The Fall of Alice K. Read Free

steps. Rev. Prunesma was already standing behind the lectern, but he waited, smiling benevolently, as the Vangs made their way to the front of the church and sat down in what was usually old lady Waltersdorf ’s pew.
    Alice watched the Vangs through the opening benediction and opening hymn. They were familiar with the order of worship, and even recited the Apostle’s Creed without having to read it. At least Mai and Nickson did. Their mother kept looking down.
    After the long congregational prayer, after the church offering with two collection plates going around—one for the General Fund and one for Christian Education—and after the follow-up hymn, Rev. Prunesma’s sermon began. His text was Psalm 23, the familiar “The Lord is my shepherd” passage. Alice knew Psalm 23 as well as she knew the Lord’s Prayer. She knew it as well as “Little Bo Peep.”
    â€œThe Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” he began. “Brothers and sisters in the Lord, what does that familiar text mean to you? ‘Shepherd.’ What does that mean to you? Do you see a large bearded man with a heavy staff ready to strike you down? Does a shepherd strike his sheep? Does a shepherd beat his sheep into submission? No! No! That is not what King David is saying in this passage. Shepherds do not strike, they do not whip, they do not poke, they do not abuse. No, shepherds guide their flock lovingly.”
    He opened his arms as if to embrace the whole congregation.
    â€œWhat about that big long staff we see in pictures of shepherds? you
ask. Does that thing look like a bullwhip? Does it look like a cattle prod? No! This staff is used for giving direction, not for beating. The shepherds of David’s time only used their staffs aggressively to ward off lions. For you, His people, the Good Shepherd uses His staff to ward off the lions of temptation. With you, His sheep, He uses His staff as a gentle prod to keep you moving down the path to glory.”
    The Rev paused, rubbed his hands together, and stepped to the side of the lectern.
    â€œBut. But,” he went on with sentences that he chopped into questions: “Does this mean?—that He is a cozy companion? Does this mean?—that He is someone?—who has no expectations?—from His people? Is this what it means?—to think of Jesus?—as the Good? Shepherd?”
    He shook his head slowly but emphatically. “Oh no. Oh no.” He raised his right hand and wagged his forefinger. “Jesus is not your chum! Jesus is not your pal! Jesus is not your buddy! Jesus is the Lord God Almighty, ruler of heaven and earth!”
    His voice bounced off the ceiling and reverberated through the sanctuary. Alice loved that energy, even though what he had just said contradicted the soft image of God that he had been extolling a minute earlier. Rev. Prunesma was showing his true colors: he was no softy. He was proclaiming the majesty of a fearsome God. A gentle shepherd and an almighty God—not exactly a Holy Trinity, but a Hefty Duality.
    Through the brief silence that followed the reverend’s exclamations came the sound of beating wings: the Rev’s voice had startled and launched a starling from somewhere in the back of the church, and it flew in short, urgent bursts over the congregation, smacking into one window and then another. When it landed on the baptismal font and started drinking, the Rev continued his sermon as if nothing had happened. The starling sat still, seeming quite content with its current situation.
    Thrilling as Rev. Prunesma’s exuberant digression and the flight of the wayward starling had been, the duller truths of the world sat next to Alice. Aldah was bored. She may have been the only person over ten in the entire congregation who did not know Psalm 23 by heart. Rev. Prunesma’s loud exclamations did not stir her, and, to Alice’s surprise, neither did the starling. Her