The Pastor

By Asche

Copyright 2015

Preface

This story was inspired by KT Leone's story "The Christmas Conversation." I found the story charming, but couldn't really believe the pastor's instant conversion from seeing the trans girl's desire to be a girl as a sin to accepting her. This is my attempt to imagine how a pastor from a conservative Christian tradition might come to see that it was not only not a sin, but how God wanted her to be.

Chapter 1 -- First Encounter

Reverend Warren Hanley prepared himself for his next appointment. Marisa Taylor, Gary Taylor's wife, wanted to talk about her son, Jesse. Although she hadn't said what it was about, he could guess. Hopewell was a small enough town that pretty much everybody knew everybody's business, and a boy who showed no interest in the usual boyish activities and had a delicate manner more like a girl was going to get talked about. Reverend Hanley considered himself a servant of the God of Love rather than of the stern judging God, so he had a feeling this was going to be a difficult talk.

"Come in, Miz Taylor," he said as he opened the door and gestured for her to sit in an overstuffed chair near his desk.

"It's about my son, Reverend," said Marisa nervously. "I've tried to bring him up right, and Gary did what he could, at least until he was deployed, but --"

Reverend Hanley waited patiently. He gave her a smile to indicate she could take as long as she needed.

"Well, you know he doesn't like sports or roughhousing. I mean, he's been trying to play baseball, but his heart isn't in it. And I've noticed he has this sad look. I'd say: haunted. Like there was something real heavy on his mind. Well, I told him if he had something he needed to say, he could talk to me any time. I've said it a few times, especially since Gary left. One day, he sat me down in the kitchen." Reverend Hanley couldn't help smiling at the image of this shy, slender seven-year-old telling his mother to sit down. "And he asked me to promise not to get mad, but he had to tell me something. And I said, did you do something bad? And he said, kinda, but it's not what you think. And I said, spit it out, son. And he said, I think I'm a girl. Well, I didn't know what to say at first. But I could see he was really upset, so I put him on my lap and hugged him. And then I asked why he thought so, and he said, I don't know, I just know it. I keep trying to be a boy like I'm supposed to, but inside I know it's a lie."

She gave the pastor a supplicating look. The pastor asked, "and what did you do then?"

"I didn't know what to do. The next time I got to talk to Gary, a week later, I asked him, and he said to talk to the doctor. And the doctor told me to take him to see Dr. Hancock, who's a child psychologist, over in Milburn. The Army insurance is paying for it. I hoped she could help him get straightened out."

The pastor wasn't sure a psychologist was such a good idea. While he wasn't opposed to them on principle, he thought they sometimes gave bad advice that conflicted with the Lord's law. But he didn't want to distress her, so he said, "I can see you're trying to do your best for your son."

"Anyway, after a few weeks, she -- Dr. Hancock -- told me Jesse was probably 'transgender.' That means that even though he's a boy on the outside, he's a girl on the inside. And whether he is or not, we'd best let him spend some time being a girl. If he's not transgender, he'll get bored with it. Well, I got him some girl clothes -- a dress and some tights and some, you know, and I let him dress up in the evening. I was worried I was hurting him, but the minute he got dressed up, that sad look vanished and he looked happier than he'd been in months. But when he had to get back into his boy clothes, he got sad again. I've been letting him do it most evenings, when we don't have company or anything, and we close the curtains. I even got him a girl's nightgown, so he's happy all night. He decided he'd like to be called Jessica, at least when he's being a girl."

Marisa began to cry. Reverend Hanley reached her a box of tissues.

"I feel so torn, Reverend. On the one hand, I know the Lord says he should accept the body the Good Lord gave him and be happy being a boy. On the other hand -- on the other hand, I just want my boy to be happy, and this is what makes him happy. When he's trying to be a boy, I feel like I'm losing my son, but when he's being a girl, I feel like I have my boy -- I mean my child -- back. Tell me: what should I do?"

"Miz Taylor, I know you love your boy and you don't want to do anything to hurt him. He's got the best mother a boy could have. But sometimes -- well, sometimes the Lord gives us hard things to do. Sometimes He lays heavy burdens on us, and we just have to carry them. Miz Carrington lost her husband and her son to cancer, and they suffered mightily for a long time. I can't tell her why the Lord made them suffer like that, and I can't tell your Jesse why the Lord put this burden on him. The Lord made him a boy, and he needs to pray to the Lord for strength to resist this temptation."

"What should I do about the -- the dresses and such?"

"I'd suggest you give them to the church clothing drive. There are always poor families that could use them. Just remember: the Lord knows we stumble, and He doesn't hold it against us when we do. But it's our job to stand back up again and sin no more."

Marisa thanked the pastor and went out, but he could see from the way her shoulders slumped that she wasn't comforted. He sighed to himself. Yes, sometimes the Lord gives us heavy burdens. As the door closed he bowed his head and said a prayer for Mrs. Taylor and her son.

(To be continued)

The Pastor

By Asche

Copyright 2015

Chapter 2 -- First Advent Sunday

Reverend Hanley loved Advent. It held all the joy of Christmas but without the crass commercialism that had consumed Christmas, even in Hopewell, Alabama. The younger children were in the front of the church, in front of the pews, sitting on the floor. One of the more responsible six-year-old girls had been chosen for the honor of lighting this Sunday's one Advent candle. Then the congregation sang a children's hymn and then one of the older boys came up and read the Scripture passage. As soon as the boy started to speak, Reverend Hanley realized he should perhaps have left it for after the children had left. It was the passage which includes Jesus saying, if you have lusted after a woman in your heart, you have already committed adultery. He was worried about what the children would make of it, and so decided to scrap the children's sermon he had planned and make up one that would shift the emphasis away from sex.

