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Previously on Shades of Surrender

Pastor Corwin Creed had a troubling dream in which his deepest desire came true: he was honoured as Pastor of the Year. But the celebration turned sour when a sinister figure appeared, leaving him shaken and unsettled. The next morning, after a strained breakfast with Annabelle, Corwin headed to church, determined to put the unpleasant experience behind him. Instead, he came face to face with the very figure from his dream, a mysterious stranger calling himself Sable Vane. And before vanishing without a trace, Vane left him with an ominous gift: an intricately carved wooden box that promised to help him see.

Chapter 3

A Thousand Shades of Gray

My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge
Hosea 4:6

Corwin shivered as the day unexpectedly turned chilly. The walk to the church had done much to lift his spirits, but after having met Sable Vane, the shadows returned and clung to him like a wet blanket. What in the world was going on here? Where did that weirdo come from and why did he look so much like that wretched person in his dream?

Sable Vane’s greasy, long hair and his wild beard were just horrible. The man clearly hated him, and that without reason. It was just like in his dream. Actually, it was worse than in his dream. This was real. He shivered as he recalled Sable Vane’s smile, a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. And then that smell… What was it? He’d never smelled anything so disgusting. Dead rats, perhaps? Whatever it was, it was nauseating. But worst of all was that mysterious box.

What in the world was he supposed to do with it?

A creak from the old church door interrupted his thoughts. Susannah Sheldrick, the church secretary, appeared. Her face, full of wrinkles and laughter lines, broke into a smile when she spotted Corwin.

“Pastor Corwin,” she said, “I was just about to call you. You are late, and we are all waiting for you. The board members want to start the meeting.”

“Of course,” Corwin said, hoped Susannah would not spot his confusion. But she did. Her smile faded and worry appeared. “Are you alright, Pastor? You seem a little… downcast.”

Corwin grunted. “Couldn’t be better,” he lied. “Sorry, I am a little late. Just a few problems around the breakfast table with Annabelle. It’s all sorted out.” He forced a grin onto his face. “What a bright day, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Susannah said, but her voice was tight and her eyes still held a flicker of doubt. Then she spotted the box.

Her eyes examined the wretched thing, and Corwin let out a frustrated sigh. He should have sent that thing flying with a swift kick, smashing it to smithereens. But now she had seen it.

“What’s that?” she asked, and her eyes widened. “Is that yours? It looks… uh… a little weird.”

“Found it,” Corwin said. The words tasted like ash in his mouth. But what else could he say? “I think someone deliberately left it here in front of the church for us to sell, so we can invest the money in our Help the Poor program.”

“Ah… I see,” she replied, unconvinced. She squinted. “What’s with those markings?” Just like him, she disliked those carvings. There was something wrong with that box, but he couldn’t quite put it into words. She took a step toward the box.

“Stop!” Corwin’s panicked yell, sharp and high-pitched, made Susannah freeze instantly. She stared at him, her eyes wide with confusion. Corwin felt his cheeks burning.

Come on, Corwin Creed. Keep your cool.

“Uh … I mean … we can look at it later. We are late for the meeting and cannot let the others wait any longer. I’ll check out the contents of this box later today.”

“Sure,” Susannah said with a shrug, but her eyes remained fixed on the box.

Now he had to pick it up.

With a sigh, he steeled himself, bent down, and lifted the thing.

It felt light. Much lighter than he had expected. A jolt pulsed through him the moment his hand touched the wood. As he clutched it, he felt Susannah’s eyes boring into him. His cheeks burned again. “Just a box,” he mumbled while forcing a smile on his face. “We can make some good money with it.”

“Sure,” Susannah replied as she held the church door open for Corwin.

As Corwin stepped inside, the box kept pulling at him, as if it had a voice.

Open me! I will show you great and mighty things about which you know nothing.. Great and mighty things? He could use a few of those. What secrets were hidden inside? After all, had Sable Vane not said its contents would make him see?

