“Well, perhaps it would be wise to keep such thoughts to yourself, Father. After all, it’s nearly 1900. I would say your thoughts are a bit archaic and out of place.”
“You know what your brother said, Herbert. Some of the Indians are even working for the railroad,” Mother announced. “Not to mention”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“the Mexicans.”
Susanna rolled her gaze toward heaven. How in the world were her parents ever to live and succeed in San Marcial, where the better part of the people around them were either Indians or Mexicans? They held such prejudices and didn’t see anything wrong in openly admitting their thoughts. She could only imagine the fights Gary would get into. He’d never lived around people of color. Topeka had small groups of such folks, but they stayed to certain parts of town, as was expected of them. Susanna seriously doubted Gary had ever spoken to someone with skin of a different color than his own. This would bring new experiences for them all.
They arrived at the Methodist church, and to Susanna’s delight, Carson Medford was there, welcoming folks into the building.
“Ah, Mrs. Jenkins,” he said, beaming a smile. “I’m so glad you could make it. Are these your folks?” he asked, nodding toward her parents.
“They are. Mr. Medford, this is my father, Herbert Ragsdale, my mother, Gladys, and brother, Gary. Family, this is Mr. Medford. He’s the one who . . . who . . . had the house for us.”
“It’s a solid house, to be sure,” Susanna’s father declared. “I’m grateful that it was available so quickly.”
“The Lord always has these things worked out. Welcome to the Methodist church. I think you’ll enjoy worshipping with us,” Mr. Medford declared. “We can raise the roof with our singing.”
“How interesting,” Mother said, forcing a smile.
“Let me guide you to a seat.” Mr. Medford led the way, taking them to an empty row second from the front.
Mother nodded with a look of smug satisfaction as she gazed around at the other congregants. At their church in Topeka, the more important the family, the closer they sat to the front. This spot would very much meet with her mother’s approval.
The organist began to play, and the entire room filled with music as the congregation rose. Susanna got to her feet and accepted a hymnal from Mr. Medford before he headed back to his duty at the door.
“Page thirteen. ‘Blessed Be Thy Name,’” he whispered.
Owen Turner slipped into the back pew just as the singing concluded. He hadn’t meant to oversleep, but lately he’d been so tired from putting in extra hours. As a supervising boilermaker and repairman for the Santa Fe shops, Owen was always needed for one job or another, and nothing took its toll on him like the hot summer months of San Marcial.
The offering plate was passed, and he contributed as he did every week. His friends LeRoy and Lia sat on the opposite side of the church with their two boys. Seven-year-old Emilio gave him a wave, causing nine-year-old John to do the same. The boys giggled, which drew their parents’ attention. LeRoy looked across to where Owen sat and gave a nod before thumping both of his boys on the back of the head. LeRoy’s pretty wife, Rosalia—Lia to her friends—gave him a smile and continued to sing.
Owen tried to focus on the music, but the fact was, it had been hard to drag himself out of bed that morning. He’d gone to bed plenty early, but his neighbors hadn’t, and all their thumping and hollering left him unable to sleep. Now they were soundly snoring, and he was trying to stay awake in church services.
Prayers were offered, and then Pastor Lewis took the pulpit. A huge smile split his face. “What a wonderful day to be in the house of the Lord!”
“Amen,” many of the people responded.
“I was just telling Agnes this morning what a blessing it was to know you’d all be here and that together we would share the Word of God. Doesn’t that just light your candles?”
Owen had to chuckle along with the others. The old Texan always had a way with words. Except when reading Scripture. For that, he was quite formal.
The congregation stood for the reading of God’s Word, and Pastor Lewis blessed the passage coming and going.
“Let us read from Luke fourteen.” Everyone rose in unison except for a few folks at the very front. Owen figured they were new to the procedure as they struggled to their feet.
“Father, we ask for wisdom and understanding as we consider Your Word. Amen.”
“Amen,” the congregation murmured.
Pastor Lewis read the Scripture passage, then ended in his usual manner. “Thus saith the Word of God.”
Everyone knew this was their cue to sit. Everyone but the new people. Owen could see now that they were strangers to the church. He was particularly intrigued by the shapely young woman standing beside an older matron.
“Folks, this is a good passage about thinkin’ of ourselves less and honorin’ others more. God doesn’t want you puttin’ on airs and runnin’ around looking for ways to make yourself seem important. When you got a weddin’ to go to, who’s important? The bride and groom, right? Don’t much matter if you’re there or not, unless you’re one of those two folks. Sure, you were invited, and you might even be kin, but the most important people are the ones who are gettin’ hitched.
“Now, don’t get me wrong, a weddin’ is a good time for everyone. A great celebration, and probably all the ladies in the church cooked up their best dishes. That’s always my personal favorite part.” He paused with a grin, and the people chuckled. “But anyhow, the Lord wants to teach us humility and understandin’. If we don’t practice it, we might call attention and embarrassment on ourselves. See, here Jesus is talkin’ about not sittin’ down at the best seats and then having to be asked to leave them for sittin’ at the far table. Just start out with the far table. The food will be just as good there as at the head table.” He chuckled. “Maybe better.”
The people laughed or smiled as the pastor continued.
“Don’t always be thinkin’ of yourself as so important. Throughout the Bible we’re told to think of other folks as better than ourselves. If we do this, we’ll treat them with respect and honor them with our conversation and actions. It doesn’t take a whole lot to show someone they’re important to us.”
He continued preaching about seeking humility. Owen understood this better than most. He’d spent a good part of his life avoiding the attention of folks around him. Unlike his younger brother, who craved attention. Unfortunately, his brother’s desires had often backfired on him, somehow managing to leave Owen wounded in the crossfire. Daniel just seemed to have a knack for being at the wrong place at the right time.
Owen pushed the thought aside. He’d come to worship the Lord, not to think ill of his brother. That kind of thinking could come at most any other time and often did.
“I can’t think of a single time,” the pastor declared, “when takin’ the lower place of importance served a man poorly. If he was already considered no account and unimportant, his decision to act as such left him without disgrace. And if he truly was important . . . well, it gave the host a chance to esteem the fella and bring him honor and a little attention. Better to let someone else sing your praises than find yourself tryin’ to get folks to see how important you think you are. Especially if you aren’t that important.” He grinned out at the congregation. “But you know, each of you are important to the Lord, and because of that you’re important to me. I want you each to know what a blessing you’ve been to me.