The Visitation by Frank Peretti Read Free Book Online Page B

now, but that didn’t take away the tremors deep inside me.
    We walked along the sidewalk toward the front door.
    “I haven’t been in too many Catholic churches,” Kyle said quietly.
    “I’ve only been here once, for a funeral,” I admitted. “I don’t know that the ministerial’s ever met here. But Kyle . . .” I stopped, he stopped. I had to get this said before we went in. “I’m never going to tell you to compromise your convictions. But remember what the Bible says about being sly as a serpent and harmless as a dove.”
    He wasn’t quite getting my message, I could tell. He gave me a suspicious look. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean . . .” Suddenly I found it hard to form an answer with him looking at me like that. “I mean, there’s a time to speak out and there’s a time to just listen and, you know, stay cool.”
    “Stay cool?”
    Something else came to mind. “With this bunch, it’s easy to get into a discussion that just goes around in circles, and take it from me, if you really want to go around in circles, it’s best to find a merry-go-round somewhere, you follow me?”
    “A merry-go-round.” Now the look in his eyes had to be something he normally reserved for Mormons at his front door.
    “Think of it as two gravel trucks going opposite directions on a one-way street. Sure, one of them is wrong, but both of them are going to get smashed when they hit, right?”
    “You’re not telling me to compromise?”
    “No. I’m just telling you to be wise. Be discreet.”
    He thought about that a moment, and finally— finally— he relaxed and smiled. “Okay, Travis. I gotcha.”
    “All right. That’s all I’m going to say.”
    The brass handle on the big paneled door yielded, and the door opened. There were two other men in the foyer, and the moment I saw them, I thought I’d seen everything. Howard Munson and Andy Barker were standing on either side of the sanctuary door, peering into the sanctuary like two kids sneaking a peek at something forbidden. They turned as we entered and recognized me at once.
    “Travis!” said Howard, the older one with the balding head and wire-rimmed glasses. He offered his hand. “Great to see you again!”
    I introduced him to Kyle and told Kyle how he pastored the Gospel Light Pentecostal Tabernacle over on the southeast corner of town, that little white chapel near the grain elevators.
    Howard introduced Andy, a young wheat farmer with stern-looking eyes even when he smiled. Howard said nothing about the small, independent Bible study Andy led in his home, a little group that had split off from Howard’s church over a dispute about— well, about Howard. I didn’t tell Kyle about Howard having a strong, negative opinion about every other church but his own, but Kyle may have noticed my surprise to see these two together and within the walls of a Catholic church. Of course, neither had actually gone farther than the foyer.
    Howard looked through the sanctuary door again, shook his head in pain and disgust and muttered to us, “Incredible. Just incredible.”
    The sanctuary was a comfortable, intimate place that could seat, I figured, about a hundred worshipers. It was warmly colored, with dark wood pews, red carpet runners down the aisles, and brass fixtures. The crucifix was in its traditional location, on the front wall above the altar, illuminated by a ceiling-mounted spotlight.
    There were at least twenty people occupying the pews toward the front. Some were kneeling, some were sitting, all were looking steadfastly at the crucifix. I recognized the couple I’d seen at Judy’s the night before sitting right on the aisle.
    “They’re waiting for the crucifix to cry again,” Andy whispered.
    “Incredible,” Howard repeated, shaking his head again.
    The ladder Arnold Kowalski had used to reach the crucifix was still where he’d left it, and now a man sat next to it reading from a psalm book.
    Howard leaned close. “That’s some kind of