The Humper Game Pt. 07 Ch. 13

Author's note:

This is, in all its seven parts and their many chapters, one very, very long story. If long stories bother you, I suggest you read something else.

No part of this story is written so as to stand on its own. I strongly suggest that you start with the beginning of Part 1 and read sequentially—giving up at any point you choose, of course.

All sexual activity portrayed anywhere in this story involves only people at least eighteen years old.

This entire story is posted only on literotica.com. Any other public posting without my permission in writing is a violation of my copyright.

One thing happened that surprised me as much as anything I can remember ever happening. Well, maybe not counting when Sam walked in to be my partner, but maybe than even that. I don't mean the kind of surprise that would make me fall apart, though maybe I was improving enough and it once would have.

Anyway, one evening I got a call from Pastor Fox. He said, "Phil, would you and Ellen be able to come to our deacons' meeting Wednesday?"

"I'll have to see if we can arrange for childcare. Otherwise, I don't think we have a specific conflict." I looked at Ellen, and she nodded. I had put the call on speaker as soon as I knew who it was—asking first to make sure this was OK.

"If it's OK with you, Julie Simms would come over to sit for you. We knew this was an issue." Julie was the daughter of one of the deacons, maybe sixteen years old, and she had sat for us in the past. She had even put them to bed, and they liked her, and we trusted her.

Again, Ellen nodded, and I said, "That would be great. We'll look for her—when? Six-thirty?"

"About then. And I should tell you in general what this is about, so you—the two of you—can be thinking and talking and praying about it. You've been proposed as a deacon, and we need to talk with you about it, so this is to begin that process."

I was stunned. I almost laughed! After a couple of moments I managed to be able to speak. "Pastor, I'm so surprised I don't know quite what to say. You yourself, and at least most of the deacons, all know a whole list of reasons why I would be a poor choice for that position. I'm not quite going to say, 'You're kidding, right?' since you're obviously serious, and this isn't a matter to kid about, but—well, don't you all have better things to do than to bring those issues out in an organized way? I'm not kidding when I say that!"

"Phil, if we didn't think you might be a good choice, we wouldn't be asking you to talk about it, believe me. We've got questions, and you obviously do—and if you didn't, that in itself would be a reason for us to question this.

"As I said, you two think about it and talk about it, and especially pray about it. We'll see you Wednesday at seven." We managed to navigate the goodbyes and disconnected.

I looked at Ellen. Before I could say one word, she said, "Phil, I'm pretty sure I know all the reasons you're thinking of, so you don't have to list them for me. Save that for Wednesday, and for them, and let them either agree with you or tell you why they think they're not problems. Some of your reasons are serious enough that I want to hear what they'll say, and I mean I don't know—but they're aware of them all already, so they must have something to say.

"What I've got to say is about your real objection—and yes, I know you well enough to know what that is. You think you shouldn't be in that kind of leadership role, period. You think you're not up to the task, that you lack the gifts and abilities you need. And you are just plain wrong! If God ever prepared anyone for this, he's prepared you.

"Let me remind you of a few things. First, you grew up with a thorough knowledge of scripture, even though you weren't a believer. And I mean not just knowing what it says, but able to reason from that in detail, and with great insight and understanding.

"Second, I wasn't there, but I heard about it from people who were, and then Sam gave me what I'm sure was a more correct account, along with what she said to you. That first morning, when you two went to breakfast, someone made a comment—that putting you two as partners was sadism on someone's part. And you explained, at some length, why that wasn't correct, and why you were both happy with the situation. I heard about what you said, several versions, but what I have in mind is what Sam said afterward, and that I heard only from her. She said that you put it in such a way that they all were interested in hearing you out and amused in a good way, so that they all understood it, and so that they all wound up on your side in spite of Sam's prior reputation. I realize that a lot of them had already seen for themselves that she'd changed, but seeing isn't always believing—and probably some of them had run afoul of her in the past.