"Have any of you had your parents say, stop hitting your brother or sister on the head, and then you hit him or her on the foot so you can say, well I didn't hit him on the head?"

The children all laughed at that. Reverend Hanley glanced up at the pews and saw Mrs. Taylor sitting a few rows back and Jesse sitting on her lap. He suddenly realized what Mrs. Taylor meant by a "haunted look." His look reminded him of those refugee children, orphans who had seen their family killed in war. All through the sermon, that look troubled him.

"So Jesus is saying, it's not enough to just not do the things God tells you not to do," he concluded. "You also have to not even think of doing them." On that note, he signaled to the organist to begin the hymn for the children to go out to the Sunday School wing.

As the last of the parishoners shook his hand at the end of the service, Reverend Hanley saw Jesse come over to him, followed by his mother. He still had that bleak look on his face.

"Reverend, can I talk to you for a minute?" Jesse asked.

"Certainly, my son," replied the pastor.

"Uh, somewhere a little private? I don't want everyone to hear."

They walked to the edge of the porch, on the opposite side from the playground.

"Reverend, my Ma told you about me thinking I was, well, you know." The pastor nodded. "Well, if me being a girl is a sin, and thinking of sinning is as bad as doing it, don't that mean--"

"Doesn't" the pastor automatically corrected him.

"Doesn't that mean I'm gonna go to Hell? I can't stop thinking of how much I want to." His voice started to break up. "I pray to God to help me not want to, but I do, all the time. I don't want to go to Hell. Please, can you talk to God and ask him to help me?"

The pastor didn't know what to say. On the one hand, he wanted to say something to make Jesse feel less afraid. On the other, he couldn't contradict what he'd said in the Children's sermon or to his mother. The logic of the Lord's law and the Lord's word said he was going to go to Hell, and he couldn't see any way around it.

"Son, I think the Lord knows the burdens we carry. I can't see Him sending you to Hell if you're doing the best you can." But Jesse didn't look very comforted.

The Pastor

By Asche

Copyright 2015

Chapter 3 -- A Talk With A Psychologist

The pastor couldn't shake the memory of Jesse's bleak look or the conversation on Sunday from his mind. It followed him home, it intruded as he drove in on Monday and again during the planning of the Altar Guild supper. As he planned the program for Wednesday night Bible study, after each item on the program, the memory would intrude.

Finally, on Thursday, he left a message for Dr. Hancock to call him.

"I'm calling about Jesse Taylor, one of your patients," he explained when she called him back.

"You know I'm not allowed to talk about one of my patients without their permission, or, in Jesse's case, his mother's."

"I'm not asking about him in particular. But his mother said you thought he was -- transgender, and I thought I should find out a little more about trangender children. Have you had a lot of them?"

"I've treated a few. And I've spoken with colleagues on occasion. I'd say I know about maybe twenty, either from my practice or my colleagues. I've also attended talks about transgender children and adults at conferences."

"How successful are you at curing them?"

"Reverend Hanley, I haven't tried, but people have tried in the past. The success rate is so low and the outcomes so bad, it's no longer considered ethical. We now simply support the child in whatever he or she--"

"She?"

"Transgender children come in both genders. Trans girls are children who are assigned male at birth but transition to female. Trans boys are children who are assigned female--"

"I get the picture." The idea of girls wanting to be boys was, for reasons the pastor wasn't sure he wanted to think about, even more distressing than the other way around.

"As I was saying, we support the child. Some change their mind on their own. Most don't. In those cases, we help their families and communities learn to accept it."

"And if they don't?"

She sighed. "When they don't -- it's not good. Some run away, or leave as soon as they're able to make it on their own. Others -- the ones I know about, at least -- most of them die. Usually suicide, but sometimes they become alcoholic or drug addicts and die in alcohol or drug-related accidents. Or they engage in risky behavior. Many of the colored trans people end up murdered. The suicide and murder rates -- being murdered, I mean -- are really high."

"And how do you see Jesse turning out?"

"I told you, I can't talk about him with you. You, of all people, should understand that."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, you did explain that. Thank you for speaking with me, you've been very helpful. And you've been very generous with your time. I won't take any more of it. Goodbye."

"Doesn't that mean, 'God be with you'?"

"That it does, ma'am, that it does."

"Well, may God be with you, sir," she said and hung up.

The Pastor

By Asche

Copyright 2015

Chapter 4 -- Second Advent Sunday

The conversation with the psychologist stuck in the back of the pastor's mind for the rest of the week, but faded into the background as he worked on Sunday's sermons. The adult sermon was to be about advent as a time of anticipation of the Lord's gift of His only son. The children's sermon would be on a similar theme, but using the children's anticipation of gifts from Santa to make it clearer to them.

