ways."

"So I guess that means you won't be going to their church tomorrow?" Lydia asked as they neared his apartment.

"No, they'll have to get by without me for a fourth Sunday in a row. I'll go somewhere else again tomorrow."

"Okay," she said, "and one of these days I might come along with you and make it one in a row."

**Chapter 20 - Out with the Old**

When she arrived at work on Monday, Lydia was hoping that she would be able to settle in at her desk and collect her thoughts for a moment before she had to deal with Gerald, Luke or the Board of Directors. She arrived in the parking lot at a quarter to nine, and unfortunately Gerald and Luke's cars were already there. She got to her desk and put down her purse and laptop bag. Before she had even finished taking off her winter jacket Luke walked over to her desk.

"Gerald wants to see you as soon as you have time."

"Thanks," she said, and she quickly picked up everything she had prepared and scampered from her desk to Gerald's makeshift office in the boardroom. As she took a seat, she wondered about the expression on Gerald's face. She didn't sense any annoyance at having to deal with her book project and she couldn't sense lingering grief from his mother's passing either. It was almost as though he was looking sympathetically at her, instead of it being the other way around.

Lydia slid her documents across the table and Gerald leafed through them.

"I was hoping you'd have made more progress by this point," he said without looking up from the papers.

"So was I," Lydia responded immediately. "I think I underestimated the complexity of writing a religious book with a development team made up of people from a variety of religious experiences and convictions. The process is designed to benefit from those differences of opinion, but this time they have slowed our progress, at least temporarily."

Gerald nodded his head and slowly arranged the papers before sliding them back in front of Lydia. He then put his elbows on the table, put his hands together and rested his chin on his interlocking fingers. He stared off blankly in the corner of the room for a moment then turned his eyes toward Lydia.

"Miss Phillips, I'm afraid we are going to have to pull the plug on this project. I know you've invested a lot of time and energy into it, but from a business standpoint the costs and the benefits haven't come as close to balancing as we hoped they would, and we have no reason to believe that they ever will."

Lydia didn't say anything, but the disappointment she was feeling was written on her face.

"I thought it would be better if I told you like this rather than forcing you to learn about it at a Board meeting," Gerald said in an understanding tone. "You can take the rest of the day off if you want."

"What happens to the work we've done so far?" Lydia asked carefully.

"Well, because we've paid for the work you've done, those documents are now the property of Westminster Printers. Mr. Mackenzie is forbidden to use them in any other form of paid writing. All of this is clearly laid out in the contract he signed."

Lydia simply nodded and added, "I'd like to be the one to tell Zack and everyone else on the development team."

"That's fine, and you can let them know that they will all be reimbursed as though they had worked until the end of the month," Gerald responded. "The other thing I wanted to talk to you about now is that we have been in conversation about speeding up the timeline for Soleil's next book. There is a position waiting for you on that development team if you want it."

"Is it okay if I take some time to think about it?"

"Of course, but we're hoping to have a full roster of names by the middle of this week."

"Okay, I'll let you know by then." Lydia was in no mood to spell out exactly in which circumstances she would or wouldn't be comfortable to serve on that committee again.

"Alright, well then you're free to go. And again, if you want to take the rest of the day off, go right ahead."

Lydia went back to her desk and sat with her head in her hands, not crying but still feeling utterly defeated. Once she had composed herself, she decided it would be best to first tell the other people in the office, and that it would be easier to start with the ones that she wanted to talk to the least.

"Yeah, I already know," Melvin said after she thought she was breaking the news. "Luke told me."

"Okay, well thanks for all your contributions."

"It was my pleasure," he said, matching her level of sincerity.

Lydia had no desire to stick around for any more chitchat, so she headed over to Larry's desk in the finance wing of the office.

"Well that will free me up to get caught up on my other work here," he said. "Did Gerald say anything about the book's finances?"

"Just that he didn't think the costs and benefits would ever balance out."

"Yeah, well that I already knew. Gotta cut the bleeding sometime, the earlier the better usually."

"Oh, and he said that Zack and the other non-staff people would be paid until the end of the month."

"I'm not sure that's necessary, but it's up to him."

"Yes," Lydia agreed. "I guess I'll go over and tell Sheila then too."

Unlike the others, Sheila was quite supportive. She invited Lydia to sit down and complimented her leadership throughout the process and told her how much she had enjoyed the work.

"So what happens to the writing that has come in so far?" Sheila asked.

"I guess that all belongs to the company now," Lydia replied, unsure of the details, "something to do with copyright."

"That's too bad."

"Yeah," Lydia agreed. "I think Zack put a lot of work into those chapters, and according to Gerald, he can't use that writing for anything else now."

"That is too bad, but I was talking about you. You did a lot of work too. This was your project. It hardly seems fair that they would just stop the whole thing overnight and not let you or anyone else have access to those documents ever again."

"Must be their lawyers at work," Lydia said, standing up again. "Thanks again for all your work on the development team. It was great being able to get to know you better too."

"The same goes for you."

Lydia returned to her desk to call everyone else to notify them. This should be easier since she could hide behind the phone, but she wasn't looking forward to telling Zack and Oscar. For entirely different reasons she wasn't exactly excited about telling Gus either.

There was no answer when she tried calling Zack, so she left a message saying only that he should call her back. Then she called the next person on her list.

"Hello. Gus Leighton speaking."

"Hi, Gus. This is Lydia Phillips from Westminster Printers. How are you doing today?"

"Just fine thank you. I thought you preferred to use email to communicate information about the development team."

"You're right, I normally do, but in this particular case I thought it would be more appropriate to deliver this news over the phone. The company has decided to cancel the project."

"I see. This development isn't entirely unexpected, but still I suppose you must be a little disappointed."

"Yes," Lydia answered, slightly annoyed. "I thought we were working toward something good, and a number of people invested quite a bit of time, effort and emotional energy into it."

"The important thing is to learn from your mistakes, and who knows, in a few years you may just get another chance like this."

Without asking what mistakes he thought she had made Lydia said, "Gerald assured me that you and everyone on the development team would be paid as though the project continued until the end of the month."

"That's nice of him. He's also asked me if I'd be willing to sit on another team like yours, so you may see me around there again before too long."

"I'll keep an eye out for you then. Alright, well I have a few more calls to make, so I should let you go."

"Thank you for the call, Miss Phillips."

