He cuddled next to Ashley and whispered, “Anne just called. She sounded good.” With this said, he fell asleep with his left arm wrapped around his perfectly still wife, unaware that her eyes remained wide open.
The phone did not ring at the Donovan’s home for the rest of the week. Friends were giving them space. Parishioners were off vacationing or making plans to do so. Telemarketers were honoring the do-not-call list. The deafening silence of no long-distance call from Anne caused Payne to more than once check that the phone still worked. Why hasn’t she called? Is she okay? How long will it be between calls? Can I call her? Questions began to pile up, again. Finally, the phone rang. After a brief pause, a man, obviously reading a script, had an offer that could change his life. So much for honorable salesmen.
Anne called two weeks later. “Dad, so much has happened. I’m sorry that I have not called. We have been so busy, going from one place to the next. But my evening is free. I’m so glad we have a chance to talk.”
For the next hour, Pastor Donovan listened as Anne talked about her trip. He smiled as her innocent smile beamed over the phone. She explained that George arranged for her to travel from Nazareth to Bethlehem, making various stops along the way. Her time in and around Nazareth proved to be a memorable start to her pilgrimage. She visited various sites that commemorated Gabriel’s annunciation to Mary. Without pausing, Anne transitioned to describing the sense of awe she felt as she walked on the land that Jesus did as a boy growing up. She envisioned Him playing with His friends and working in His father’s workshop. The terrain of His neighborhood aroused nostalgia in Anne. The earthiness of Jesus captivated her.
Anne shared about the team’s day trip to Cana. She reassured her dad that she did not drink any wine. As a teetotaler and expectant mother, Anne was neither tempted nor vexed by the local merchants’ persistent mission to have visitors imbibe history. The excursion caused Anne to reflect on the unique mother-son relationship that Mary and Jesus navigated—and one that they, too, would soon navigate.
She went into detail about how she read and then reflected on the first miracle performed by Jesus. She shared how she had pondered, as she sat outside the church built upon the remains of the house believed to be where Jesus turned the water into wine, Why is Joseph not mentioned? Was he an absent father like so many are today? Was he dead? Anne confessed that she could not help but think about her own situation. Where is the father of my baby? Who is the father? God? George? Is there a father? Am I carrying a mere product of SarkiSystems? Determined not to wallow in this paternal mystery, she redirected her thoughts to something much more uplifting—Mary’s firstborn. “Dad, He was invited to the wedding celebration. It’s ludicrous to think that Jesus was always serious. He was fun to be around. Those having a good time welcomed Him.” Anne paused, as if receiving confirmation. “Dad, Jesus loved to play. You know how I know this? Children loved to be around Him.” Even without a father in the picture, and while tipsy tourists passed by her, she shared how she imagined laughing and playing with her baby Jesus.
Though Pastor Donovan could hear his daughter’s grin as she related her Cana experience, he interrupted her, even as she transitioned to sharing how she envisioned herself echoing Mary’s instructions, “Whatever He says to you, do it.”
“So where are you now?” He injected this question, partly because he wanted to know, partly because he wanted to reassure his daughter that he was still listening, and partly because he just wanted to say something.
“I’m in Megiddo,” answered Anne. “But I’m not sure why.”
“Many epic battles, biblical and extra-biblical, have been fought there.” Pastor Donovan carried the conversation now, explaining the historical and future significance of the place. Sounding more like a preacher than a dad, he explained that this is where the great and final battle of Armageddon would be fought. “Anne, you are at the exact location on the map of the future apocalyptic battle mentioned in the book of Revelation. You are sleeping tonight where the final overthrow of Satan and the antichrist will take place.
As he began to unpack the meaning of the great “Day of the Lord,” Pastor Donovan heard commotion over the phone. He heard a man’s voice; then he heard his daughter’s scream. Then he heard a dial tone.
Frantically, he searched through the kitchen junk drawer for the card he had gotten from SarkiSystems. His fingers shook as he punched in the numbers. The phone seemed to ring forever before he heard a sweet cheerful voice on the other end. “SarkiSystems, how may I help you?”
“I was just talking to Anne—she was on the phone and then she screamed. I need the number for George now.”
“ George is out of the country right now, but I can see if I can get in touch with him for you.”
“You don’t understand! She screamed. Something’s not right.”
“Let me see what I can do, sir. What was your name again?”
“Payne, Payne Donovan. Anne is my daughter.”
The line switched to some saccharine love song. Payne clenched and unclenched his hand, willing her to get back to him.
Ten minutes later, the receptionist came back on the line. “Mr. Donovan, I just talked with Mr. Carlson and he said to tell you not to worry. Everything is under control and Anne will call you back as soon as she can. It was just a little misunderstanding.”
“But, I need to talk to her. I need to hear her say she’s alright.”
“I assure you that Anne is fine and will call you as soon as she can. They have quite an itinerary, you know.”
Payne realized he would get no further with the receptionist, but he resolved to call back every day until somebody told him something.
Then, for the next two months, he heard nothing—nothing, that is, except echoes of Anne’s scream and SarkiSystems’ reassurances that all was well.
* * * * *
Pastor Donovan suffered in survival mode, existing as one blinded and trapped by duty and a plan. He preached without care. He shook hands without eye contact. He ate without conversation. He slept without hugging Ashley. Doug summed it up well on the ride to church: “Dad, your sermon title on the marquee at church this week should read, ‘Dead Man Talking.’”
The message Pastor Donovan actually preached was on Psalm 121. It was the final sermon in the summer series entitled “Psalmthings to Think About.” More so than ever, he needed to hear his own sermon. He needed to be reminded that his help comes from the Lord. The One who made heaven and earth by His sheer word, wisdom, and will is the One who is our keeper. He is our shelter both day and night. Only He could keep us from being smitten by the moon, from going loony. Pastor Donovan found great comfort in the thought that “He who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.” He stated in his message, “God is never exhausted, never weary, never inattentive, never growing old.” He ended his sermon by saying, “The Lord keeps Israel, and He keeps the vulnerable that are in Israel. The Lord keeps them from the evil one. He keeps them for His glory. He keeps them in His love. He keeps them ‘until the day of Christ Jesus.’”
Then, as usual, Pastor Donovan concluded his sermon with a prayer. What was unusual, however, was the long pause between heads bowing and him praying—praying, that is, out loud; for in the silence he prayed, Oh, Lord, please keep Anne in Your safe care. Pay attention to her and protect her as she studies abroad and expands her horizon and carries the hope of the world.
The service ended. The series ended. Sunday ended. Summer ended. Belief was about to end. And then the phone rang on Pastor Donovan’s day off, three hours before sunrise. His heart immediately began to race and skip as he leaped out of bed and feared the worse.
“Hello, this is Pastor Donovan.” The many phone calls received at this hour had conditioned