The budding branches of the Northern Red Oak and English Elms stood at attention around the Williams Quad. It was a perfect May morning for a commencement ceremony. Daniel stood patiently while she inspected his regalia. “Mom, I’m not the valedictorian.” Nearly a thousand graduates, and all he could feel was her relentless pressure. He knew that exacting gaze; he had met those eyes a thousand times. His entire life consisted of three base motivations: appease, avoid, escape. Today he’d appease since there was no way to avoid and no place to escape.
She started with his Stan Smiths, barely noticeable under the robe. “Are you planning to play tennis after the ceremony?” she asked. He knew a response would only perpetuate further examination. And examination it always was. Her eyes moved up the long purple gown. Her right hand primped and straightened the pleats along the way. Her left hand moved upward, smoothing the billowing sleeves. She patted his shoulder and pulled at a loose thread. She was quickly at his neck, straightening his tie and adjusting his collar.
Next she was arranging his hair, tucking it back under the cap. “There’s nothing more off-putting than a floppy-haired graduate,” she said. Daniel began to respond, but she interrupted: “All I’m saying is it’s time to look the part.” This time she stared directly into his eyes.
Then there was a tug at his robe: “Dad, Mom says she’s leaving. We’re supposed to meet them at Gio’s.” A red-haired, five-year-old stared up at him. The fog cleared—it was his son Max. “Dad, DAD, are you LIST-EN-ING?” Max asked.
Daniel snapped out of his daydream. He was not at his college graduation nor was he staring into the eyes of his deceased mother. “Pastor Dan, PASTOR DAN, I would appreciate a response.”
It was Norma Phillips, seventy-two, the widow of Les Phillips. Daniel was standing on stage with his right arm on the pulpit. He could see his notes, his Bible still open to John 10. Norma stood two steps below him but her daunting height put them nearly eye to eye. The light from the stained glass made her grey hair look purple. Her mouth continued to move, but what was she saying?
Down and to his left was his son, bright-eyed Max Morgan. He tugged on his dad’s Geneva gown. The stage behind them was a flurry of movement. The worship team chatted, organized cords, and packed up instruments. “Hey Daaaaad, DID YOU HEAR ME?” Max exclaimed.
Daniel finally reoriented himself. It was almost noon. After three sermons every Sunday morning, his mind was prone to wander. He often drifted back to the morning of his college graduation. Still somewhat dazed, he looked down at smiling Max. He couldn’t help being sentimental. He thought about how he adored his son, and how much he enjoyed pastoring this church and preaching in this beautiful sanctuary. He thought about their community of friends and how blessed he and Amy were to raise their family in this amazing town.
Just then Daniel felt a tap on his arm. He turned and remembered Norma. She had cornered him after the eleven o’clock service. Her long fingers coiled around his forearm. With her school-marm tone, she continued: “Daniel, don’t ignore me. We must address the important issues in this church.” She stared directly into his eyes.
Norma Phillips had been on the search committee when Daniel was hired fifteen years ago. From the day they met, Daniel knew he and Norma didn’t pair well. Something about Daniel rubbed Norma wrong. No matter how kind he was to her, here they were years later and she was still pressing him.
Fifteen years ago, during his final interview, Norma asked him to describe his life as a young man. Daniel explained how he’d been indecisive, a wanderer, how he struggled finding purpose, and how his parents were concerned about his future. He talked about his challenges in school and his lack of motivation. Then he shared how his encounter with Jesus in college changed all of that. She could not let go of Daniel’s story. Les tried to stop her, but Norma Phillips continued her cross-examination until the committee chair, Marty Schoenberg, abruptly ended the meeting. That evening, after Daniel left the room, the selection committee nominated him as the next senior pastor of Grace Covenant Church.
As Norma stood on the stage stairs and lectured Daniel, his thoughts drifted again. Over the last fifteen years Daniel went out of his way to pastor Norma numerous times. In their first months leading the church, Daniel walked alongside the Phillips through Les’s battle with cancer. Daniel recalled the night Les passed away. He stopped by to see Les on his way home from church. He greeted Norma warmly and then sat with Les next to the hospital bed they set up in the living room. Daniel recalled how he read Les scripture and told him a few stories. When Les fell asleep, Daniel sat and prayed for the Phillips. After a few hours, Daniel whispered to Les that he was going to let him rest and that he’d see him tomorrow. As Daniel stood, Les mumbled something. Daniel leaned closer and asked, “sorry Les, what did you say?” Les responded with his eyes closed, “She never got over Paul’s death. I’m sorry. After I’m gone, I can’t promise this will get any easier.” “Who is Paul?” Daniel asked. “Our son,” Les replied. “You’ve been here such a short time, I didn’t want you to be burdened with it. Paul died twenty years ago. He was barely seventeen. You two would be the same age.”
