A Shiloh Christmas by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor Read Free Book Online Page B

preacher says, and closes the door. Softly. But in my face.

six
    R IDING TO SCHOOL ON M ONDAY , I notice signs Popping up on people’s lawns—red and blue, red and white, some of them red, white, and blue. Must be another election coming up, I figure. I don’t pay much mind to elections unless it’s national; then, if we elect a new president and vice president, I got two more names to memorize for history.
    This time it’s a local election, Ma says, and one of the things people will be voting for is whether the county should invest in new, up-to-date science books. If you read some of the signs, though, you’d think God was on the ballot. One sign says THE BIBLE’S NEVER OUT OF DATE. VOTE NO! And sure enough, five days later, there’s a billboard down on Route 2 saying IT’S RIGHT TO WANT THE BEST FOR OUR CHILDREN! VOTE YES ON QUESTION 4.
    And then, coming home from school, going the other way, I see a sign along the sidewalk, A VOTE FOR GRIDLEY IS A VOTE FOR GOD.
    Sure would like to know if God takes sides. Grandma Slater, Ma’s mom, when she was alive, stayed out of politics completely and put it all in God’s hands. On judgment day, she told us, God divides the sheep from the goats, that’s all we should be worrying about. But that got me to thinking that if all the people in the world were lined up to be judged, it was going to be a mighty long time before lunch. Guess I was just hungry.
    Dad strained his back working on the new addition, so this Sunday he takes a break and comes to church with us. Says it’s time he met the preacher, anyway.
    Find out they’ve started a little Sunday school in the basement for children under seven, so I figure it wasn’t just Becky got upset over Pastor Dawes’s sermon the week before. Becky don’t want to go to it, though—wants to sit with us, but since they’re giving out Jesus sticker books, she finally goes downstairs. So it’s Dara Lynn sitting between our dad and mama, and she has the smile of a saint on her face.
    To the preacher’s credit, he don’t preach politics neither. First off, he’s new around here, so he don’t knowGridley or any of the other people on the ballot. But he sure knows about sin, and this morning he’s on his favorite topic. I tell you, that man has 150 ways you can sin without even thinkin’ about it.
    â€œMake no mistake,” he says, leaning forward, hands holding tight to both sides of the pulpit, “God knows all your excuses. He knows how you can slide right into sin while telling yourself you’re only human. . . .”
    Then he looks square down at our faces, and his eyes travel from one row to the next. “How many of us ever looked at a neighbor’s new car and wished it was ours? How many of us spend some time with the sick or dying and make sure our neighbors hear about it? How many of us have let our eyes wander over to someone else’s paper for an answer on a test?”
    Now his voice gets louder: “You may love God like you should, but do you fear him like you should? Do you imagine for one moment he can’t read the most private thoughts that ever passed through your head?
    â€œBrothers and sisters, we may already be worshipping the wrong god, the god of money ”—and he brings his fist down hard on the pulpit, BANG! —“the god of power ”—another bang—“the god of self-conceit ”— BANG!
    Dara Lynn likes all the noise, I can tell. I see her slidea small smile up toward Dad, but he don’t take his eyes off the preacher.
    When he ends his sermon, Pastor Dawes says we’ve got to be the Lord’s soldiers. We’ve got to be his army, fighting sin wherever we see it—in ourselves, our families, our neighbors, and our community. . . .
    We sing “Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus,” Mrs. Maxwell playing the piano, and the service is