Lydia didn't know what she would say to Oscar. She was looking forward to talking with him, mostly because she thought that he, more than anyone else, would understand how difficult this was for her. As the phone rang she realized that their whole relationship was based around this book and she had no idea what kind of friendship he would be interested in maintaining now that the project had been cancelled. The phone kept ringing and soon she was forced to choose between hanging up, leaving a short message, or saying everything.

"Hi Oscar. It's Lydia calling. I just heard today that Westminster Printers has cancelled the book project. All the work we've done is down the tubes. You'll get your honorariums until the end of the month, but yeah, it's done. I guess I could have just got you to call me back, but I wanted you to know right away. I realize that all the times we've hung out lately have been directly or indirectly connected to this book. It doesn't have to stay that way. Anyway, they're letting me go home early, so I'm leaving now, but if you want to call me on my cell when you get this, that'd be great."

Making those phone calls, as awkward as some of them had been, had actually been a little therapeutic for Lydia. She figured that a nice drink from the nearby coffee shop and a brisk walk there and back might be enough for her to get her head back to doing work, but since Gerald had offered, she wasn't going to refuse a day off. She shut her computer down and headed out the door.

Once at home though, she found herself almost wishing she was back at the office. The tedium of her job at least engaged her mind enough that she would have been able to almost forget what had happened. Now, walking around her empty apartment, she was left alone with her thoughts. What could she have done differently to make the project successful? Would any of the other candidates have fared better? Had she been sent home so that Luke, Melvin and others could conspire against her while she was away? Then, just in time to rescue her from this cycle of destructive thoughts, she got a call on her cell phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi Lydia, this is Zack returning your call."

"Oh, thanks for calling me back. Zack, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm afraid our company has decided to cancel your book."

There was a short pause before Zack said, "That's too bad. Was it something about me or something that I wrote?"

"No," Lydia answered immediately, almost happy to talk to someone else who was disappointed to hear the news. "What they told me was that we were working too slowly as a committee, to the point that they didn't think the book could be profitable. Personally I think something else was at work here, but it definitely wasn't because of you. Also, they promised to pay you as though you worked through to the end of the month."

"I wasn't in it for the money, trust me. Do you know what happens to the writing I've submitted to this point?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry to say that those documents belong to the company. Since they've been paying you, they legally own them. To prevent you from using them in another book for another company, they wrote those terms into the contract that you signed when you started."

"Well, that's inconvenient, but I can live with it," he said. "I really don't have a lot of time to talk now though Lydia, can I call you back in a few days when I've let this sink in a little more?"

"No problem. I understand. I'll talk to you later."

Talking to Zack was helpful for Lydia. It was great to talk to someone who also needed a little bit of consoling. The conversations at the office with Melvin and Larry and talking on the phone with Gus were the biggest reason she went home as early as she did. She hated being talked down to, and as much as she expected that to be the case throughout this process it still rubbed her the wrong way every time it happened. Since she hadn't experienced it as much as she had expected from Zack and especially Oscar, it was even more unwelcomed when she witnessed it in other people at the office.

Lydia sat at her kitchen table and began to eat the lunch that she had brought with her to work. As she ate, she couldn't stop thinking about work and the situation that had unfolded in front of her. She decided that she was going to get out of the house right after lunch to get her mind off her work.

As she was putting on her jacket to go, there was a knock at the door. When Lydia opened it, Oscar was standing there with a small bucket of ice cream. She let him in and closed the door. He took his boots off, but before he could hang up his coat, Lydia put her arms around him and buried her head in his chest and sobbed. He just held her without saying a word.

**Chapter 21 - Legal Ease**

Usually when Lydia woke up early to get ready for work it was driven by a sense of duty and routine. Her father had taught her that punctuality was an easy way to demonstrate ambition and company loyalty. These were the things managers were looking for when decisions were made about promotions. This morning however, there was a greater sense of urgency. Lydia wasn't thinking about promotions at this point, she was just worried about keeping her job. The day before, Oscar had helped her come to terms with the termination of her book project, but as the night wore on she started worrying. What began as worrying possibilities became full-blown conspiracies about what had brought about the end of her role as head of the development team. After all, since she had been away all day, they could have spent the whole time finding ways to get rid of her. She wasn't just going to lie down and die though. She was going to show up at eight-thirty and put in an ambitious day of work.

As Lydia approached the parking lot of her office she decided to stop in at the nearby bakery and pick up some snacks for her colleagues. She stopped short of picking up coffees for Luke and Gerald because she didn't want it to look like she was kissing up. She also wasn't sure if Gerald was going to be in again today and didn't want to give a coffee to only Luke. It was a rare occasion, but every once in a while someone would bring food into the break room, such as uneaten birthday cake or leftover board meeting pastries, so when it did happen, it was appreciated.

Lydia brought the box of baked goods into the break room and put them beside the staff coffee maker. She was putting her bag lunch in the back of the fridge when Luke walked in to see what it was that she had been carrying.

"Look who decided to show up today," he said to her sarcastically.

"Did Gerald tell you he gave me the day off?" she answered apologetically.

"Of course he did. I'm just yanking your chain," Luke said, picking up a muffin. "Sometimes I wish I was a woman, then I could get a day off too every time I got a little weepy."

"I didn't ask for the day off," Lydia answered in full career defence mode. "I'm absolutely planning to stay as long as I need to today to catch up on any work you need me to do."

"I'll take you up on that when Gerald is done talking to you."

Lydia got a sinking feeling that whatever he wanted to talk to her about couldn't be good. She took some solace in the notion that Luke assumed she would still be employed when the meeting with Gerald was finished.

"He's talking to some lawyer at nine," Luke continued, "and he wants to talk to you as soon as he's done."

"What kind of lawyer is he meeting with?" she asked.

"Beats me. He's not a company lawyer, that's all I know."

"Alright, well I've got a bunch of emails and voicemails from yesterday that I need to catch up on, so I should go deal with them before then."

"You do that," Luke said, still standing by the box of muffins.

Lydia plugged away at the unread messages in her inbox and tried to force herself to get excited about the new projects that were coming up for her and the company.

One of the calls she had missed the day before was from Soleil Macpherson, so at a quarter after nine, after Lydia had been watching the door for Gerald's return for fifteen minutes, she decided to call Soleil back.

"I just wanted to let you know about the timeline of the sequel," Soleil said after giving some of the highlights of her trip to Europe. "We've been scribbling ideas down and the development team starts meeting next week. I hear you're not sure if you want to be a part of it."