Les was right. After he died, things did get worse. No matter the church crisis, and no matter how Daniel handled it— whether it had anything to do with Norma or not—she was always critical.
The sanctuary quieted as it cleared. The worship team finished packing up and departed. Daniel’s thoughts faded, interrupted by the sound of Norma’s voice. She was now wagging her finger, carrying on about how, “the congregation needed fewer stories and illustrations and more scripture.” Daniel thought to himself, Can I really do this? Does everyone have a version of Norma Phillips? She’s only seventy-two?! Lord, this incessant criticism, how long?
- Can't finish right now?
Daniel knew the data. It wasn’t him, it was Norma’s brokenness. It was a wounded heart never mended.
Perhaps it was Sunday noon exhaustion? Perhaps it was the way the light was shining through the stained glass? Perhaps it was the Holy Spirit? Whatever the case, what Daniel did next shocked both of them.
While Max continued tugging on his dad’s robe, Daniel reached over and gently grasped Norma’s wrist. Then he carefully lifted it up until the wagging finger touched her own lips. Then, for what seemed like an eternity, he softly held it there.
They stared at each other.
His confidence was fleeting, his heart sank. He felt he’d crossed a line—but wait, he thought, this is my own line. Would there be consequences? From whom? And then his confidence returned with one, final, victorious thought: I’m almost certain this is what Jesus would have done.
From a very young age Daniel excelled at pleasing people and managing expectations. He was great at it and did it with ease. Not so with Norma—she rejected his attempts, every time. His confidence waned again— How can one person have so much control over me?
The only person who really understood any of this was Daniel’s wife, Amy. She knew all about Norma but she carried the burden differently. When it came to Norma, Daniel’s first response was always frustration, but Amy’s posture was compassion. Over the years Amy’s gracious response toward Norma often frustrated Daniel.
Daniel felt a cramp in his shoulder and realized he was still holding Norma’s wrist. He noticed her angry expression had disappeared. Daniel said nothing. In the history of Grace Covenant Church, not even Les Phillips ever stopped Norma mid-sentence.
Suddenly, Norma removed her wrist from Daniel’s grasp. Then she turned and descended the stage steps and walked down the aisle and out into the foyer. Daniel stood still for a moment, looking out across the empty sanctuary. He took a deep breath, and looked again up to the stained-glass windows, still magnificent in the early-afternoon sun.
As they drove down 14th Street toward Gio’s Pizzeria, Daniel and Max admired the cherry blossoms. Max stared out the window with a rolling commentary about everything he saw: bicycles, skateboards, dogs, sidewalks, trees, buildings. Then Max saw his kindergarten teacher in the crosswalk at the intersection of 14th and Oak. “Dad!” he said, pointing. “That’s Ms. Stapleton. She’s the coolest. She loves dinosaurs.” Max rolled down the window and waved to Ms. Stapleton. “Triceratops rule!” he shouted.
Pastor Daniel Morgan considered his son’s easy confidence and the joy he felt watching this five-year-old engage the world without worry. Max would ask whatever came to mind. He was confident and inquisitive and joyful, unconcerned about pleasing anyone or proving anything. Daniel felt a pang of envy. He was overcome seeing Max so secure, so willing to be himself. Daniel couldn’t remember ever feeling that free, not once. In that moment, he was acutely aware of his own brokenness. He thought about the complexity of human nature and about the wounds we carry. He thought about his own mother and how rarely—if ever—she experienced joy, peace, or contentment. At that moment, Daniel again felt compassion for Norma.
They pulled into the parking lot of Gio’s Pizzeria, a turn-of-the-century, red-brick mill. They parked at the far end of the lot next to the old rail yard that was now a playground and outdoor seating. Beyond the yard were the rail tracks, and beyond the tracks was the Sonora River. They walked across the gravel parking lot and through Gio’s massive oak doors. A sawmill fifty years ago, and one of the largest employers in the area, now it was a popular bowling alley and pizza joint. Gio was one of Daniel’s closest friends and one of the church elders. It was the place where everyone went after church on Sundays. As Daniel and Max walked among the big tables, bowling balls and pins crashing in the background, families greeted them with smiles, hollers, and kind words.
Daniel spotted Amy waving from the corner booth. He walked over and sat down. Kids screaming, half-eaten pizza and soda straws strewn across the table. “What kept you?” Amy asked. Her eyes filled with understanding.
Daniel took a deep breath, put his hand on hers and smiled. “Just tending to the needs of the flock.”