On Sunday, as he started telling his sermon to the children, once again he noticed Jesse on his mother's lap and his bleak, haunted look. The part of the his mind that was not occupied with his performance jumped back to the conversation with the psychologist, especially the part where she said, "most of them die." He suddenly had a vision of that bleak face staring out of the corpse of a child. He'd had to see dead children on occasion, especially when he worked as a hospital chaplain, and the sight had always given him an un-Christian sense of despair. He knew that this was simply the Lord bringing His Own home, but he couldn't help feeling like each dead child was a precious gift of God destroyed before it had even been opened. The idea that his position on Jesse's belief that he was a girl, however Biblically and doctrinally correct, might be even partly responsible for Jesse becoming another one of them disturbed him.

After church, he asked Mrs. Taylor if she could come in at her convenience. She said she'd have to check her schedule for work at the WalMart. The next day, she called and said that she was free Wednesday afternoon.

"Miz Taylor," said the pastor after Marisa was seated in the overstuffed chair in his office, "you and your son have been very much in my thoughts and my prayers. I'd much appreciate it if you could tell me how you all are doing. Only what you feel comfortable telling me, of course. It's perhaps selfish of me, but I'd like to settle my mind a little."

Marisa sighed. "It's not much different from what I told you two weeks ago. Jesse is a very obedient little boy, always has been, but he looks so sad and, like I said, haunted. Except when he gets to be Jessica, like he says."

"You haven't gotten rid of his dresses?"

Marisa looked a little guilty. "No, I haven't. I haven't had the heart to. You see, Reverend, it's like this. I grew up on a farm, and we had barn cats. Now, the way it is when they have kittens, if their eyes don't open after a day or so, you figure they'll be blind and it's a kindness not to make them live.

"Well one day, I think I was about Jesse's age, one of the momma cats had had kittens, and my Pa said that three of them hadn't opened their eyes, and he told me to drown them. Now I wasn't keen on drowning helpless little kittens, but what Pa said, you did. He told me to get a barrel and half fill it with water and drop them in, and if they didn't sink fast enough, to hold them down. Well, I did like he told me and filled up the barrel and fetched the kittens. I saw them roll around with their eyes closed and looking so helpless and I couldn't help it, I knew they were just animals, but I said a little prayer for each of them. Then I dropped them in. Two drowned right away, but the third somehow kept his head up and I had to push him down and hold him under. I could feel his heart beating and his thrashing around and I could just imagine being him and him wondering, why? why? When I was done, I went to my Pa crying and told him I didn't care what he did, I wasn't never going to drown a kitten again. I thought he'd get mad, but he just looked kind of sad at me and told me he wouldn't."

Marisa's eyes were wet, and she began crying as she continued. "This is all to say, when I think of taking those dresses and girl clothes away from him, and taking those hours of being Jessica away, I feel like I'd be drowning my own kittens. I just can't do it. The Lord may send me to Hell, He may send us both to Hell, but I just can't do it."

The pastor couldn't speak for the longest time. Marisa's sobs had ceased by the time he had an idea of what to say. "The Lord knows best what burdens we bear and how well we can bear them. You and I know what the Lord wants you to do --" Saying this last sentence was somehow like swallowing razor blades. "But He also knows you can only do what you can do. I'd say, do what you can, don't do what you can't, and pray to the Lord for strength and forgiveness."

"Well, Reverend, we both pray. I pray for strength and for the Lord to ease Jesse's load. And Jesse? Well, he's started praying for the Lord to call him home and send him back as a girl next time, so he won't feel torn apart all the time. I tell you, it's like a knife in my heart every time he says things like that. But I can't say as I blame him. His nature and his body being at war against one another like that."

The pastor knew he should say something, but he couldn't think of anything. The psychologist's comment about how "most of them die" was ringing in his ears again. Finally he said, "Miz Taylor, I much appreciate your coming in. I'm sorry I don't have -- I don't yet have -- anything to comfort you with. But you've given me a lot to think about. I'll be praying for both of you." With that, they both stood up and the pastor escorted Marisa to the door.

The Pastor

By Asche

Copyright 2015

Chapter 5 -- A Conversation over Lunch

Friday was the pastor's lunch with Reverend Ken Jackson, pastor of the Carrington African church. It was his turn to bring lunch. One time, he'd invited Reverend Jackson to the luncheonette in Hopewell, and while nobody said or did anything that was less than perfectly polite, the way they looked at them, especially Reverend Jackson -- well, the pastor didn't want to put Reverend Jackson through that again. Today he'd brought turkey salad he'd made himself, ham biscuits, and corn bread.

They sat down at one of the tables in the parish hall, where someone had set two places, complete with a water jug. The pastor unpacked the lunch.

"Is that your home-made turkey salad?" asked Reverend Jackson. "You do make a fine salad, Reverend Hanley."

"You're very kind to say so, Reverend Jackson," replied the pastor. "But it's not as good as your fried chicken. If you ever get tired of preaching, your chicken could give KFC a run for their money."

"But I'd never make a dime if you started selling your turkey salad, my customers would all eat turkey salad instead of my chicken." They both laughed.

Having satisfied the demands of courtesy, they got down to telling each other of the trials and triumphs they'd encountered in their ministries since the last time they'd met. They tried to respect confidentiality, but since pretty much everything they dealt with was known to pretty much everyone in the community, for most of what they discussed, confidentiality was a moot point.

The pastor finally got to the matter that was sticking in his conscience like a thorn. "Do you ever have find times when it seems like the Word of the Lord from the Bible just -- just doesn't seem to answer the questions you face in your ministry?"