"So we both saw, over and over again, how people responded to you. Back then, it was most obvious in the way any girl you made love to responded, and kept responding. I'm pretty sure some of it was just what we've all said before, that you were considerate and cared about them, but that's not the whole story—even adding in that they'd heard about you, and started off kind of excited to get a chance with you themselves. I know I warned you at least once, you need to be careful not to overwhelm people. You see people below the surface, and you know what to say to them—what they need and how to treat them. If you were unscrupulous, you would be dangerous—you could be a con artist any day.

"Just to pick out some specific examples, think of Barbara—both Barbaras, in fact—and Rosa, and later on Tammy. And Maggie. You took awful situations, and turned them around, like magic. Miraculously. That word gets used very thoughtlessly, but I mean it literally and seriously."

I broke in. "Um. Rosa?"

"You know how inadequate she felt about her body, and it was warping her hopes of ever being loved, as a woman I mean. You showed her different, and when she was skeptical, you explained. Yes, they picked the right guy for her partner—another awe-inspiring choice—but I doubt that would have worked so well if you hadn't laid the groundwork. You know how nice and confident she was about everything else—but she really had decided no guy would ever want her that way, and it hurt. It's a real testimony to her character that she was so cheerful and open in the face of that.

"Anyway. Third, remember Kelly, and how you wound up teaching her. Her personal response to you goes back with the second point. I mean something else. With you directing her studying, she grew and flourished at a truly amazing rate. Think of Pete and Tammy, coming to you asking for help studying, and the influence you had on the students and professors in your classes.

"Think of the Friday night Bible study here. That was dying because of a leadership vacuum, and you got it going so strongly that the church decided they needed to have one of the deacons lead it." Later on, it was someone who worked closely with that deacon since he had schedule conflicts. "That wasn't a vote of no confidence in you, it was a recognition of what you'd done, building the group into something that needed to be part of the church's regular structure." She meant that in that church, anything that was really a ministry of the church was under the charge of one of the deacons. Not that they tried to run everything—they didn't!—but to try to see that things didn't spin out of control because no one was there to see. "If you try to tell them that you're disqualified because of 'able to teach,' I'll be at the head of the line waiting to tell them you're wrong.

"For that matter, that's a better example than I was thinking! You didn't want to be leading that Bible study. You thought you weren't qualified, when anyone who knew your history would have known better. But that group flourished once you were guiding it, even as little as you were willing to do.

"Phil, you've already been doing, informally, the kind of thing they want you to do formally! And this isn't some kind of sudden impulse on their part—they've considered it, a lot! Think about the potluck last month. This isn't just a call tonight, it was in the works then."

What she meant by the last part was this. At an after-church potluck dinner, being held to celebrate something, four of the deacons—and their wives—had sat down at the table we were at. Three of these had become deacons since we had gone through the membership process, so they didn't know all the things we had discussed at that point. Our kids had been invited to eat with another family—who had several of their own, and who also invited some other kids in that age range as well. Most or all of the younger kids who were present, in fact. Several teens and a couple of other sets of parents were there, too. They had taken possession of one of the rooms used for young kids, where there were incidentally lots of interesting playthings. Getting ours to leave, a little later, had been a lot harder than getting them to go along, but by that time they knew the system. They were reluctant and begged a little, but there were no temper tantrums and no whining after the fact.

In the course of general talk, one deacon had asked something about Ellen's and my past, and I'd said that I couldn't really answer then, since parts of it I wasn't comfortable discussing in such a public situation. And the more senior deacon had said, "It would be good for them to hear about it, and they should hear from you," and suggested we all move to one of the Sunday School classrooms to finish eating.

So I had wound up giving the half-hour version of our high school, including the game and sex ed class. How Ellen and I had—well, met—some mention of Jenny and Sam and unspecified others, and the merest hint of how I'd wound up with Ellen instead of one of the other two.

