Prayer, Inc.

Wednesday came. Kurt did not attend his Men’s Group prayer meeting. He and Tricia did not attend church the following Sunday. No one called, no one wondered about their absence, nor did anyone call when Kurt didn’t attend the following week’s Men’s Group, or when the left side of the fourth-row pew was empty the following Sunday.    

Tricia began to feel the strangeness when she went to the grocery store, the cynical eyes upon her, the stony glances cast her way. The cold, false smiles hiding a biting contempt. The twins were teased at school, being called spoiled rich kids and rich brats.  
 
The phone rang rarely. The only calls to the house phone came from Tricia’s parents or Kurt’s sister; any business calls for Kurt came through on his cell phone. Their routine remained the same, but there was a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the snow and the cold.    

In January, an anonymous sender sent a letter addressed to Tricia and Kurt. Scrawled on a single page in blue ink was
James 2:15-16

Kurt looked it up.  
 
If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, be warmed and filled,” without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that?  
 
February came. Kurt and Tricia continued to distance themselves from the community. They didn’t discuss the lawsuit with anyone other than themselves or John Keer. The false smiles at the grocery stores had vanished altogether, only to be re­plac­ed by low, conspiratorial whispers and looks of deep condescension.  
 
Finally, one Wednesday night, Kurt shocked the men by attending the prayer meeting. All were taken aback, uncomfortable and fidgety like nervous second graders on the first day of school.    

“I’ll make this short,” he said, addressing the men around the table. He took a seat and looked around.

“I haven’t made any comment to any of you—to anyone, for that fact—regarding your lawsuit, and I don’t intend to do so tonight. I came here tonight to say good-bye to all of you. Tricia and I have decided that a move would be in our best interests. 
   
“When we came to this town shortly after we were married, we really felt like we’d found a home. We loved the area, the people. We loved the church. We felt as though we belonged.”    

He paused, glancing at the men. Most of them wouldn’t meet his eyes.    

“We don’t feel that way any longer. We don’t feel a part of the community, we don’t feel like we’re part of the church. You’ve essentially kicked me out of the group.” He laughed. “I think I might be the only man alive that’s happened to. How does someone get kicked out of a bible study?”  
 
“You’ve always been welcome here,” Chuck said solemnly, staring at the floor. 
   
Kurt laughed. “What, after you attempt to extort millions of dollars from me? What in God’s name do you think prayer is for? While you were praying, did you honestly think that if your prayers were answered that I’d write a check for each and every one of you? Is that what prayer is to you guys? Some great, cosmic casino? A roll of the dice or a spin of the roulette wheel with the possibility of a big payoff?”  
 
“Money changed you, Kurt,” Jerry said, making no attempt hide the contempt in his voice. “We’ve all seen it.

Several of the men nodded.  
 
“Changed me? How so?”    

“Before that deal went through,” one of the men said, “you were struggling. You were just trying to get by, just like us. You shared your heart with the group. You prayed, asking for God’s wisdom and guidance. We all prayed for you. Even after you got that money, we all prayed for His wisdom and guidance to do what was right. You did some nice things for the church.”  
 
“I didn’t do it to pay anyone back,” Kurt said. “That money—the sale of my ideas, my intellectual product—wasn’t a gift from God. I earned it. I worked for it. God allowed me to do that with the brain he gave me, a healthy body, a supportive wife and family. I hardly saw Tricia and the twins for over a year. And my reward? It was the payoff I’d always expected, the payoff I’d earned for myself and my family.”    

“You were blessed,” one of the men said.    

“We’re all blessed,” Kurt replied. “We’re all blessed, but you’ve been blinded. You’ve been blinded by your envy and your own greed. You see what I’ve rightfully earned and wanted me to share it with you. You expected it. Well, you’re not going to get it. I don’t care if the lawsuit is tied up in court for ten years. I don’t care if I have to pay legal bills that are bigger than what I would have paid each of you. None of you are getting a penny.”    

“We’ve been praying for you,” Jerry said.  
 
“Then please stop,” Kurt replied, and a teaspoon of bitterness lingered on his lips. “I see what happened the last time you did.”    
There was a long, shadowy silence. The only sound came from the ticking of the furnace in the other room.

“Tricia and I are moving in two weeks,” Kurt said quietly. “We’re closing down the business and moving downstate, near Tricia’s parents. I wish I could say I was going to miss you guys, but I can’t.”    

Kurt stood.    

“Good night and good-bye,” he said.    

