Any action to expose lying seems a foray into enemy-occupied territory.
The phone call couldn't have come at a better time.
Just that morning Ken McMahon had mustered the courage to fire his choir director. He needed to do it—he'd been putting it off for too long—but he hated to do it all the same. During his thirteen years at Levittown Community Church, people had often told Ken he was an encourager, a rescuer, the kind of person who could bring out the best in others. Maybe that's why it hurt so much to let Sharon go.
But the call took away the morning's bitter aftertaste. An old seminary friend who was now teaching at a college called out of the blue to say, "If you're ever looking for a music director, there's a sharp young guy who is coming to Philly for graduate work in music. He's one in a million."
Ken got the name and number and set up a breakfast appointment for the following Tuesday.
On Monday Ken called the guy's home pastor. The pastor was high on him. "Steve Borchard? ...1