That had led to our each explaining when and how we'd become believers, again on extreme fast-forward. It had been an enjoyable talk, actually, but at the time I'd wondered some about why it had happened. Now, it seemed completely obvious that Ellen was right. The newer deacons, who hadn't heard us on these subjects, had needed to know, and directly from us—because they were being asked to decide this.

Her arguments didn't convince me that I really should be in that position. They did convince me that my own immediate response wasn't as clearly right as it seemed to me. So anyway, two evenings later, we found ourselves at the meeting.

At the time we were becoming members of the church, we had met with the pastor and deacons. We'd met those then serving as deacons, collectively, which was routine, but we—or more often I alone—had also been in discussions with individual deacons, on many topics, quite informally. At the time, we were told about the structure and governance of that particular church, with special attention to some points at which it was somewhat unusual.

In principle, and in its bylaws, it was fairly normal for a Baptist church, in that it was governed by a pastor or pastors and deacons. However, almost half a century earlier, the decision had been made to expand the number of deacons, recognizing some of them as elders, giving those more responsibility for teaching and pastoral care—along with the pastor or pastors—and less for simple administration. They were still called deacons, though. Of course, in most Baptist churches some or all of the deacons filled such roles, without any formal recognition that this was, biblically, a separate office. And some churches which were almost identical in doctrine were formally governed by elders and deacons.

A second difference from the norm was that deacons were chosen by the pastor or pastors and deacons, with input sought from the congregation, subject to a straight yes/no vote of the membership as a whole. Provisions had been added to the bylaws allowing for the existing board of deacons to be dismissed en masse, with a meeting to be held almost immediately to elect a new board with nominations from the floor—upon petition of one third of the membership. It seemed obvious enough, to me at least, that those were to prevent any small group from gaining a self-perpetuating grip on the board.

A third main difference was a commitment to making decisions by consensus rather than strictly by voting, when possible. The bylaws specified a simple majority for many decisions, and two thirds for others,. But the practice was to table matters where there was no consensus, unless an immediate decision was truly necessary. Yet other decisions had to be brought before the membership as a whole for a vote.

I didn't really know how strong a consensus this required. If actual unanimity was required, I was pretty sure I wouldn't be chosen. There was one particular deacon, Robert Jones, who I knew didn't like me, personally, and who seemed to be disposed to object to anything I favored. I was sure that he would be dead set against appointing me. In fact, I still didn't understand why I was even being considered.

At the meeting, after prayer and consideration by the deacons of a few other matters, I was the next agenda item. The pastor began by repeating, more or less, what he had said to me over the phone on Monday. He said that they had watched my relationships with many in the congregation, mentioning specifically the Friday evening study Ellen had referred to, but also my participation in Sunday School class and other such things. The deacons had heard both our testimonies, either at the time we became members or recently, and when we became members we had also been asked about our views on many topics.

Pastor Fox said that he had called and spoken with our former pastor, Jonathan McDavid, asking for his views on my qualifications and anything else he might have to say that might bear on the question. He said that Pastor McDavid had completely endorsed me for the position, mentioning a number of cases where I had provided spiritual guidance and oversight for people, and their spiritual growth as a result. I gathered that he had described in detail our friendship with Kelly.

He said Pastor McDavid had raised one specific problem—my tendency to overload people with information. He had pointed out that this was a reflection of my understanding of the importance of context for understanding most anything, and said that I recognized it as a fault, that I had grown in this area over the year he had been our pastor, and that I responded to correction when I fell into this.

Pastor Fox then said, to all present, that in our phone conversation I had said I thought there were many reasons why I would not be suitable. He asked me to give these.

I began with the issue of letting the point get lost in the details, saying that what Pastor Mac had said was correct—I tried to improve, and had had some success—but that it was still a problem. I said that this was very much one of the things I'd had in mind, at any rate.

