He touched his fingertips together. “Susannah, you have helped me see the potential for The Road to Calvary and not give up. This is my way of saying thank you. As for money, God will provide. Tomorrow, we’ll get you some groceries, so you won’t starve.” The reverend stretched out his right hand. “Good night, Susannah.” Ray reached into his pocket, removing a business card and pen. “I almost forgot—here’s my home number if you need anything. If you’re an early riser, I’d be happy to pick you up for breakfast.”
She gratefully clasped his hand, eyes wet and glistening. “Breakfast sounds wonderful. Thank you, Reverend. I’m very, very grateful.”
14
WEDNESDAY, JULY 10, 2002 ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI THE ROAD TO CALVARY SET
Two weeks after the first live broadcast, the Reverend Ray stepped from behind the podium, skimming the congregation from the stage. He estimated the audience had grown to over three hundred, a perfect occasion to offer every one of them an opportunity to live the word of God.
“Friends, today we heard about using our many and varied gifts in answering God’s call. But I leave you with a challenge.” Ray, in a contemporary navy suit, looked across the many faces. “The Road to Calvary requests your gifts and talents—singers, songwriters, musicians, carpenters, electricians, seamstresses, and many others—to keep this ministry alive. In the fellowship line today, we will be asking those of you we are acquainted with to heed God’s call and put your talents to use.” He smiled warmly at his flock. “How many of you will accept the challenge and answer God’s call?”
Several audience members raised their hands in response, waving them around like kindergarteners eager to pass out a snack. For the next hour, the reverend and Susannah asked enthusiastic members to take on various duties.
An elderly woman with fleshy forearms grasped Ray’s hand, shaking it firmly. “I’m Mildred Watson, and I’m a seamstress. I’ve been sewing since I was a young girl. I’ll make new choir robes.”
“As soon as we have a choir,” he began, and before he finished the sentence, hands raised down the line, voices clamoring to be heard.
“I’ll be in the choir.”
“Me, too!”
“I have experience directing a choir,” another voice added.
“Well, this is answering God’s call.” Ray grinned.
“All you had to do was ask, Reverend,” said Mildred. “I’ll start a sign-up sheet for members, and I can start measuring folks today,” she said, pulling a tape measure out of her purse.
Susannah slipped from the receiving line and helped Mildred take names and measurements as excited parishioners queued up for the choir.
The man who’d expressed interest in directing the choir made his way to Ray. “Reverend Williams, my name’s Ryan McCarthy, and I have a degree in music from the Boston Conservatory. I believe I can assist with directing the choir.”
Ray marveled at what he was hearing, privately chastising himself for not thinking to approach the congregation sooner. Amid the bustling crowd, he caught Susannah’s eye. She beamed with contentment, and Ray wondered if she had any awareness of how much she had changed his life. Much had happened in a brief period, and he was a better pastor and a happier man for having realized that simply listening to Susannah Baker was just the beginning. Believing her seemed natural.
15
AUGUST 7, 2002 ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI THE CABLE STATION
In four weeks, the hard-working congregation had completely transformed the studio space. Carpenters built a moveable background of stained-glass windows and a raised stage. Mildred Watson delivered custom-made blue choir robes.
“Aren’t these robes beautiful?” Susannah clasped her hands together. “Mildred assembled a team of seamstresses to make these. And wait until you hear the choir sing!”
The choir gathered on the stage for a last run-through as Ray and Susannah looked on. “I understand Ryan directs both our singers and musicians and has written a song for today’s live broadcast,” he said.
The musicians finished tuning up, and Ryan began directing the choir, strains of a familiar melody filling the space.
Yesterday’s past and gone
And tomorrow’s coming into sight
Yes, it gladdens me in song, singing,
Help me make it to the Light.
Yes, it gladdens me in song, singing,
Help me make it to the Light.
“Well done, my friends, well done!” Ray was ecstatic.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Reverend,” Ryan said. “I think we’ll be even better live. We’re eager to share our gifts.”
Susannah put her hand on Ray’s forearm. “What did I tell you—God is bringing out the best in us.”
The cable station had a Wednesday evening slot open, and The Road to Calvary was happy to fill it. Ray had hoped for a permanent time slot on Sunday mornings since most people thought about church then, but right now, the costs were prohibitive. When the cable station offered Wednesday evenings, he had taken it. Even if this wasn’t their ideal hour, he trusted The Road to Calvary could use it to their advantage.
Glancing around the studio and seeing the handiwork of the congregation filled Ray with pride. Fresh flowers on stage bloomed in colors complementing the backdrop. Musicians and choir members were finishing Ryan’s song. This was all good, yet he felt vaguely apprehensive. Tonight would be the program’s first foray into technology. If they pulled this off, as Susannah was sure they would, The Road to Calvary would move in an entirely new direction.
A few moments later, Ray studied his audience from the stage. He was trying not to get distracted by thoughts of how the technology would work.
“How many of you are in the pit and want to come out?” The reverend paused as a few tentative hands went up. “How many of you are bogged down in the pit of addiction—drugs, sex, debt—and want to come out?” A few additional hands rose haltingly, and Ray kept talking, his voice growing louder with each question. “How many of you are trapped in the pit of adultery? In the pit of denial? In the pit of dishonesty? In the pit of abuse?” Ray deliberately scanned his audience as more and more hands rose into the air.
Into his earpiece, Buck’s voice crackled, “Okay, Ray, let’s see if this works. The overweight gentleman in the red short-sleeved shirt, sixth row from the front—he’s seated on the end and starting to cry. Name is Jim, and we’re lucky enough to have us a last name, Jameson. We’ve got ourselves a drinking problem.”
Ray sought out Susannah’s face. She smiled and nodded, as if to say, “Go ahead.” Encouraged by her presence, he marched with purpose up the aisle and took a deep breath. “You sir, Mr. Jim Jameson! You are trapped in the pit of alcoholism, but you are desperate to be free!”
Stunned as to how exactly the Reverend Ray knew his name, the quivering mass of a man stood up as Ray motioned for him to rise. Jeff tightly focused the camera on Jim’s tear-streaked face, words stammering out of his mouth. “Yes, sir. My name is Jim Jameson. How did you know? I’ve lost everything—my job, my house, savings. My wife said that if I didn’t come with her today, I’d lose her, too.”