"Yeah, well the last I talked to Gerald he was telling me that they were pulling the plug on my book, so I wasn't really in a position to invest myself into other big projects."

"Lydia," Soleil said matter-of-factly, "if this book is going to be any good, I need you on this committee."

"Yeah, I'll be talking to Gerald today about that."

"Good. You know I'd go crazy if it was the same old crew without you."

"It's the same committee chair as before, right?" Lydia asked.

"Believe me," Soleil insisted, "I wasn't crazy about it but they sold me on it eventually. I was actually campaigning for them to assign you as the development team leader. If this was another book purely about women's issues I would have held my ground, but since it's about marriage I wasn't going to win that argument. Luke's been married before so I guess I'll let them give him another shot."

"He's been married a few more times than I have," Lydia said, before instantly regretting the hateful tone in her voice. Instead she asked, "Do you have a working title yet?"

"How do you like A Marriage of Equals?"

"As a title or as a theory?"

"That's exactly why we need you on the team," Soleil insisted again.

"Well I should probably get back to work, but I guess whether or not I join the development for your new book I'll see you in the office a little more regularly again soon."

Lydia returned her attention to her to-do list and was getting quite a bit of work done until some shouting in the lobby distracted her. She looked up to see a visibly agitated Gerald walk in. With him was a well-dressed man who was considerably more relaxed, if not smug. The two men entered the boardroom and their speaking quieted gradually.

Five minutes later Gerald re-emerged. He walked out only long enough to make eye contact with Lydia and gestured for her to follow him.

Lydia stood up quietly and started looking around her desk for the things she needed to bring. However, this time there wasn't anything she needed to take. There would be nothing to hide behind and nothing to busy her nervous hands with during the meeting. She walked timidly toward the door, and with empty hands she pushed on the door to let herself in.

"Please sit down, Lydia," Gerald said as she entered the room.

"I just want to say thank you for giving me some reflection time yesterday," Lydia said, sitting down and taking a firm grip on the arm rests of her chair. "I thought a lot about Soleil's next book, and if there's still a place for me on the development team, you can be sure that I am excited about serving in whatever role the company sees fit to give me."

"We're not here today to talk about Soleil's book," Gerald said simply. "I'll let Mr. Greene here explain to you just what is going on."

Getting fired was something that Lydia had come to accept as a possibility, but she had no idea why a lawyer would need to be involved in the process; security maybe, but not a lawyer.

The friendly-looking man, whose gray hair and wrinkles suggested he was probably just barely older than Gerald, introduced himself. "Lydia, I represent the Simmons family."

"Some of the Simmons family," Gerald insisted.

"Right," the lawyer acknowledged. "Shortly before Gerald's mother passed she called me to alter her last will and testament. You may not know, but she was a major shareholder in this company and was keenly interested in what was happening here right up until her dying days. She was especially interested in the progress of the book you were overseeing and had allotted some funds from her estate to assist in its distribution if necessary. She also included a stipulation that if the project were to be terminated before it reached publication, you would receive a significant number of the shares she owned in the company as compensation."

"The problem," Gerald added before Lydia had a chance to reply, "is that these shares are not traded on the open market, so not just anyone can buy them. Our company has long established policies about when our staff can be given shares and how many they can hold at one time, so this bequest, as generous as my mother was trying to be, runs counter to these policies and cannot be implemented."

"However," Mr. Greene added, "this is a legally binding contract and you will be compensated as was intended, one way or another." He spoke in a reassuring way that made Lydia think if Gerald's mother had to be visited on her deathbed by a lawyer, she was glad it was this guy.

"Wouldn't it be easier to just start the committee back up again?" Lydia asked.

"Trust me, we tried," Gerald said.

Mr. Greene answered quickly, "Mrs. Simmons was quite clear that the moment this book project was cancelled this stipulation in her will should be carried out. Westminster Printers is, of course, welcome to make any decision it wishes with regards to its business dealings, but restarting this project will not negate this bequest."

"Now you know why we've called you in today, Miss Phillips," Gerald said. "We would like to resolve this matter as soon as possible, so your cooperation with the negotiations is appreciated."

The lawyer simply smiled and added, "There's no need to feel any pressure either, Lydia. I'm here to help represent you in this negotiation process and we can take all the time you want."

Gerald rolled his eyes and added, "Yes, of course, I forgot to mention, your legal fees throughout this ordeal will be paid for from my mother's estate. I'm sure Mr. Greene here would be happy to help you drag this process out as long as possible."

Unfazed by Gerald's tone, Mr. Greene handed Lydia a printout of the portion of the will that pertained to her. "You'll also notice that if in the next year you are let go by Westminster Printers and you feel you are the victim of a wrongful termination, your legal fees with my firm will be covered as well."

"I'm still not entirely sure I understand what's going on here," Lydia said slowly, "but I'm not interested in making a big deal of this if I don't have to." She thought a little longer as the two men nodded.

"If it makes things easier," she continued, "I'm not really interested in the stock option idea either."

Gerald was quick to respond. "The way Mr. Greene has worded these estate documents has sort of handcuffed us, but thank you Lydia for your flexibility. That is very helpful."

Lydia thought a little more before adding, "If it's possible, I'd like to have access to the files we had compiled in my book project. I know they legally belong to the company now, but if they were negotiable that would be nice."

"You should know," the lawyer cautioned, "that those documents have no cash value. While I appreciate that you have put quite a bit of work into this project, I would strongly advise you that asking for those documents is not in your financial best interests."

"Hey," Gerald said calmly, "if it doesn't bother her, it doesn't bother us."

Mr. Greene shook his head. "I don't think you see the big picture here Gerald. One of your bright young employees has been given an opportunity to invest in the long-term financial performance of your company, and she turned it down. That would worry me. The fact that she is attaching a financial value to the fruit of her labour is a testament to her character. The fact that she doesn't attach a high value on owning shares in your company should bother you."

Before Gerald could answer, Lydia spoke up again, "If you two can negotiate the paper value of those documents and figure out the difference in cash, if there is any, the rest is fine with me."

Gerald and Mr. Greene agreed that beyond this point the two of them could finalize the negotiation without her. With each of their thanks, she was given the freedom to return to her desk.