I referred to a couple of doctrinal issues. All those who had been present when we became members were already aware of these, but I pointed out that the church's bylaws specified that the deacons were to accept the church's position on these matters. The main two issues were the cessation of prophecy, tongues, healing, and other such "miracle gifts," and doubts I had about premillennialism as taught by this church and others like it—rooted in more basic doubts about their understanding of the nature and interpretation of the book of Revelation.

We were questioned in detail about these when we became members, and I covered much the same ground again now, a lot more briefly. I emphasized that for the most part what I meant was that I believed the church's teachings went beyond what was actually said in scripture. In the case of prophecy, I said that scripture taught that no general new doctrine would be revealed, but that the question of guidance and of making manifest the secrets of the heart seemed could not plausibly be viewed simply as miracles for the validation of the apostolic testimony at the time and thus of the scriptures. I said that I wasn't ready to rule out the possibility that the Lord might provide consistent gifts of prophecy or healing to one individual, but that such claims were to be tested very carefully, and that none that I was aware of stood up well to close scrutiny. I said that all of the arguments I knew of in favor of cessationism seemed to me to involve bad logic, or taking verses out of context and twisting their meaning, or both. I gave a few examples that I considered especially obvious and otiose.

Regarding issues of the end times, I said there were many points I didn't find clear, and I gave reasons I found in the text itself for not reading the book of Revelation as a basically chronological, literal map of the end times. "It's not that I have some well-worked-out alternative system to offer," I said. "I only have questions and scattered ideas."

Pastor looked around at the deacons. He said to me, "You cited the bylaws in ways that showed you have read them closely. So you know that on points of doctrine, we are allowed to waive the requirement of agreement, for secondary issues, if the prospective deacon agrees not to teach doctrines contrary to those specified. A number of us have heard you when these matters came up and your opinion was asked. You've been forthright about what you believe, but careful to point out that this conflicts with the church's understanding—as you have just now, in fact. If you agree to continue on this basis, also not unnecessarily seeking opportunities to contradict our doctrines, this may suffice. We may need further discussion.

"Admittedly, there are some in the congregation who do not accept that these issues are secondary, and so will vote against you. All of us here do not see these as necessary parts of the gospel, though. I assure you we have discussed this."

I said, somewhat reluctantly, "If my agreeing not to undermine the church's position on these things is the crucial issue, I would offer that kind of assurance, in writing as well as verbally. I may sometimes find my position kind of awkward—and I'd guess you may as well. But there are still a few more issues you should be considering. The one staring me in the face is in the list of qualifications in 1 Timothy 3, for both elders and deacons, and in Titus 1 for elders or overseers: 'The husband of one wife.' I understand that the Greek is more literally something like 'a man of one woman,' but I also know that in the Old Testament most of the references to husbands or wives just use the general words for man and woman. If I understand correctly, this is pretty much true of New Testament Greek as well, but I'm less sure about that.

"Even beyond that, there's quite a history of debate over how to interpret this. Plainly enough, you don't understand it—as some have—to require elders and deacons to be married." A couple of the deacons were single. "And some have interpreted it to bar widowers who had remarried, but that seems to me ridiculous, in view of other statements of Paul's. Divorce, premarital promiscuity, and marital unfaithfulness seem to me more likely to be at issue, and most likely polygamy of the sort that was practiced in that time and place. And you are all aware that, before we were married, I had been quite promiscuous."

Pastor Fox gestured with his hand. "Unless there is something you haven't told us, though, all of those cases were before your conversion. And of course you're correct that these verses have been highly disputed—on that matter as well—but quite a long time ago this particular church decided quite firmly that sins—not just promiscuity, but others listed there, drunkenness, quarrelsomeness, and so on as well—sins which occurred before conversion are not what Paul meant. The sins must have been dealt with, by repentance and forgiveness, including restitution and restoration where appropriate and possible. And there must be every reason to believe that they have been left behind. You have committed yourself to faithfulness to Ellen, and it seems clear to us that you are no more likely to fall into that temptation than any of us. Pastor McDavid raised that, too, at some length.