Corwin ground his teeth as he followed Susannah to the meeting. He disliked Sable Vane intensely, and yet there was something about this box that needed to be investigated. And it needed to be done soon.

***

Board meetings filled Corwin with a deep-seated loathing; he could practically taste the boredom. He had to endure them every Tuesday, and they had a habit of dragging on endlessly. Most matters were a complete waste of time.

But he would endure. He always did. His role as senior pastor demanded that he lead the meetings. He could not skip them. He needed to keep the meetings alive with his inspired wisdom and offer clever solutions that reminded everyone the church remained in expert hands. But today’s meeting would be especially difficult. After the dream and his meeting with Sable Vane, he was the opposite of the confident, inspired person everyone expected.

Ahead of him, Susannah went into the conference room where the others fidgeted impatiently in their chairs. Corwin swallowed as he entered. A stale, coffee-saturated smell permeated the room.

Typical. The smell of uninspired drudgery. They should open a window.

“Sorry, I am a bit late,” he mumbled, his voice thick with apology.

The others didn’t react. They stayed slumped in their metal-framed chairs. Corwin stumbled toward the coat rack. The squeak of his shoes on the polished floor echoed loudly in the silent room, making him acutely aware of his clumsy entrance. With a plastic smile to no one in particular, he added, “But all is well, as I am here now.”

His faithful scribe Susannah sat in her spot, right next to where he was to sit. Ebony Parnaby, the assistant pastor, sat beside her. Around the table was the rest of the usual crowd: the youth pastor, the music director, the office manager, the accountant, and Hemingway, the custodian with his goatee and perpetually uncombed hair.

Ebony stared at Corwin with wide, accusing eyes. His expression was a mixture of disapproval and hurt. Harkan Tamber, the worship leader, mirrored his annoyance with a tight-lipped frown.

Not wanting to reveal the wooden box from Sable Vane, Corwin casually placed the strange item on a lone chair near the window and quickly threw his coat over it. “Let the meeting begin,” he said in cheerful tones as he took his customary place at the head of the table.

All eyes were on him.

A full house again.

Dear Lord, how am I going to make it through?

“You seem a little nervous, pastor,” Harkan said. “Everything alright?”

“Why does everyone think I’m not okay?” Corwin retorted, scratching his head impatiently. “I want this meeting to start.”

With a silent grunt, he closed his eyes and mumbled a brief prayer. His lips were barely moving. “May the Lord bless us and keep His face from shining upon us… I mean, keep His face shining. Amen.”

He opened his eyes and turned to Susannah. His head really hurt now. “Susannah,” he said. “What… um… is cooking today?”

Susannah sighed, opened a large green carton file before her and said, “There are three main points to discuss.”

“Please refresh my memory,” Corwin said. Was he nauseous too?

 Lord, hurry this thing up.

Susannah nodded and said, “Our challenges include declining membership, financial struggles, and the absence of a solid discipleship program.”

“Okay,” Corwin said, his voice wavering. “Does anybody have…”

“Eh… may I speak?” Ebony, the assistant pastor, cleared his throat.

“Of course,” Corwin said. “Be my guest.”

“There… um… there is a matter that isn’t on the schedule.”

“Then we won’t discuss it,” Corwin cut him off. “Put it on next week’s schedule.”

Ebony blushed. The assistant pastor cleared his throat. “I… no… we feel this matter can’t wait. We would like to discuss it now.”

“Discuss what?” Corwin felt his headache intensifying.

Ebony glanced at the others before looking back at Corwin.

“Well… I mean, we all feel that you’re a great person. You have so many talents and…”

“So?” Corwin demanded. “What’s wrong with that?”

Harkan cleared his throat. “Pastor, we’ve tried to raise some concerns with you before. You don’t seem to hear us.”

Corwin stared at him.

Harkan hesitated. “To be frank, Pastor, you chase everyone away from you.”

“I do what?”