"What are you thinking of, Reverend?" asked Reverend Jackson.

"We are all created by the Lord, that I believe, and I don't believe the Lord makes mistakes, either. But sometimes, I just can't reconcile what the Lord says and what the Lord does."

"You wouldn't be thinking of a certain seven-year-old boy, would you?"

The pastor started. "Who said anything about a boy?"

"I don't think there's anyone in Hopewell that doesn't know that there's a boy who acts more like a girl than a boy and wears dresses in the privacy of his home. And since white folks never seem to realize that black folks have perfectly good ears and will talk like they weren't there, everyone here knows it, too."

The pastor calmed himself. "I'm torn. The boy says he can't stop feeling like he is really a girl. He's convinced he's going to Hell for it. Every time I see him, he looks so hopeless. And his mother says he's started praying for the Good Lord to call him home and send him back with either his body or his nature changed, so he won't feel so torn apart. I spoke to the psychologist in Milburn, and she won't talk about him, but she says boys like him mostly never change. Either they live as girls, maybe even getting operations so they'll look more like girls. Or they commit suicide or destroy themselves with drugs or drink. I can't tell him that the Lord says what he's doing is right. But I don't have the heart to keep telling him and his mother that it's a sin, either. Not when I see how much it's hurting him."

The two men sat in silence for a while.

"You know," said Reverend Jackson in a thoughtful voice. "I think sometimes the Lord sends us conundrums. Things where we don't know the answers. Maybe it's to test us. Or maybe -- maybe it's to challenge us. To get us out of the rut where we know all the answers. Or where we think we know all the answers."

"What are you suggesting, Reverend Jackson?"

"I don't know, Reverend Hanley. Maybe we just need to pray. Pray and trust that if we have faith and allow the Lord to lead us, He will lead us down the path He has appointed for us."

The two men sat up, closed their eyes, and bowed their heads. Reverend Jackson began. "Lord, look down upon thy servant Warren. Give him, we pray, guidance, that he may follow thy Divine will in ministering to thy child Jesse. For his sake, for Jesse's sake, may thy will be done. Amen."

The pastor hadn't ever been prayed over by a colored preacher. At first, he wasn't sure he liked it, but he quickly reminded himself that the Lord asks us to be humble and remember that we are all His children.

"Maybe not the most elegant prayer I've ever said, but I always say, it's more important what you have in your heart than the wording you use. I do hope the Lord will give you guidance." The pastor looked at Reverend Hanley and Reverend Hanley looked back, and for the first time in all the years they'd known each other, he felt a love that was not tainted by their history.

The moment passed, they shook hands, and went their separate ways.

The Pastor

By Asche

Copyright 2015

Chapter 6 -- Third Advent Sunday

The next Sunday, as the pastor was checking over his notes for the sermon and getting himself in the right frame of mind for the service, the choir director, Randall Collins, knocked. Mr. Collins was a nervous and awkward man who lived for music. The pastor sometimes got the idea that he had a hard time distinguishing between the Lord and His music. But the music he was able to coax out of the untrained children and adults in the choir was truly angelic, and if Mr. Collins felt that in their song he got a glimpse of Heaven, well, maybe he wasn't entirely wrong.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, reverend, but I've been preparing the children's choir for the Christmas Eve service and, well, we're having a problem."

Mr. Collins shifted from one foot to the other and back. The pastor nodded to encourage him to continue.

"It's Jesse. You know what an angelic voice he has. We had him down for a few solos, including 'What Child is This.' He was singing so beautifully until -- until three weeks ago when he started having trouble singing. Sometimes he would stop singing and say he couldn't go on. And when he did sing, it didn't have any joy. I asked him what was the matter, and he said he just didn't have the heart to sing, but he wouldn't tell me why. He just said that Christmas made him sad. His mother couldn't figure it out, either. I'm afraid by Christmas, he won't be able to sing at all, and then where will we be?"

The pastor tried to console Mr. Collins. "I'll talk to Jesse and his mother and see if we can find out what's bothering him and help him find Christmas joy." Mr. Collins looked visibly relieved as he left, but the pastor had the uncomfortable feeling that every word he'd said was a lie.

In the service, the children's choir sang "Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus." Jesse didn't have a solo part, but the pastor could see that Jesse's heart wasn't in his singing, and right after they were done, rather than staying in the sanctuary with the rest of the choir, he snuck down to join his mother in the pew. He spent the rest of the time with his face buried in his mother's chest.

After the service was over and everyone had gone home, the pastor sat in his office and tried to pray. He quickly realized that he couldn't really pray surrounded with all the evidence of of his knowledge and accomplishments, at least not the way he needed to, so he went back into the church to kneel before the altar. But even that seemed too prideful, and he ended up in a pew. It wasn't until his knees were on the cushion that he realized that this was the same one Jesse and his mother usually sat in.

He prayed for guidance, over and over again. Finally, Bible verses where Jesus forgave sinners started coming to mind, and he imagined how he might paraphrase them to fit Jesse's situation. He felt relieved, feeling that he knew what to do, but after he'd locked up, gotten in the car and gotten onto the road, he suddenly felt like he was just like the prideful pharisees in the Bible. In forgiving Jesse's "sins", was he not setting himself up as the one without sin?