Lydia went back to the tasks at hand, but she couldn't shake free the worries that had arisen during the meeting. She was genuinely excited and relieved to be getting the documents of the book, but she recognized that Mr. Greene was right about them not having any actual value. If anything, it would take more personal work time and likely quite a bit of her own money to make anything out of the documents she had just negotiated to own.

She liked the idea of job security but she didn't like the idea of holding the company hostage with the threat of legal action. All of this confusion was enough to make her yearn once again for her brief moment of clarity. If she couldn't get that back, she would even settle for having Oscar's faith, not his faith in God or his institutional religion, but his faith that somehow everything would work out. Maybe this was what he was talking about, or maybe this was just another phase of the development of a book that would never get published.

Lydia went about her work as normal, trying not to imagine what sort of negotiations were continuing behind the closed doors of the boardroom. When the phone rang, she was expecting it to be Soleil again, wanting to hear if she confirmed about serving on the new development team. The voice she heard, however, was one she had almost forgotten.

"It's me, Ben," he said right away.

It took a moment for Lydia to process in her mind all the Bens she knew. "Oh hello, Mr. Worsley. How are you today?"

"Not too bad for an old farmer."

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?" she asked.

"I've been thinkin'," he began. "It was foolhardy of me to even think about writing a book, what with my simple education and all. And when you came to hear what I had to say, I shouldn't have told you what I thought, I should have showed you."

"Don't worry Mr. Worsley, I think you communicated your points quite well."

"That's awful nice of you to say, but I'd really like another chance to show you what I meant. I know you've got your book with that other author on the go, but I was hoping you might be able to come out next Saturday and work on my farm with me. By then the snow will have cleared up and I'll have lots of little chores that will need doing. I'll pay you for your time and your gas too. You can bring that fella of yours along too."

Lydia didn't bother pointing out that book project had been cancelled. She also didn't tell him that she had already been exposed at the retreat center to the spiritual value of hard work. One correction did need to be made though.

"Oscar is not my fella," she insisted, "and I'm not sure he would be available that weekend. I can give him a call and let you know when I find out."

"I'll take that as a maybe then."

Lydia waited a few hours after getting off the phone before she called Oscar about the idea. She didn't think there would be much for her to gain from the work besides a little exercise. She would feel guilty taking money from Mr. Worsley, even if it was a long drive to and from his farm. There was no reason to believe that she would have any kind of spiritual encounter just because she was getting her hands dirty. More than anything, she found herself excited about the idea of spending another Saturday with Oscar.

"He would probably want us there by the crack of dawn," he said when she explained the idea to him. "I'm not sure I want to get up that early."

"Well I obviously don't need to do this for work reasons anymore," Lydia said. "I just thought I would pass the invitation along to you since you enjoyed meeting him the last time. If you want to go, I could come along."

"Lydia, I'm pretty sure he was inviting you more than me."

"You're probably right, Oscar, but is this something that you as my spiritual advisor think I should do?"

"Oh, I didn't think I held that title anymore after the book project was finished."

"Well you do, so I'll let you make the decision."

Oscar hesitated for a while before finally agreeing to go. Lydia didn't think to tell him about her encounter with the lawyer before Oscar hung up, or about her decision to join the new development team. There would be plenty of time to tell him about all of that on their drive.

Westminster Printers

HEAD OFFICE

To Miss Lydia Phillips,

This letter is to certify you that we, Westminster Printers, formally release into your possession all necessary documents related to the compilation of the previously terminated and as yet unnamed book on the subject of Christianity. You are free to copy, distribute or publish any and all documents related to this project. For tax purposes, these documents have no cash value and do not constitute income.

Also, in exchange for the ownership shares willed to you, you will be reimbursed $5,000 in cash, as was negotiated with Darryl Greene, your legal counsel.

Sincerely,

Gerald Simmons

CEO, Westminster Printers

Also, in cleaning out my mother's home, I found this in her typewriter. I presume it's for you. – Gerald

Lydia,

I had hoped to write this for you sooner, but I've been in to see the doctor lately, and I still don't quite feel right, so I will likely have to go in and see him again. So I just need to write this now if I want you to read it before they decide to keep me in the hospital again.

My mother had to work at the factory during the war years and so I was sent to live with her mother. In that house, no matter what, if it was Sunday, there was pie. It didn't matter if our guests were rich or poor, of if that week we felt rich or poor, we went to church in the morning, we invited someone over for dinner, and we served them pie, and sometimes I got to make it. But it was more than just the food that we ate, that pie was hope in dark days and it was something reliable in an otherwise chaotic world.

So, I learned to make pies as a little girl, but I learned a few other things along the way. Sending someone a card is a nice way to say "I'm thinking of you," but I prefer to say, "While I was thinking of you, I made this pie." It might be old-fashioned, but I think it still means a lot to give someone a pie. I think every woman should know how to make a good pie. I know, I know, today's women want to feel important without having to make food for people, and that's all well and good, but don't hold your breath waiting for the men of this world to bake you a pie.

The first thing you need is a pie crust. In a pinch, you can just hop on over to your grocery store and buy a pre-made pie shell. I don't know if my grandmother would have been relieved or disappointed to know that now we can go and buy a pie crust as easily as we can buy the daily newspaper. Making pie crust used to be a lot harder. My grandmother always had to get lard from the farm and we never knew what to expect. Sometimes it was good and consistent and pure, and sometimes you were better off not using it at all. So now, whether you're making a pie crust or you're driving a car, voting or wearing pants, you are standing on the shoulders of women who have gone before you.

So, go to the grocery store and buy a pound of lard and follow the instructions printed on the box. You'll need to get the name brand stuff, it's better quality for one thing but they're the only ones who provide the recipe. (Don't ever let someone shame you for using a store bought pie crust, but I think you'll find that it will taste and feel better if you make it yourself.)

What they don't tell you though, is that you need to keep everything cold. Put your mixing bowl in the fridge for an hour before you need it, and run some cold water over your pastry cutter, and maybe even over your hands, and the crust will hold together a lot nicer. You have to do this ahead of time. How you prepare is as important as the ingredients that you put in, but that's true for a lot of things in life.

Filling:

Start with half a dozen apples. You'll want them to be tart, so you can use Cortland or Empire if you can find them, but Granny Smith are probably best. And don't judge the apples by their appearance. Spots, blemishes and colour variations add character and flavour, and your pie will be better if you include the imperfect looking apples too. Peel them, core them and slice them. If you don't want to slice them by hand, there is probably a good slicer on the side of your cheese grater.