“You don’t listen, Pastor,” Harkan said, licking his lips. “Not really. You listen until someone disagrees with you.”

The others nodded.

Corwin remembered his dream. The firecracker. There it was. The dream. 

Corwin felt himself getting angry, and his cheeks burned. But he could not show it. He ground his teeth and pressed his fingers into his cheek. “Are you saying,” he hissed in a controlled manner, “that I don’t have a heart for this church?”

“Of course not,” Hemingway blurted out. “That’s not the point. We all know how tough your job is, but… “

“You have no idea,” Corwin slashed back. “Nobody knows how hard my job is.” He squeezed his eyes shut, his mind a whirlwind of half-formed sentences and anxieties. They were against him. All of them. He reopened his eyes, looking directly at Hemingway. “And you, Hemingway, of all people… Shame on you. What do you really do for the church? A little dusting of the pews, a bit of scrubbing and carrying a few songbooks around?”

That was uncalled for and it was a harsh, mean blow below the belt, but saying it felt good. And it was true. No, if the board were looking for a fight, they would get one, with no holds barred. Hemingway slumped back in his seat, his face falling. But the others were not backing down. “This is exactly what we mean,” Blaze cut in. “You take everything personally while we just —”

“— How can I not take this personally?” Corwin roared, and he jumped up from his seat, waving his arms around. “Do any of you know the stress I am under? I am expected to have answers for everyone, young and old. I pray for the women in the community to lose weight, only to see them head to the coffee shop right after prayer and order another slice of devil’s food cake.” His own voice was getting higher and higher. Inner alarm bells went off, urging him to calm down. But he could not. Annabelle had warned him about his unpredictable outbursts. But whose fault was it he sometimes lost control?

“Calm down, Pastor,” Blaze suggested. “We just want to talk.”

“What do you mean I need to calm down? You guys need to calm down. I am busy with this church literally 24/7. You folks all head home after the service, but my work, with its endless paperwork and lingering anxieties, is never truly finished.”

Oh, how he hated these meetings with these ungrateful board members.

Susannah’s gentle voice sounded at his side. “We understand that, Pastor. We are grateful for all you do, but …”

She hesitated, which gave Jefferson the opportunity to speak up too. “…May I suggest you take a break, Pastor? We all feel the church would benefit from it.”

“A break?” Corwin stared at him as if Jefferson had just told him God had made the moon out of cheese.

“We love you, Pastor,” Jefferson tried,

“Yes,” Blaze agreed. “Sort of.”

“Yet sometimes you seem…,” Jefferson continued, “… a little proud.”

Corwin blinked. “Me proud?”

“… N-Not much, just a little,” Jefferson explained.

Corwin couldn’t respond anymore. All his energy was gone, and he decided it was best to let the waters of ingratitude wash over him. Everyone except Quintes had now spoken, but a quick glance at Quintes’ stony face revealed his allegiance to the rebellion. No, they were all against him. There was only one thing to do: he needed to leave. They said he needed a break, so he’d give them a break and that would start right now. He would go outside. Walk in the sun, go to the park and forget all this misery.

He sank back into his seat, and without looking up, he rubbed his forehead and sighed, “Fine… I quit. You guys figure it out.”

The room went silent, the air heavy with a sense of dread. An unpleasant excitement washed over the room.

“Y-you can’t quit,” Susannah’s small voice broke through the silence. “That’s not what we wanted.”

Another sigh escaped his lips and, with great difficulty, he stammered, “But it’s what I want.” With these words, he pushed his seat away from the conference table and got up.

“We didn’t mean it like that, Corwin,” Blaze spoke up in a pleading voice, but finally Quintes spoke up too. “Let him go, Blaze. It’s for the best.”

Corwin cast him an angry scowl.

“Et tu, Brute?

You too, Quintes…

As Corwin walked to his coat, the image of the ornately carved wooden box flashed in his mind, along with Sable Vane’s chilling words. “Eyes you have, but they see not. The contents of this box will help you see.”