Mondays were his day off, when he usually did chores and relaxed, but he found time to sneak off into the back yard, behind some bushes, to pray some more. It didn't help.

On Wednesday, he went to the monthly ministers' meeting. About two dozen ministers from churches in the area gathered at one of the churches, this time one in Tennesee, to hear talks about ministry and to mingle and chat. The pastor used the opportunity to ask if anyone had had in his church a boy who thought he was a girl.

"No, but Chuck Rogers, from over Coleburg way, had a girl who thought she was a boy," someone said. The pastor looked around until he found him.

"I've got a boy in my church who feels he is a girl inside. He's convinced he's going to Hell for it, and I'm trying to help him with it."

Reverend Rogers answered, "well, as you may have heard, I had a girl who believed she was really a boy. Let me tell you, it was pretty strange. I'd never heard such a thing."

"What did you do?"

"We had several long talks, and I talked with her Momma and Daddy. I explained what Scripture says, and said that every time she had those thoughts, she should pray. I told her I was sure the Lord would forgive her, but she should try to sin no more."

"How did that turn out?"

"She seemed to be better for a while. She did a lot of praying and smiled more. But then one day, she went and lay down on the railroad tracks when a train was coming, and that was that."

"That sounds terrible!" The pastor had horrible visions of Jesse lying dismembered on a railroad track and having to tell his mother.

"Believe you me, we were all pretty shook up. Such a pretty girl, and such an ugly end! But then I got to thinking, maybe it was best this way. She was saying she was always feeling like she was being pulled apart and couldn't be happy. As it is, she went back to the Lord, who I hope forgave her, and I truly believe she's happier this way."

The pastor was still seeing visions of Jesse and the girl lying on the tracks, so it took a few minutes for Reverend Rogers' words to register. When they did, all he could manage to say was, "so it was all for the best? That's what you're saying?"

"That's putting it a little too harshly. I'd have said, she is in a better place. That's pretty much what I preached at her funeral."

The pastor was still in a state of shock when he got in the car. On the way home, he realized two things: first, what Reverend Rogers said was basically in agreement with what the Bible said, at least as the church saw it. And second, he could not go along with it. Even if it meant giving up the ministry or even the church, he could not accept what Reverend Rogers had said. If that meant that Jesse was going to Hell for being who and what he was, well, then the pastor would go to Hell along with him. Or her.

For some reason, the pastor found himself driving to his office rather than home. Once he was sitting at his desk, the thoughts he'd had on the way there suddenly seemed crazy. How could he turn his back on a lifetime of belief? He looked at the books on their shelves. Was he supposed to somehow believe that the feelings of one seven-year-old disproved the conclusions of hundreds or even thousands of people who'd spent their lives trying to understand the Lord and His Word?

Suddenly his office, with its tightly closed windows, seemed stifling. He unlocked the church and knelt down in a pew: once again, the one that Jesse and his mother sat in. It no longer seemed like a coincidence. He tried to pray, but words wouldn't come. He just knelt there with his face on the back of the pew in front of him.

He heard his wife's voice calling. He looked up and saw that it was already dark. "What's going on Warren? You didn't come home."

"I -- I was praying. I have something I'm trying to work out. Something with my -- my pastoral responsibilities. I guess I may as well come home, though, I'm not going to work it out tonight."

Mary reached out her arms to him and when he came to her, she hugged him. They walked hand in hand out to their cars. On the way home, the pastor thought about what would happen to Mary and the children if he openly sided with Jesse and preached that what he -- or was it she? -- was doing was no sin. Would he lose his job? Would the congregation and the town ostracize them? He'd spent his life getting along with everyone, would he make enemies, even assuming he kept his job? He thought of all the forces that would be arrayed against him. And not just him. They might take it out on his family, too. And then he thought: this is what Jesse is facing. Jesse and his momma. The town, the church, maybe even the entire Baptist Convention, maybe the demagogues in Montgomery, all lined up against one seven-year-old.

The Pastor

By Asche

Copyright 2015

Chapter 7 -- The Heart's Reasons

When the pastor woke up, he had no clearer idea of what to do about Jesse. It was peaceful, lying next to Mary, and when he'd get up, he'd have to face his responsibilities -- preparing for Sunday's church service, the questions of his staff and his flock. He had a bit of a notion to ask Mary what she thought, but a part of him was reluctant, too. For one thing, pastoral business was confidential, and it wasn't for him to gossip about what he heard, even if it seemed like everybody knew all about this one. For another, well, Mary was a woman, and discerning the word of the Lord was really men's business.

"Penny for your thoughts, Warren. You seem -- more thoughtful than usual."

He sighed. "I could never put one past you, could I? Yes, I'm troubled. The word of the Lord is telling me one thing, but my heart is telling me something different. Usually, when that happens, my heart is telling me to go the easy way, and the Lord is telling me to take the harder way. But this time, it's the other way around."

"You know I don't know the Bible the way you do, but I do know your heart as much as anyone on this Earth, and I'd trust your heart anywhere."

"Even if it might cause trouble for you? Even if people might disapprove? Even if I lost my -- my pastorate?"

She sighed. "It might be hard. But -- when I married you, I promised to trust you and stay with you in good times and bad. And even if we suffer, it's better to suffer for doing the right thing than to live a life of ease by doing the wrong thing. And Warren?"

"Yes?"

