The Lost Coin

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CHAPTER 2   God and Mammon

Steve Season rammed the phone in the cradle as he hung up on Sam.  “That unappreciative little shit. Little leech,” he mumbled out loud as he walked into the bedroom.  “I don’t even know why anyone fools with him.  He’s drained Dad and Pop dry and has the nerve to talk back to me.  I’m the only one who cares for them.  Cutting grass, fixing things around the house, getting them to appointments.  He’s nowhere around when you need him.”

“Honey, did you say something?” asked Sue from the bathroom.

“No, just talking to Sam,” he said composing himself.

“Sam? How is he doing?  We haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He’s fine,” he said as he put the final adjustments on his tie.  He liked the way the red tie was set off against the dark gray, three piece, pin striped suit.  Pretty good taste, he thought.  He turned sideways to admire the cut, smoothing his hair with his hand.  He was a fine figure of a man.  And he knew it.  Six feet zero inches, 180 pounds.  Jet black hair.  He was very proud of how well he had maintained his shape in his mid-thirties.  And then he thought of his slovenly brother and wondered if he really was his brother.

“Honey, I’m taking off now,” he said to Sue through the door.  “Sorry to make you drive alone but I have a Finance Committee meeting after church.  Then I have to then run to a meeting at the office. Then I have to go cut Pop’s grass.  Hopefully, with my super powers, I can do all that and be at Mom’s in time for Sunday dinner.”

“Ok, sweetie,” she replied.  “I’ll be right behind you.”

Sue was a beautiful woman.  Steve was drawn to her at first sight when he met her in church.  Whether it was love at first sight, he wasn’t sure what that meant, but there was a strong attraction between them both.  Steve was attracted to her beauty.  Sue was mostly attracted to Steve because of their like faith.  They had been married five years and were now contemplating their first child.  The prospect excited both of them.  She more than he.

Steve got into his new 740i BMW, his present to himself for his recent promotion and sat there for a moment soaking in its luxury.  His hands reached down and stroked the black leather.  Everything felt so different.  He felt different.  The smell.  The ambiance.  The success.  Sue wondered how they were going to pay this along with their other debts, but Steve assured her a bright future was theirs for the taking.  The new CFO of a prestigious accounting firm had to dress and live the part, he told her.  The clothes, cars, and life style made the man.  Image was everything.   You had to spend money to make money.  This car was just a small investment with a huge payback.  And it said he had arrived, at only 35 years of age.  He started the engine and listened to the muffled purr of the engine.  He backed out of the driveway and started toward the church.

Steve looked to see who was watching as he slowly motored into the church parking lot.  Sue was right behind him in her BMW X3.  Greetings were accompanied with metallic smiles and robotic handshakes as they made their way to the choir room.  Small talk was the fare as they donned their robes and waited for show time.

Finally they could hear the pipe organ’s big voice start with Holy Holy Holy.  An opened door beckoned them to start the procession.  A big cross led the way followed by swinging incense, the choir, and tailed by Father David.  Each choir member genuflected to the eternal light as they turned to take their assigned seat in the loft above the pulpit.  Solemn songs were led by the choir, rote prayers were read alternating verses between the choir and the congregation, then silence ensued as Father David stepped up to take the pulpit.

Father David made an invocation for the Holy Spirit to assist as the parishioners kneeled on thick cushions with their heads bowed.  Then they were seated as the priest started his message.  The theme was the dignity of man, showing respect, and not doing unto others what you would not want done unto yourself.  A few recognized this as a remix of previous sermons, all centered around the same theme.  Some listened.  Some didn’t.  One, a couple pews back was having difficulty holding his head up.  His eyelids started to sag.  When a barely audible snore started to become audible, a nervous wife elbowed him to attention.  Many spent the time making plans for the afternoon as the sermon droned on.  Steve was planning what to say during his Finance Committee meeting after the service.   Sue listened to every word.

Steve enjoyed the prestige of being the Chairman of the Finance Committee of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church of Murrysville.  He was in control of the purse, signing all the checks and handling all the financial affairs for the church and also for the affiliated church school.  He called a special meeting that Sunday right after the service to discuss the ever widening gap in the church’s expenditures versus revenues.   He wasn’t looking forward to that.  The church was running in the red each week.  That was not sustainable.  Attendance had been steadily declining for the last five years.

