We’ve spent a great deal of time in our OT class talking about repentance. The methods by which people repented for their wrongs before Jesus involved a many-tiered system. The ways in which people were expected to repent depended on the wrong they had done, and often involved a bloody sacrifice of some kind. Alas, the teacher taught ahead without a spoiler-alert, God sent Jesus as the ultimate in final sacrifice so we wouldn’t have to do that stuff anymore. Of course that’s only one of the many things Jesus came for, but it got me thinking about what repentance looks like now.
Turning away. A change in behavior. These are terms both Silas and Bridgette have used in discussing Silas’ emergence from whatever hole he’s been in most of the semester. I hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic about it when talking about it with Matt the other day, because, honestly, whatever Silas is doing is working. He’s smiling more, doesn’t spend so much time alone, and talks more when he is around people.
While moving through my shift at Word, I keep looking at the clock and watching the front door, waiting for my chance to repent to Matt.
“You’re all serious,” Asher says, nudging next to me while he steams milk. Chelsea is out sick, meaning Asher’s working the floor with me tonight.
I shrug. “Just … contemplative, I guess.” I pull a word from a book about prayer life I’ve been reading.
“Where’s Roland been? I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks.”
I blow some hair out of my face and move to the sterilizer to dry and stack cups. “After Thanksgiving he had a conference in Louisiana, I think. Then some interfaith symposium at Columbia this week.”
I’ve stayed in loose text-contact with Roland over the last two weeks but, as it turns out, my PK friends have been one-hundred-percent right: Pastors are just busy people. A true 24/7 job that extends way beyond Sunday morning and sermon preparation. Instead of feeling like I’ve taken a back seat, I’m kind of relieved to have some space, to be honest. Roland and I have had near constant-contact with each other since the beginning of the semester, and I think we both needed a break in order to go about our regular lives. At least until we figure out how our relationship will fit into our “regular lives.”
“Tell me about your prison ministry,” I ask.
“What do you want to know?” Asher sets the last of a large order of drinks on the counter and leans against it, both of us enjoying the sudden, temporary lull.
“Anything.” I chuckle. “Like … when you started it, how you started it, what you do … and why you’re so secretive about it.”
He chuckles, his large shoulders shifting up and down. “I’m not secretive about it, Kennedy.”
“Then why did I not know about it and find out about it from my friends, who spend far less time with you than I do?”
Asher playfully growls and shakes his head. “I don’t talk about it here unless there’s an opening.”
I lift my eyebrows. “And me going to CU wasn’t enough of an opening for you? I call baloney.”
“Baloney?” he repeats, comically.
“Yes. Baloney. I think you intentionally kept it from me, in order to create a situation where you could blow my perception of you and Jesus-people out of the water.”
“Jesus people?”
“Stop repeating the last word I’ve said.”
Asher runs his hand over his shaved head before holding his hands out. “You got me.” He winks.
I stick out my tongue. “Fine, now that we know you’re as big of a hypocrite as I am, why don’t you tell me about the ministry?”
After a brief interruption to fill a croissant and tea order, Asher turns back to me.
“It started when I was a junior at CU and got arrested.”
My mouth falls open and it’s hard to hear anything but the shocked gasp in my head. “Your … your what? And you got what?”
He arches an eyebrow. “Guess I should back up, huh? What are the odds you can stay late after your shift tonight?”
“Zero to zero.” I sigh. “I’m on a watch list.” I’m half teasing, but recalling Dean Baker’s snarly voice reminds me that I do need to keep my act together.
“I’ll come have lunch with you on campus sometime this week, okay? We’ll talk then.” With a sly grin, Asher eyes the door, then nods to it. “Your boyfriend’s here.”
My cheeks heat and my pulse races at the word as I look at the group of guys walking in and taking their usual table in the corner. Jonah, John, a couple girls whose names I don’t know, and, of course, Matt drape their coats over chairs and slowly make their way to the counter.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I hiss. Sheepishly, I look up at Asher. “Once I finish their order, can I take my break?”
He snorts. “Yes. You can make your non-boyfriend a drink and then go talk to him.”
“I hate you,” I whisper-growl, begging my cheeks to stop burning.
Asher takes over putting the dishes away, not saying another word.
“Hey Jonah,” I say a bit more cheerfully than usual. An epic fail in trying to cover up my butterflies.
Jonah’s ever-pleasant face seems a bit grey. “Hey Kennedy.” His tone is just as cloudy.
“Usual?” I ask. He nods, and I speak to him over my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” he tries to sound reassuring. “I’m just kind of stressed.”
“Amen to that,” I respond without a hint of snark.