"I know it's not my place to pry, but -- I think you'll find that more people in the church will trust you than you think. You've always acted out of love, and people respond to that."

Warren always had a suspicion that Mary knew more about what went on in his work world than she let on, and never more so than now. Sometimes in rankled, but not this time. He couldn't figure out why, though. And hearing how she trusted him made him feel better. He could feel that he wasn't alone in this.

That immediately made him think: how is it for Jesse? How alone does he -- or is it she? -- feel? WWJD -- what would Jesus do? Well, what would he do?

He spent the morning alternately dealing with all the little things that come up and wracking his brain for an approach to Sunday's sermon. He usually tried in his Fourth Advent sermon to tell about the imminent arrival of The Savior in a way that made it seem like it was happening this year right here in little Hopewell Alabama. But nothing would come. WWJD. That silly cliche kept popping into his mind.

Finally, in the middle of the afternoon, it felt like he couldn't stand it and he dialed the number. It wasn't until he'd finished that he realized it was Ms. Taylor's number he'd called. He hadn't realized he knew it.

"Hello?" said a child's voice.

"Jesse? This is Reverend Hanley. Is your momma home?"

"She's at work. Can I have her call you?"

"If it's not too much trouble."

"Oh, no. I'm sure she'd be happy to call you. But she gets home kind of late. Around nine or ten."

"That's fine, let me give you my home number. Or she can call me tomorrow at the church, if that's better for her. Or whenever is good for her."

"Let me get a pencil and paper." The pastor dictated the number and Jesse read it back. He was impressed by how responsible and well-mannered Jesse was, and the idea that the Lord might have in mind for him any sort of punishment, let alone Hellfire, seemed too horrible to imagine.

When he was done, the Pastor thanked Jesse. "Oh, it was no trouble," said Jesse. "It was a pleasure. And I know my momma will be happy to talk to you."

The pastor had thought that he'd be able to concentrate better now that he'd taken a step towards -- towards something he wasn't quite ready to admit to himself. But instead, he felt on edge. After the third unsuccessful attempt to focus on Sunday's sermon, he realized that his and Ms. Taylor's positions had reversed. At first, it was she who was seeking his approval and support. But now, it seemed like it was he that was seeking her blessing for something he didn't quite want to think about too clearly.

That evening, when he got home, he warned Mary there might be a call late that evening. "A parishioner," was all he said.

"Is it anything to do with what's been worrying you?" she asked tentatively. He just nodded.

At dinner, he kept losing track of what Mary and his children were saying. When he had to ask Bonnie, his seven-year-old, for the second time to repeat what she'd said about their class Christmas party the next day, she said, "Daddy, aren't you even listening to me?" It suddenly struck him that Jesse was the same age as Bonnie.

That evening, he read Bonnie a bedtime story. It wasn't exactly the sort of thing you'd think a preacher would read, as it was about mice and rats and chipmunks fighting for freedom from the tyranny of the cats, but it took his mind off of everything else and got him to put all his attention on his daughter.

It was about 10:30, as they were just getting Jeff into bed, that Ms. Taylor called.

"Reverend Hanley, Jesse told me you'd asked if I might call you. I hope it's not too late, I was working at the Walmart until after 9 and then Jesse had made a wonderful dinner for us."

"No, it's not too late, and I'm much obliged that you were so kind as to call me back. I know you have a lot on your plate, what with working and providing for your -- child."

"Oh, it was no trouble. But I must say, I'm a little mystified as to what you might be calling about. I hope there's nothing wrong."

"No, nothing. It's just that -- well, I've been ponderin' a lot about Jesse and -- how can I say this? Sometimes I think the Lord puts things -- well, people too -- that -- well, sometimes we're forced to realize that all our wisdom is nothing in the face of the Lord's glory. And being as Jesse is one of the Lord's children and creations, I thought I'd like to meet Jesse. Well, actually, to meet Jessica. If that's not too much of an inconvenience for you all."

He heard a sharp intake of breath. "Jessica?"

"Yes, Jessica. The girl that Jesse believes he -- she -- really is. I'll understand if you don't feel comfortable with it. And I'm not asking you as your pastor. You know, your shepherd. I'm just asking as one sinner to another -- well, I'm not saying you're a sinner, but you know. It might just ease my mind, that's all."

She was silent for a few minutes. "I -- I don't quite know what to say. May I think about it for a bit? I'd have to talk to Jesse about it, too."

"Take whatever time you want. And if you don't feel right about it, I'll understand. But -- if you do decide to, might I ask if my wife Mary could come along? I haven't talked with her about Jesse, as you haven't said it was okay, but she's got a mother's touch and I'd feel better knowing she was beside me. But I understand you can't answer right away. And whatever you decide, I appreciate your talking with me."

"I'd like to say yes, that is, if Jesse doesn't mind, but I'm afraid. You know, some people have said some mighty unkind things to him. And he's so easily hurt. I mean, I don't really think you'd want to hurt him, but -- as a mother, I want to protect him. I want to make sure he comes to no harm."

"I assure you, Ma'am, I don't intend to say anything unkind. And if Mary is along, I know she won't let me say anything even unintentionally unkind. I just want to get to know Jessica. I want to let her know that I, at least, think it's just fine for her to be Jessica." The pastor hadn't intended to go that far, especially before even meeting the girl inside Jesse -- well, the girl Jesse thought was inside him -- but the talk of people being unkind -- and he could well imagine what sorts of things Ms. Taylor was talking about -- pushed him to reassure her.