His eyesight was fine, unlike that of the board members. Should he leave them the box? Of course not. He needed to find out for himself what was in there. Sable Vane, unpleasant as the fellow was, had given in to him.

He discreetly tucked the box under his coat and exited the room. After a barely audible “goodbye,” he closed the door behind him with as much dignity as he could muster. The door thudded shut with a finality that echoed his mood.

***

The sun outside was warmer than earlier this morning. He breathed deeply. It brought some relief. Stupid board-members. He would get back at them in due time, but first he needed to open that box. With resolute steps, he headed for the park. Nobody would disturb him there.

Within minutes, he reached the entrance. A beautiful park. In the middle of their bustling city, it appeared to be a place of refuge for old ladies, people with dogs, and pastors with mysterious boxes.

At this time of day, he’d never been there. He was simply too busy, but as he looked at the beautiful trees, the carefully arranged flower beds, and the pond that glittered in the sunlight, peace settled upon his heart again.

He settled for the first empty park bench he saw. A nice, protected place it was, half hidden from sight by the overhanging branches. The bench stood at the edge of the pond, where a group of ducks quacked away. That sounded a lot better than the confused quacking of Jefferson, Quintes, and Blaze. He forced himself to relax and was pleased to see there were no prying eyes nearby. He could check out the box. Undisturbed.

One more time, he looked to the left and to the right. All he could see was a small, stray dog, who was eyeing him with curious brown eyes from a distance. Nothing to worry about. Besides that fleabag, there was not a soul in sight.

His heart pounded when he sat down with the wooden box on his lap. It felt much heavier than it really was. He heaved a sigh while staring at it. His heart rate would not settle until he’d opened it. He bit his lower lip and pushed at the lid.

The box creaked open. Instantly, a peculiar aroma unlike anything he’d smelled before filled his nostrils. Musty and old.

Of course. What could a man expect from a smelly fiend like Sable Vane?

He pushed the urge aside to close the box again and peered inside. There, on a green handkerchief, was a pair of black glasses.

Glasses? 

He pulled them out and studied them. They were rather large, black-rimmed spectacles, smooth and strangely lightweight.

Just ordinary glasses?

That couldn’t be.

He blew off a bit of dust, closed his eyes, and then in one swift move planted the glasses on his nose. They fit perfectly. Not too heavy, but not too light either. Just right, as if made especially for him.

Anticipation thrummed in his chest as he slowly opened his eyes.

What now?

He blinked several times. He leaned forward while his heart skipped a beat.

The trees on the other side of the pond… They had lost all color.

But not just the trees. The entire world was suddenly black and white.

The pond, which had been reflecting the gorgeous blue of the sky, the quacking ducks with their yellow beaks, and the soft green grass by his feet, had all turned to a sickening grey. A thousand shades of grey and patches of pure white and black danced before his eyes.

He grunted in disgust. What lousy glasses they were. As expected, Sable Vane was a liar and a fraud.

His hand went up to remove the glasses, but as his fingers brushed the strange material, his breath stopped. The glasses wouldn’t move. They were stuck to his face and wouldn’t come off.

What in the world was that?

Panic surged through him. His heart felt as if it were about to burst, pounding even faster than it had during the board meeting. Why had he even opened this stupid box?

He placed his trembling fingers on the frame and tugged on them as hard as he could. Those glasses had to come off his nose.

But they didn’t.

They did not move even an inch.

He let out a curse. Hoping to just break them off, he jumped up and yanked at them again.

No, they were stuck. The world remained colorless.

He fell back again on the bench, while hot tears stung his eyes.

Maybe Jefferson was right, and he should just take a vacation. Or was it Hemingway who had said that, or Blaze…? He could not remember, but it didn’t matter. They were all against him, and no one cared. Even the Lord Himself seemed miles away. He was all alone. Abandoned by all.

Tears spilled, leaving damp, grey smudges on his immaculately pressed trousers that once had been brown but were now almost totally black.

____

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