Next you add the dry ingredients to the apples. ½ cup of brown sugar, ½ tablespoon of cinnamon, and ¼ cup flour. My grandmother used to love explain what each ingredient did; the sugar makes it sweet, the cinnamon adds extra flavour and the flour helps absorb extra juice from the apples. "Each ingredient plays its part," she would say, "and no matter how small or unimportant you feel, you have a role to play in this life too." I will always treasure that. Stir it all together until everything is evenly coated.

Now, dump half of the apple mixture into your pie shell. Take

a handful of unwrapped candy caramel squares and spread them out over the top and then cover them with the rest of the apples. This is my secret ingredient. As much as I hope that you will use this recipe, I also hope that you will feel free to adjust it. Until you put the work in to see what works best for you, it will not be your recipe.

Carefully lay the top crust over everything and gently cut around the edge. Rub a little water in between the crusts at the edges and then press them together to help them seal. Finally, you need to cut a whole or two in the top crust. You can shape it like a heart if you like, and you can place those and other extra pieces of crust around the top as decoration. The reason behind this is that the apples need room to breathe (don't we all). If you suffocate them you'll lose all your sweet juices and have a sticky mess on your hands.

Bake at 400º F for 30 minutes and then turn it down to 350º F for an hour. Give it some time to cool.

Apple pie goes really well with ice cream. You can top it with whipped cream too. I even know some people who like eating with cheese curds. But the best thing you can do to enjoy it more, is to eat the pie with someone you care about. Of course there is nothing wrong with eating it yourself, but pie, like life, is best practiced and enjoyed in community with others.

From: Marlene Eriksson

To: Lydia Phillips

Subject: Zack Mackenzie reference

Hello Ms. Phillips,

My name is Marlene Eriksson and one of the things that I do at Tablet of the Heart Press is recruit Christian authors for potential book ideas. I have recently been in conversation with Zack Mackenzie regarding a writing contract he had with your company, Westminster Printers. You can be assured that none of what we've discussed would violate the agreements he signed with your company.

Zack spoke highly of your editing skills and your persistent style of leadership. I would love to hear what you learned from working with him. We are just a small publisher, serving a niche market, so while we may be "rivals" I hope that you won't mind giving me a few words of reference to go by.

Thanks,

Marlene Eriksson

Tablet of the Heart Press

From: Lydia Phillips

To: Marlene Eriksson

Subject: Re: Christian book publishing question

Hi Marlene,

First, I'd like to say that Zack Mackenzie is great to work with. He is punctual and professional and I was personally impressed with the depth of his writing.

Also, although the book lies unfinished, I am still quite proud of the work we did as the development team (our company has a group editing model). I feel lucky to have been able to work with all of them, including Zack, and I think I really learned a lot.

If you have any other questions about Zack or the book we started, feel free to ask, but if you have time, I'd love to talk to you over a coffee some time about your publishing ideas. Let me know if you're interested.

\- Lydia

**Chapter 22 - Spiritual Pruning**

Benjamin Worsley assured Lydia that they wouldn't need to come in unreasonably early. Together they agreed that starting at ten o'clock would allow them to leave at a comfortable time and give them enough time to get the jobs done. When she pulled up in front of Oscar's apartment at eight, he was already waiting in the lobby for her. He walked out to meet her and they headed off toward the farm.

"So what are you going to do with the cash?" he asked when she showed him the letter she had received from Gerald.

"I was sort of thinking that maybe I could still publish the book," she said, asking a question as much as she was making a statement. "I haven't talked to Zack about it yet, but I'm sure he would like the opportunity to finish the project, and if you're interested, I think that the three of us could put together a pretty good final product."

"Oh, I was just thinking that five thousand dollars is a lot of money to pamper yourself with. Are you sure that would be enough money to publish a book?"

"Well I haven't run the numbers just yet, but if we volunteer our time, and if I can call in a few favours from friends at the office, I don't think I would have to borrow too much money on top of that."

"Would you get in trouble for selling the rights to a rival company?"

It was an idea that had crossed her mind, especially after getting those emails from Marlene, but she wasn't quite ready to give up control of the project.

"Did Zack tell you that he's talking to another publisher?" she asked.

"I haven't talked to him much lately," Oscar said. "I'm not on campus much these days, and when I have seen him, he's been a little awkward around me."

"That's too bad," Lydia said with a few theories developing already as to why. "How do you think he'll do with a different publisher?"

"Without you and me pushing him to be better, I don't think his new book will be as good."

"Very funny," she said sarcastically. "Does that mean you're on board with my idea?"

"It all depends on Zack," Oscar said. "Even with your windfall, we wouldn't be able to offer him much money, and he would be stuck working with a couple of people who'll give him a hard time about making his book more accessible. If he goes with the other company, they will pay him and probably just ask him to church up his writing a little more. Given that choice, I'm not sure he'll pick us."

"Good point," Lydia said, "but I think I'll still call him and see what he says."

Once they had made it out of the city, Lydia started watching the farms beside the highway for clues about the kind of work they might be doing. There was no activity on any of the fields they passed, and it looked like they hadn't been touched since last year's harvest.

After a while Lydia noticed he was just staring off into the distance looking at nothing in particular.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm still just waking up I guess," he said.

"It's nine o'clock, Oscar."

Oscar hesitated for a while before finally saying, "It was two months ago today."

"What was?" Lydia asked.

"Breaking up with Evangeline," Oscar said. "I didn't think she would hold on this long."

"I thought you said that you knew she would never apologize?"

"I didn't think she would say sorry, but I thought she might recognize in some small way that she had done something wrong. I hoped she would be willing to reach out at some point. That's the way it always went, I would give in a little and she would give in a little and things would go back to normal, except it was always me reaching out first. Why won't she just admit she did something wrong?"

Oscar hadn't talked this much about his fiancée for a long time. Lydia didn't see this coming. She didn't know if she should pretend to indulge him or if she should reassure him that he had made the right decision and say again that he was better off without her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You don't want to hear about this." He genuinely regretted having brought it up and of all people he didn't want Lydia to hear him talk like this.

"Sure I do," she insisted, trying her best to sound convincing. "Why wouldn't I want to hear about it?"

Instead of answering the question, Oscar was happy to change the subject. "Did Ben say anything about the kind of work we'd be doing today?" he asked.