"May I talk to Jesse tomorrow morning and let you know before I go to work?"

"That's fine. I'll be in the office by 9:00 or so, but if you have to go to work before then, please feel free to call me at home."

The Pastor

By Asche

Copyright 2015

Chapter 8 -- Meeting Jessica

The next morning, as the pastor was finishing breakfast, they got a call. Mary handed him the phone. It was Mrs. Taylor.

"I just sent Jesse off to school. He said he'd like to meet you as Jessica. Would Saturday morning work for you? I don't have to be at the store until 11:00. And Jessica would be very happy to have Mary there, but she wants to know what she should wear?"

"I think that would work fine for us. Bonnie has ballet at 9:00 and Jeff has basketball at 9:30. I think Jessica should wear whatever she likes best. I'm sure whatever she picks will be pretty." They said their goodbyes, and the pastor hung up.

"Mary," he said, "I have a favor to ask of you. It's about this -- pastoral issue I've been wrestling with."

"Warren, you know I'm ready to help you with anything I can. But what is it?"

"You know that little boy Jesse and his momma? Well, it seems he believes he's really a little girl inside. His momma has been giving him girls' clothes and letting him pretend to be a girl named Jessica when they're alone. They've been talking to me, but I haven't been able to help them. I asked if I could meet 'Jessica' tomorrow morning, while Bonnie's at ballet and Jeff is at basketball. And I was wondering if you might be willing to go along, so he doesn't feel so much like I'm coming to judge him."

"Of course I'll come."

"I really appreciate it, Mary," he said as he got up and headed towards the door. Mary came up behind him and put her arms around him.

"Warren, I'm really -- I'm really touched that you would trust me with something like this. There's a big part of your life that you usually shut me out of, and I feel like I'm the Martha in your life. It's nice to be your Mary sometimes."

The pastor went to his office with a heart that was lighter than it had been in weeks. He still wondered if what he was doing was doctrinally correct, but he knew, whatever the answer might be, he could do no other than to accept Jesse as he or she was and stand with her.

But once he was sitting in his office, surrounded by his books and responsibilities, doubts began to creep in. Was he not committing the sin of pride, imagining that his feeling of right and wrong were wiser than the theologians of the church? He knew he was an indifferent scholar, good enough to write sermons for a small town like Hopewell, but he had no hope of refuting the arguments of those who had taught him the proper way of understanding the Word of the Lord. It was his little heart against the wisdom of the Church.

Yet when he thought of Jesse's sad face at church last Sunday, and of the polite and mannerly way he spoke on the phone, he knew he could not follow the Church's teachings in this. He thought of the German pastor who, when the children were being sent to the concentration camps, went with them and died along side them, so they at least would not be alone. If Jesse's going to Hell, I'll be there with him. But then he thought: and if he's going to Heaven? "... for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven."

* - * - * - *

The next morning, the pastor and Mary decided to walk to the Taylors' house. It was one of those crisp December days when winter seems almost kind, and parsonage and the house where Jesse and his mother rented the second floor were near the middle of town. Mary had on a silver cross on a necklace, but the pastor had chosen not to wear any of the signs of his office. Mary had brought a bag of her home-baked Christmas cookies, because of course it wouldn't do to come empty-handed. (It couldn't possibly be because she was proud of her baking!)

Mrs. Taylor answered the door.

"Marisa!" "Mary! What a surprise!" The two women hugged and exchanged pleasantries like they were long-lost cousins. "And Reverend Hanley, it's an honor. Come on upstairs, Jesse" -- here she got a little more sober -- "that is, Jessica, is waiting to meet you."

Mrs. Taylor led them up the stairs to the apartment, where they found themselves in the kitchen. "Set yourselves down, I'll get Jesse." The pastor had said not one word, and wasn't sure he could have even if he'd wanted to. A few minutes later, Jesse -- no, Jessica -- came shyly into the room, gently pushed by her mother.

She was wearing a knee-length light blue dress -- the same light blue that the Virgin Mary is often depicted as wearing. It had a white Peter Pan collar, a smocked bodice, puffed sleeves that came down just past her elbows, and a gathered skirt with a ruffle at the bottom. She had white cable-knit knee socks and black patent-leather shoes with a strap, and on her head was a broad-brimmed hat in the same blue as the dress. She was holding her hands behind her back and had a nervous smile.

"Oh, aren't you just adorable!" gushed Mary as she got up and approached Jessica. "May I have a hug?" Jessica put her arms around Mary's waist and Mary put her arms around Jessica's shoulders. The pastor got up, too, but wasn't quite sure where he belonged in the love-fest.

"Let me look at you again," said Mary, disengaging from Jessica. "That dress is just so pretty. And the hat! Jessica, please give it a whirl so we can see the whole thing." She obligingly twirled, and the skirt flew up just enough to see the hem of a simple eyelet-trimmed cotton petticoat.

The pastor finally found his voice. "That's mighty pretty, indeed, Jess--ica." He hadn't yet found his eloquence.

Jessica's face turned somber. "You mean, I won't go to Hell?"

"No, Jessica. I mean, the Lord doesn't consult with me before rendering His judgements, but I can't believe that He'd send you to Hell. I can believe that He made you to be just as you are, like the lilies of the field."

