Pastor Rising Part 5
Pastor Rising
Part 5
Tuck kneeled on the floor by his bunk, praying fervently. It was just after 3 am and he felt burdened. His friend Will, he heard, had made it to the hospital and was in critical condition, and meanwhile Tuck was being closely watched by the guards after what they’d found in his things. There was a blackness, a weight, surrounding him the past few weeks. This weighed heavily on his mind and pulled him from a restless sleep.
As he prayed, he thought of the Bible study he’d been leading in the Rec Room every Monday evening, thought about how lives were changing. Especially in a place like this, men were starving for peace, ravenous for something that could bring them comfort and meaning. Tuck understood that desperation, and patiently spoke with them all. He had lead up to 50 men, maybe more, into a relationship with Jesus, and not the kind you see on t.v. No, this wasn’t a feel-good crutch to get them through their days, although it did help. It was a gritty, rugged, and wholesome faith that turned hardened hearts into helping hands. The transformations were truly a blessing to Tuck. This Bible study of his had grown occasionally and got smaller again, as the men served their sentences and left. For the past several weeks, there were usually 5-10 guys there.
Will had been in that group, and a few others. The guards, Domonique and Michael, would occasionally join them, too, and recently, there were two newer inmates who’d begun coming around. One was tall and muscular with dark hair, the other was medium build with light brown hair. Their names were Mason and Jinx. Tuck felt something dark about them, though that feeling wasn’t unusual in here. Whenever they came around, he felt his senses sharpen, as if he were suddenly in fight or flight mode.
Yesterday was Monday, and as always, Tuck had opened the Bible study with prayer. There were some heartfelt prayer requests, those men were dealing with deep pain, and the Pastor thought he should lighten the mood. He suggested, “Alright, before we dive back into Galatians, I was wondering if you all think we should name our Bible study group? We could be ‘Men of God,’ or ‘Jailbirds for Jesus,’” This one earned a snort or two and he smiled. He said, “Or we could use an acronym of all our names or something. What do you guys think?”
A few suggestions were offered, but it seemed like they actually were going to settle on Jailbirds for Jesus, and call themselves “The J’s.” This made Tuck laugh and the others were all starting to cheer up, too.
But then, Jinx, the new inmate with light brown hair, said, “We could call ourselves The Light Group.”
He said this quietly, but Tuck’s blood turned to ice. This had been the name of the small group he and Cindy had gone to see in the woods on that terrible night. He jumped to his feet, his Bible falling loudly to the floor, his folding metal chair shrieking backward. He took a step toward Jinx, who rose slowly to his feet.
“What. Did. You. Just. Say?” The Pastor spoke through clenched teeth. Jinx eyed him up and down and that creeping dark feeling prickled down Tuck’s spine.
After a moment where Jinx seemed to weigh his options, he just said, “I ain’t say nothin’,” and he shuffled back to his seat, a crooked sort of almost-smile on his face. Tuck glared at him, he needed to know why Jinx had said that, but Dominique had already stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder, “Everything ok, Tuck?”
Tuck blinked and picked his Bible up off the floor. Then, without a word, he went to his cell.
He had remained there for the rest of the evening, and now was up early, praying for strength, wisdom, and answers. How had Jinx known about the Light Group? That could be no coincidence, and who had hidden that stuff in his things? Why did they do it, and why make Cando think it was Will? That’s assuming that whoever had whispered at his door the other night was telling the truth. And who was the whisperer? So. Many. Questions.
As he prayed this morning, Jason Hart came into his thoughts. For some reason, Tuck felt that he should contact him and have him come visit again. Was this the leading of the Holy Spirit, or was he desperate for an ally of some sort? Either way, he resolved to do it, and, when he’d finished praying, he got up and wrote a quick note. He felt better, then, and lay back down for a few more hours sleep.