"No. All I know is that he thinks that after this I'll see his spiritual point of view more clearly."

"I'm pretty sure it's too early to be sowing seeds or pulling weeds, and it's far too late to be harvesting anything."

"I didn't think you knew that much about farming," Lydia said.

"I don't. I'm just trying to think of the agricultural metaphors in the Bible."

The lighter Saturday morning traffic meant that they got out of the city in record time. Despite stopping for coffee along the way the two of them arrived at the Worsley farm twenty minutes early. When Ben didn't come out to greet them Oscar suggested they walk around the property to look for him.

The farmer emerged from the old wooden barn just as they were about to go in and look for him there. After greeting them, he looked over what they were wearing and remarked, "You guys are going to need some rubbers. There's lots of mud out there and your shoes will be caked in the stuff by the time we're finished. Don't worry, I've got lots of extra boots in the shed that other workers have left behind. I've got some gloves in there you'll need too."

There was a pair of boots that fit Oscar fairly well, but the closest Lydia could find was a men's pair that was one size too big. With their new footwear in place, they hopped in the back of Ben's pickup truck and rode out to the northeast corner of his farm. Lydia had never ridden in the back of a truck before and certainly not one without a tailgate.

"This is where I grow my cabbage," he said when he pulled up to a small field among the trees. "The extra shade from the forest keeps the leaves crisp and because the ground is a little lower there's plenty of moisture and the heads grow a little bigger."

"Hence the mud?" asked Oscar.

"You got it," Ben said. "I'm gonna come by here with the plough when you two are finished, but what I need you to do is go along the edge of the bush here and cut back about two feet of this overgrowth."

Then he waded into the long grass and explained to them the kind of things - tree branches, thorns and shrubs - that he wanted to be cut down.

"Any questions?" he asked after the demonstration.

Lydia and Oscar shook their heads. They understood the instructions and the foremost questions on their mind weren't ones that he was going to answer, questions like "Why are we here?" and "Don't you have a machine to do this?"

Mr. Worsley gave them two tools, a long sickle and a pair of pruning shears. "They might look like antiques, but I ran them over the grindstone just this morning. They'll cut what you want them to, and if you're not careful, they'll cut what you don't want them to as well."

"So you're not going to help us?" Lydia asked.

"No," he replied. "I've got a bunch of things to do back in the barn. Besides, if I stayed out here with you, none of us would get any work done with me yammering on the whole time. I'll check in on you in an hour or so."

"Which one do you want?" Oscar asked Lydia when Ben had driven off.

"That thing looks a little creepy," she said, pointing at the sickle. "I think I'll use the scissors."

They struggled with the overgrowth for a while. It took quite a bit of adjusting before she figured out how to hold the long wooden handles right and what type of plants she could actually cut through. Like most men, Oscar had never swung a sickle before, but soon developed a sense of rhythm with it. She would cut down the branches growing above her and the thorns growing around her feet and gathering everything up at the edge of the field. Oscar chopped through the small bushes and the thicker bunches of grass. Then he would add his debris to Lydia's piles and throw everything farther into the forest.

They didn't talk much as they worked. Lydia was focussed on doing the job right and on what she was supposed to be learning. Despite the silence, they had managed to work well together. After an hour of working, Lydia's thoughts had produced very little fruit.

"What do you think he wants me to learn through this?" Lydia asked.

Oscar pulled the hood from his sweater over his head and held the sickle in front of him. "Yeah, it seems odd that he would want you to have the experience of the Grim Reaper following you around all day."

"I hope that's not it," she said, laughing at his attempt to be intimidating.

"Maybe he just wants some free labour," Oscar said.

"He offered to pay us."

"Well, even if I knew, I'm pretty sure he wants you to figure it out on your own so I shouldn't tell you."

"Just get back to work," she said, picking up her shears again.

They kept working and the more progress they made on the field, the more confused Lydia got. Her arms were aching more and more and they seemed to be barely inching along the edge of the field. The more pain she felt, the more she wondered why he had given them this task in the first place.

Ben came out just before twelve with a thermos of soup, a bag of crackers, a few cans of pop and a plastic container of homemade cookies.

"You two got a lot more work done than I thought you would," he said as he spread the lunch contents across an open patch of grass. "What's the matter, this guy got nothing interesting to say?" he asked, nudging Oscar with his elbow.

Oscar laughed. "She just doesn't have a sense of humour when she's getting her hands dirty."

Lydia just rolled her eyes as the two men laughed at her expense.

Ben sat down on the ground and invited Oscar and Lydia to join him. Normally she would hesitate to just sit down on the grass, but since her legs and arms badly needed a rest and her clothes were already dirty, she wasn't going to be picky about where she wanted to sit.

Ben took off his hat and asked Oscar if he would say thanks for the meal, so Oscar pulled back his hood and said a simple prayer. It was quiet for a little while as they ate. The simple meal tasted a lot better than Lydia had expected it to.

When he was almost finished eating, Ben looked back over the field and said, "Looks like you should have it licked in another hour or so."

"Can you remind me again why we're doing this?" Lydia asked.

"You were right, Oscar," the farmer said. "She doesn't have a sense of humour when her hands are dirty."

"I can handle the work," she insisted, "but it just doesn't seem like it's worthwhile. We're only adding about two feet to the width of this field and that can't be any more than one row. No offense, but it seems like you're being a little greedy to do all this work for just a few extra heads of cabbage."

"You know, I had to do this same thing two years ago," Mr. Worsley explained. "In that time, this forest has slowly been reclaiming this field. I'm not making my field any bigger, I'm just taking back what I've lost since then."

"So this stuff just grows that quickly?" Oscar asked.

"Exactly! That's what I wanted you to see, Lydia. No matter how hard we humans work to destroy it, God's creation is fighting back. If I never did this, if I never trimmed along the edge of this field, pretty soon I would have no field at all. Gradually the forest would reclaim the field. God designed these plants to work that way, and long after we're gone, they'll do just fine. In fact, they'll thrive without us here."

"If Lydia's learned her lesson, does that mean we don't need to finish?" Oscar said.

"Now who doesn't have a sense of humour?" Lydia joked as she picked up his work gloves and threw them over to him again.

Lydia was hoping Ben would talk more about the point he was trying to make, but he and Oscar kept joking around, and the tone of the conversation shifted. During a lull in the conversation, Ben stood up and started to clear up the lunch dishes. Oscar and Lydia followed his cue and picked up their tools again.