Hearing that, Jessica got a huge smile on her face and ran over to the pastor and threw her arms around him and gave him a big hug. "Do you mean that?" she asked.

"Yes. When I said it was a sin, I was wrong. I can see that now. I can see that this is who you are, and it is not wrong. God doesn't make mistakes."

"Ooh, I'm so happy," squealed Jessica as she hugged herself and danced and twirled around the kitchen. She grabbed her mother's hands and they sashayed around in a circle.

Eventually, she settled down and they all sat down. Marisa put the cookies on a plate and served them drinks. Jessica had milk, Marisa chose apple juice, while the pastor and Mary went with water.

Midway through her third cookie, Jessica got a serious expression on her face. "Reverend, do you think Jesus would like it if I wore a dress to church tomorrow?"

"Well, that's up to your momma, but if she says it's okay, it's fine with me. And if anyone gives you grief, let me know and I'll have a little talk with them." When Marisa and Mary both gave him a questioning look, he added serenely, "judge not, that ye be not judged."

The pastor couldn't help noticing that Jesse's -- Jessica's face was filled with a smile that he didn't recall having seen in ages. And she was filled with more life than could possibly fit into her seven-year-old body. He wasn't quite sure what he would do if -- more likely, when -- Jessica showed up in church, but he was determined that he would take her side somehow.

When the cookies were gone, Marisa sent Jessica off to wash her hands. "Mrs. Taylor," said the pastor. "I can see you were right. It would have been like drowning kittens. I'll do whatever I can to help her, and you both."

"I will, too," said Mary. "Maybe we can invite her over to play with Bonnie during Christmas vacation."

"We'll have to see," said Marisa. "To be honest, this is quite a shock. It'll take me some time to adjust to it. Both of us, I think."

Jessica came back in, with clean hands, and they said their goodbyes. As Marisa was showing them out, Mary said, "we'll be in touch. Don't hesitate to call me."

The pastor was lost in his thoughts. But as he pondered, he had a sense of a Gentle Shepherd looking down from Heaven and smiling at him for the first time since he was a little boy.

The Pastor

By Asche

Copyright 2015

Chapter 9 -- Fourth Advent Sunday

Sunday morning found the pastor in his study. He was still struggling with the sermon he'd have to deliver in about two hours. He knew he wanted to say something about Jesus having come into the world a nobody born to two nobodies, but he hadn't been able to get any further. He heard a knock on the door.

"Come on in." It wasn't like he had any train of thought that they'd be interrupting.

The door opened to show Ms. Taylor and Jesse -- no, Jessica. Jessica had on a long red velour dress with what looked like a taffeta bodice in a Christmas plaid, a hairband holding back her hair, and a smile that was so big it barely fit on her face.

"Mrs. Hanley was so nice, she found me this pretty, Christmas-y dress to wear. Isn't it pretty?" she gushed. She was playing with her hands and shifting from one foot to the other.

He couldn't help smiling in return. "Yes, it's really pretty. It's so pretty, I'll bet all the girls will be jealous," he teased.

"Momma says nobody will be able to see it under my choir robes. But I'll know I'm wearing it, and Momma will know, and now you will know," she giggled as she hung on her mother's wrist and wiggled around. Her mother whispered something to her. "Oh, Reverend, this is for you." She took something from her mother's hand and solemnly walked up to his desk and handed it to him.

It was a little angel Christmas ornament, with a cone made out of red construction paper for a robe, a styrofoam ball with a painted face for a head, yellow yarn for hair, and pipe-cleaner arms holding sheet music made of a scrap of white paper, and another pipe-cleaner for a halo.

"You can put it on your Christmas tree," she informed him.

"Thank you," he said to her and she beamed.

"Time for choir practice," said her mother. Jessica turned and skipped towards the door. When she reached it, she turned around and gave a little wave and said "goodbye!" before disappearing down the hall, singing "Oh Little Town of Bethlehem" in a high voice. Her mother shrugged and trotted after her. The pastor closed the door and went back to his sermon writing.

Later on, as he stood in church watching the children's choir process up to their seats, followed by the adult choir, he could see a little bit of red below the hem of Jesse's -- no, Jessica's -- robe, and he -- she still had the hairband on. He wondered if he'd have to deal with some pointed remarks later. But he could see Jessica's angelic face and hear her singing her heart out, and he could almost hear a voice saying, "well done," though he wasn't sure if the voice was talking to him or to Jessica.

He still hadn't written a sermon, so he was going to have to wing it for the first time in his life. He said a silent prayer to the Lord to give him the right words -- actually, any words at all -- when the time came.

The sermon hymn finished, and he still didn't know what he was going to say. He stood at the pulpit, no notes on the lecturn. He turned, saw Jesse's -- no, Jessica's -- smiling face looking at him. He opened his mouth and began to speak.

Later, the pastor couldn't exactly remember what he'd said. He had the idea he'd tied in a dozen Bible verses about how to treat the poor, the outcasts, the lepers, the lowliest of the low. He might have preached about "of such is the Kingdom of Heaven." But it was fuzzy in his mind. The only think he remembered clearly was seeing Jessica's -- yes, Jessica's face -- looking at him as he spoke. And when he sat down and the choir sang, among all the children and all the grownups, he could somehow clearly hear Jessica's sweet voice, singing like an angel from Heaven.

The End