Beauty Queen by Patricia Nell Warren Read Free Book Online Page B

if he too were carried away by her grand plan. But when he spoke again, his words surprised her.
    "If you do even some of this, Sister Jean, it will be a great work," he said. "A great victory for the word of God."
    He paused, and the click-click of the old lawn mower came through the open window, and the whispering of the elms by the church.
    "But," said Reverend Irving, jabbing his knotted forefinger toward her, "I see that you are not entering into this holy battle with the peace of Jesus Christ in your heart. I see that you are not entering into this holy battle with a love for these sinners."
    Jeannie tried to keep her surprise off her face. She had expected total approval from Reverend Irving. But the old man always had a way of surprising you.
    "Yes, their sin is the most defiling, the most binding of all sins," said Reverend Irving, warming to his sermon now. "But they are still sinners who can be saved. The blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ can save even them. We must hate the sin with all our hearts and all our minds. But we must love the sinner, because Jesus Christ has commanded us to love all sinners. He did not say, 'Love thee one another except for homosexuals.' He said, 'Love thee one another, no exceptions, no ifs, ands or buts.'"
    He fell silent again, his blazing blue eyes boring into hers from beneath his shaggy snow-white brows. (She had always wanted to take a pair of manicure scissors and clip his eyebrows.)
    She felt confused and off-balance.
    "It's not merely a question," the Reverend went on, "of making it hard for these people to practice their evil ways. That we should do. But we must work to bring the word of God to them, to lead them to the truth and the light. Remember what Jesus said about the lost sheep. And we cannot be bearers of the Word, Sister Jean, if we have hate in our hearts."
    They sat silent for several minutes. The cups of tea stopped steaming, forgotten on the edge of the desk.
    Finally Reverend Irving said softly, "And your hatred for homosexuals has little to do with their sin. You hate them because you are anxious for your own children. And you are anxious for your children, not because you fear that they will be corrupted, but because you fear that you have failed them."
    Jeannie sat with bowed head, crushed.
    "And," added Reverend Irving, "because of this load of guilt that you carry regarding your mother. And I've told you a million times, Sister Jean, your mother is with Jesus. Your mother knows that you are saved."
    Far off, over the lawn, she could hear a car engine start up near the activity hall, and the sound of teenagers' voices. "You know me far too well," she whispered.
    Reverend Irving gave a cackling delighted little laugh. "Not nearly so well as God knows you. Imagine how uncomfortable Jesus could make you feel, if He were sitting here in my chair."
    Reverend Irving reached for her hand, and patted it gently, with those cool, silky-feeling hands that old people always have.
    "Now, Sister Jean, you came here today all fired up with your idea, and you expected me to put a rubber stamp of
    approval on it. Didn't you? Well, I do approve of it. But I don't approve of the spirit in which you are going about it. Now you have accepted the Lord Jesus Christ. You have repented and confessed. You have been born again. But salvation is not a one-time thing. Salvation is every day, praying and working to enter more fully into the will of God. Salvation goes on from the moment you accept the Lord to the moment you enter into His glory. It's the difference between driving a plane and putting it on automatic pilot. We don't get to Heaven on automatic pilot."
    Jeannie sat drooping in her silk shirtwaist dress. Of course the Reverend Irving made perfect sense. He always made sense. That was why he was the guest columnist in Christian Home. That was why he still spoke at jubilees and conventions and radio stations all over the country.
    "Yes," she said slowly, "I'm at my wit's end