"I'll check on you every hour or so," Ben said as he climbed onto the tractor, "but it shouldn't take you much longer."

With her hands on the shears again, Lydia looked a little closer at the plants she was cutting. In some cases she could see evidence on the tree branches that they had been pruned before, but those cuts had healed and the branches had grown out again. Suddenly the accidental and impersonal nature of the way she understood life to have evolved seemed inadequate. Wherever it was coming from, what was unfolding in front of her seemed to be a well orchestrated process, one that could be guiding life all over the world.

Soon they were approaching the end of the field. Lydia thought about how this would need to be done once more in a few years. She wondered if it would feel even more futile if she were the one to come back then and do the job all over again. Thinking that far down the road she started imagining where her life would take her in that time. Would she still be working at the same company? Would she have gotten a promotion by then or would she be stuck at an even lower level than she was already at? She also wondered about what sort of relationship she might be in. Would Oscar ever get over his breakup with Evangeline? Would it even be worthwhile for Lydia to wait for that to happen?

Lydia arrived at the end of their section before Oscar, and when she looked back, she saw in the newly expanded field a little bit of her own life. She saw her job, a position that required constant effort, not only to move up and get promoted, but also to remain relevant in the industry and to be a necessary employee for her company. She also saw a number of her relationships that, if left unattended, would eventually disintegrate. She also saw more clearly than ever the faith that Oscar was talking about. His convictions, his desire to accomplish good in the world and his hope for humanity must need to be reviewed and nurtured over and over again so they weren't overcome by the cynical, depressing and spiritually empty forces he faced every day. Maybe her own view of the world needed the same attention or else the same pessimistic influences would reclaim any spiritual ground she had made. It wasn't a moment of absolute clarity and she didn't think she had unravelled the mysteries of the universe, but it felt good to come to a deeper understanding of what was happening.

Oscar didn't know why she was smiling when he caught up to her, but he started smiling too. He sat immediately beside her in the grass and they looked back over the work they had accomplished. Soon the silence was broken when they could hear Mr. Worsley's tractor approaching.

He waved at them as he entered from the adjacent field. Positioning himself along the edge, where Oscar and Lydia had just finished working, Ben lowered his plough into the earth and slowly made his way around. Two years worth of grass, weeds, bushes and branches were being worked into the ground, and fresh new topsoil was being turned up over it. The two volunteer farmhands watched in silence as the machine approached. The steady knocking of the old engine grew louder the closer it came and soon its diesel fumes wafted into their nostrils. As the tractor passed by, Lydia was overwhelmed by the sound of twigs snapping and stems, roots and leaves being cut up by the unforgiving blade of the plough.

Oscar stood up and reached his hand out to Lydia.

"Maybe we should make our way back to the farm," he said as he pulled her to her feet.

He picked up their tools and starting walking along the side of the trail left by Mr. Worsley. Until that moment Lydia didn't know that soil had a scent. It smelled new and hopeful and whole. Ahead of her was a clear line with a field on one side, which she had just helped to extend and which would soon bring life to plants that would feed people, and a forest on the other side, where new spring growth would soon flourish, revealing the rejuvenating power of life. With dirt under her fingernails and the muscles aching in her arms, she walked forward, knowing there was more work to come, but she would not be walking alone.

From: Marlene Eriksson

To: Lydia Phillips

Subject: Re: Christian book publishing question

Hello Lydia,

Thank you for your impressions of Mr. Mackenzie. We've been impressed in all of our dealings with him as well.

I also appreciate your openness to discuss your book project. There's a natural tendency in our profession to simply pore over the material, look for typographical errors and focus on marketability. It's easy to forget sometimes that the books we're producing still need to be meaningful to us first if they have any hope of impacting people outside our industry walls. I would love to hear you elaborate on what you've learned from the process.

Thanks,

Marlene Eriksson

Tablet of the Heart Press

From: Lydia Phillips

To: Marlene Eriksson

Subject: Re: Christian book publishing question

Hi Marlene,

I did learn a lot while I was putting this book together, but I've never really had to lay it out in front of me. Looking back now though, I wish I had asked different questions. Zack and his friend Oscar were great at trying to help me understand the Christian demographic we were targeting, but I think I only scratched the surface of what I could have learned from them in that context.

It's funny to think about how my impression of this project changed from beginning to end. At first I thought I wasn't qualified to lead the team or oversee the book, and since I guess I would have called myself an agnostic I certainly wasn't comfortable with the subject matter. As it got moving though, I started to feel validated and important because I felt like I was working toward something bigger than myself. Then, when it was cancelled, I felt like the only thing tying me to the company I worked for was gone. I've come to terms with it now, but I think that maybe my problem was that I was holding the book up on a pedestal, dreaming of a time when a perfect finished product would be completed. I should have been just as wrapped up in the process of making the book. The book and the process by which it arrives cannot be separated from each other. I've come to realize that whether I'm forming relationships, working on my career or developing a book like this, the journey itself isn't more or less important than the destination, it is the destination. As long as I keep working to make it as good as I can, I am where I should be.

\- Lydia

From: Marlene Eriksson

To: Lydia Phillips

Subject: Re: Christian book publishing question

Hello Lydia,

It sounds like you really did learn a lot from the process. Maybe I should contact Oscar, this friend that you and Zack have both mentioned.

I don't suppose there is a chance that I would be able to read the documents your team had put together before it was cancelled?

Thanks,

Marlene Eriksson

Tablet of the Heart Press

From: Lydia Phillips

To: Marlene Eriksson

Subject: Re: Christian book publishing question

Hi Marlene,

By some stroke of fate, my company no longer actually owns the copyright of the documents, I do. How about you send me a signed non-disclosure agreement, and I'll send you everything I've got?

\- Lydia

###

**Discussion Questions**

Chapters 1-3

1. Do Lydia's Sunday morning anxieties line up with your own?

2. How is your place of work similar to church?

3. Lydia struggles with her employer's preference for appearance over substance. Is that really a necessary part of the industry?

4. What are the dangers of over-valuing policies and procedures in the face of seemingly obvious shortcoming as Luke and Melvin do in Chapter 2?... in a workplace?... a relationship?...religion?