Exactly two weeks later, the last of the moving trucks had departed the Wheeling residence. Their house was empty; only the echoes of a home remained. Kurt had driven the Grand Am to their new home the previous week, and the only thing left was Tricia’s SUV and a few small boxes. The girls were in the back seat playing video games. The move hadn’t seemed to matter much to them. They had few friends at school, and were looking forward to new surroundings and spending more time with their doting grandparents.  
 
Kurt and Tricia, hand in hand, completed a final walk through their home. It was listed for sale but hadn’t sold despite the low asking price; a price the realtor thought ludicrous. Kurt had hoped that it would attract buyers. There had been a few tire kickers, but no serious interest.

“We did have a good time here,” Tricia said, wiping a tear from her eyes. Kurt slipped his arm around her waist.

“Many more good times on the way,” he said, and he kissed her on the cheek. They locked the front door, got into the SUV, and drove off.    

Passing the church, Kurt saw the familiar cars in the parking lot. It was Wednesday, just after six, and the Men’s Group was meeting. He looked away as the vehicle passed.    

The SUV stopped at the intersection. Kurt waited for a car to pass. He was about to turn left, to head for the freeway on-ramp, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked both ways, glanced in the rearview mirror, made a U-turn, and pulled into the church parking lot.    

Tricia looked at him, an unspoken question on her face. In the back seat the girls fumbled with their video games, oblivious.    
Kurt gave his wife an easy slap on her leg and two gentle squeezes. “Be right back,” he said.    

His footsteps echoed on the stairs as he made his way to the basement. All eyes were upon him as he descended into the room.    
None of the men seemed uncomfortable with his presence. Indeed, none of them seemed to care that he was even there at all. Each face held its own private grief, its own dark, stormy climate.  
 
The furnace at the back of the room ticked a faint, clicking heartbeat.    

“We’re on our way out,” Kurt said quietly. “I know I’ve already said good-bye and told you that I wouldn’t miss you guys. That’s not true. I am going to miss you. At least, the times we had. Despite what’s happened, I’ve missed my time here with you. I’d say that I wish things were different, but I don’t waste my time wishing.”    

“We wish things were different, too,” one of the men said. “This town sure could use your help right about now.”    

Kurt cocked his head. “How so?”    

“Didn’cha hear?” Jerry said. “Factory’s closing down. Not in a year, not in a month. It’s closed. Gave no reason. Today was the last day. We all got two weeks pay. That’s it.”  
 
Kurt was silent as he looked around the room. When he spoke, his words were solemn, sincere.  
 
“I’m sorry that had to be done,” he said. 
   
Heads raised, and stunned eyes met his. The furnace spoke.  
 
Tick. Tick. Tick . . . .    

Kurt drew a slow breath. “Tricia and I donated a lot of money to this church,” he said. “We kept our promise to ourselves and to God. But we also wanted to be careful with our money, we wanted to invest it wisely. What better way to invest in the community and the people we love than by putting everyone to work?”  
 
Faces fell in cold realization and disbelief.    

“Back in January,” Kurt continued, “someone sent a bible verse to us in the mail. It was James chapter two, verses fifteen and sixteen. Now I’ll reply with Matthew chapter six, verses three and four.”      
 
Several men slowly opened their bibles. Others just stared at the floor. Chuck Seawold found the verse and read it aloud.    
“‘But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.’    

“When I told you two weeks ago that I was closing the business,” Kurt continued, “did you think I was talking about my little computer shop?”  
 
He looked around the room, at the shocked expressions and slack jaws, drew a long breath through his nostrils, and continued.    
“Tricia and I bought the factory last year. We hired another company to run it for us. We were, in essence, silent partners who stayed away from the day-to-day operations. By putting so many people to work, we felt it would be one of the best investments we could make in our community, and a way to help our friends. There was no need for anyone to know who really owned the factory, or why. The left hand never needed to know what the right hand was doing.”    

He stopped speaking, and the room filled with a thick, swampy muteness. Then, the only sounds were the maddening ticks of the furnace and the fading echoes of Kurt’s footsteps as he strode up the stairs and out the big oak church doors. He got into the SUV, took Tricia’s hand, and they drove away in silence.

Christopher Knight is most famous as the mastermind behind the popular American Chiller series by Johnathan Rand, but he has also published several books for adults. Mr. Knight lives with his family in northern Michigan. He can be reached through his web site at www.americanchillers.com.

This is the last of a three part series. Look for Part I in the October 2011 issue of the Mackinac Journal and Part II in the November 2011 issue of the Mackinac Journal.