5. Is it right for Westminster Printers to try to capitalize on the Christian market without being a Christian company?

Chapters 4-6

1. Would you buy a book written by Reverend Joseph Ballard

2. Why do you think Lydia feels uncomfortable around him?

3. How much do rules play a part of healthy relationships?

4. What does it mean to not "let religion get in too deep" as Oscar says? Is it possible?

5. The religion vs. relationship debate is ongoing within the church. What are the flaws of adhering too close to one extreme? What are the flaws of trying to find the perfect middle ground?

6. How would Mr. Worsley's actions be received where you live?

7. Lydia struggles to reconcile Mr. Worsley's message of peace with the history of the Christian church. Is she right to do so?

8. Is it easier for conservative Christians to identify with liberal Christians or with conservative non-Christians? What should be the case?

9. Would you buy a book written by Benjamin Worsley?

Chapter 7-9

1. Would you buy a book written by Alistair Graham?

2. Would you sign up to stay at his retreat center? Would this kind of place be of benefit to the church?... our society?

3. The Bible story of Esther is a cherished tale of a brave and virtuous woman. How could Monica read it so differently?

4. Why does Lydia seem to like Ms. Lang more than the rest?

5. Is Oscar's comparison of Christianity and Feminism fair?

6. Which stream of Christianity, the civil society or the rebellious, resonates more with your understanding and experience?

Candidate packages

1. How accurate is Reverend Joseph Ballard's depiction of the relationship between church and state?

2. How coincidental/accidental is it that the groups mentioned by Benjamin Worsley were environmentally progressive?

3. Alistair Graham suggests you can't experience worthwhile prayer/meditation with a cell phone on your person. Do you agree?

4. Would a compilation of redemptive stories of abused women be an interesting read?

5. Which of the four potential authors appeals to you the most?

Chapters 10-12

1. Is the Board fair in their dismissal of the various candidates?

2. Why does Lydia enjoy the pie so much?

3. Is Oscar accurate in his assessment of pastors being unnecessary, or does his opinion flow out of resent for his future father-in-law?

4. Should Oscar and Zack's tendency to disagree interfere with the project?

5. How would you define 'religion'?

Two more potential authors

1. What are some weaknesses to Zack's religion/language metaphor that you see?... that you think Lydia might see?

2. How do you feel about the hymn "Amazing Grace"?

3. Why does Gerald's mother help Lydia?

Chapters 13-14

1. Is Gerald justified in asking about Oscar and Lydia's relationship?

2. Does sharing spiritual 'aha moments' interfere with our public sense of religion as a private matter as Melvin asserts?

3. Who appreciates literature more, the person committed to reading it frequently, or the person reading it for the first time?

4. What do you think is the real reason that Oscar didn't suggest Evangeline's father as a potential author?

5. What proof do our married households have of our status?

Chapters 15-16

1. In the context of Oscar and Evangeline's date, is it more therapeutic to give or to receive an apology?

2. Are Oscar's Christian friends really that bad at listening and empathizing?

3. Why did Oscar leave Lydia's apartment that night?

Chapters 17-18

1. Is being a pain-killer a good or a bad metaphor for religion?

2. What do you think a disclaimer laden drug-style commercial for Christianity sound like?

3. Is Evangeline's father justified in trying to disqualify Oscar from the scholarship?

4. Melvin says that the company exists not to help people but to sell books. Lydia disagrees. Who is ultimately correct?

Chapter 19

1. Lydia feels Oscar is entitled to skip church given the circumstances, but he still insists on going elsewhere. Why?

2. Why is it irritating when people drive speed limit? Should it be?

3. Was Oscar out of line to take Lydia to Bethpage?

4. Do Lydia's experiences with prayer resonate with your own?

5. Why did Lydia lie about who Oscar was?

Chapters 20-21

1. Did Gerald come to his decision based on finances or was something else involved?

2. Is Westminster Printers right to hold the copyright to all of Zack's writing?

3. Did Gerald's mother not trust her son to complete the project or was she really invested in Lydia?

4. Why doesn't Lydia negotiate more aggressively?

5. Would you read "A Marriage of Equals"?

Chapter 22

1. What are Lydia's spiritual expectations of her trip to the Worsley farm? Oscar's? Mr. Worsley?

2. How necessary is the work that she and Oscar do?

3. Where do you think Lydia's journey will take her? Oscar? Evangeline? Zack's book?

About the Author

William Loewen is the pastor of Trinity Mennonite Church, just outside of Calgary, Alberta. Before that he worked in education and resource development in a volunteer capacity in South Korea and as a pastor in Ontario. He has ten years of combined experience in church ministry.

A Pie Plate Pilgrimage is the first book written by William Loewen. He is also a contributor on an upcoming anthology entitled, A Living Alternative: Anabaptist Christianity in a Post-Christendom World, available in the fall of 2014. Together with his wife Ana, he wrote a full length musical, The Shadows of Grossmunster, which tells the story of one of the early Anabaptist Christian communities in Zurich, Switzerland. He has also had a number of articles published in other religious publications and community newspapers. His blog can be found at www.thirdway.ca.

William Loewen is married and has three children, Ruby, Sebastian and Felicity.

Special Thanks

While there is one name on the front of the novel, there are many people whose thoughts and actions contributed to making this a better book, and owe each of them a debt of gratitude.

Many, many people read full or partial manuscripts and gave helpful feedback and whole sections were added or removed because of what they said. They taught me a lot about what works and what doesn't work. They taught me about grammar; I even learned how to use a semi-colon properly.

Krista Wiebe at Clear Cut Editing was supportive and corrective at the same time, and she did a lot to help me polish it into something ready for public consumption.

My congregation encouraged me to indulge my creative writing pursuits, and without that support, this project may never have been completed.

Much is written in these pages about what it means to be a pastor. I have been blessed to have been led by and to have worked alongside some incredible pastors. I hope my own form of pastoring looks more like the spiritual guidance Oscar offers than the dominance and entitlement modelled by Reverend Ballard and Evangeline's father, as it has for my own pastors, co-pastors and pastoral colleagues.

Finally, thanks to you, the reader, for investing the time and energy to read through my book. The marketplace is full of other books and your week is full of other opportunities, so I am honoured to have been able to share this time with you. If you have any questions or comments about the book, please feel free to contact me through my blog (www.thirdway.ca) or my twitter account (@wjloewen). Also, if you liked the book, I would appreciate if you would write a review with the retailer or at my page on goodreads.com.