After thirty long minutes, Father David finished his sermon and began preparation for the Holy Eucharist.  Songs were sung and prayers were read.  The faithful were invited to the alter to kneel in groups. Father David presented the host to each person, waving it over each person’s bowed head with the sign of the cross whispering, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” Once the bread had been dispensed, he traversed again with the chalice of wine, wiping the rim with a white cloth after each sip.  When the last of the faithful received the sacraments, the priest would lift the chalice up as a bell would ring, tilt it back and drink the rest.  Then the remaining consecrated wine had to be consumed.  No drop of the transubstantiated blood could be wasted.  The deacon poured the last of it into the chalice filling it to the brim.  Looks like he overestimated again, Steve thought. The priest lifted the chalice again, a bell rang, and then he finished it.

After the final prayers, the candles were extinguished and the ceremonial procession began its reverse trek to the back of the sanctuary, mirroring their entrance.  The choir trailed behind the cross bearing layman while another swung the sweet smelling incense in the faces of those lining the aisle.   The glassy eyed priest brought up the rear.  Once the priest disappeared, the congregation started winding through the pews toward the exits making banal small talk.  Father David met them at the doorway and shook each person’s hand.  A smile would come across his alcohol laced lips with each gratuitous review of his sermon.

The choir room picked up a head of noise as they disrobed.  They were excited to get out and enjoy a beautiful fall day.  The colors were at their peak.

Steve could see his committee members starting down the hall to the conference room.  He nodded to Sue to say he would see her later in the afternoon.  She acknowledged and walked out chatting with one of the ladies.

Four of the five members on the committee were older heads, long time members of the church.  One new nominated member had recently moved into town from out of state.  He was about Steve’s age, had some business acumen, and tended to ask a lot of questions.  Steve was used to presenting his recommendations and having them rubber stamped, but this one was a wild card which he took as a threat to his authority.  Father David would sometimes sit in on these meetings as an ad hoc member and was counted on as a favorable voice.  But today was communion and Steve knew that rendered the padre unavailable.  Father David gladly performed his duties on communion days but it always resulted in needing more of a nap than concern about worldly details.

Steve handed out the year to date profit and loss statement and gave a short PowerPoint showing declining cash flows and increasing expenses over the last several months.  It was short on specifics and long on generalities.   He felt there was no need to burden these lay people with the technical details of each line item of expense.   The shortfall, he pointed out was about $30,000 a month.  They were drowning in red ink.  Reserves were getting critically low.

“To sum it up,” Steve said, “church attendance and membership continue to decline, but it is clear the remaining parishioners are not living up to the commitments they made at the beginning of the year when we put our budget together.  The other main source of revenue, of course is the elementary school, but it is barely breaking even.  We need to come up with some strategies to balance the budget.  Soon.  One thing for sure, it will take more than a cake sale.”

Phil Martin, a charter member, spoke up, “Well, for one thing, those that committed their tithes to this church need to be talked to.  The Bible is clear.  If you make a vow, you better well keep it.  That’s the same as robbing God.”

“True,” said Mary Gilbert.  “But I think it should be done privately to maintain their dignity.  No need to embarrass them.  We can talk to Father David.  He can meet with them privately, or subtly reprimand them in his sermons.  Where is he this morning?”

“Other church business,” Steve answered.

“Sermons on tithing give a short spike in giving,” Phil said, “but it has proven not to be a long term solution.  It wears off quickly.”

“Maybe so,” said Gordon Blankenship.  “But tithing needs to be taught.  We should tithe because God commanded us to.  I tithe because it’s my obligation.  ‘Put me to the test, says God, and see if I will not open the windows of heaven’ – Malachi.  It’s worked for me and it will work for them.  There are consequences to our actions or inactions.  ‘For whatever one sows, that will he also reap’ – Galatians.”

“I disagree with sermons on tithing,” piped up Mark Sutton, the resident scholar.  “Tithing is not a New Testament mandate.  That’s old law stuff.  The New Testament church isn’t obligated to tithe and, in my opinion, it actually sets a limit on what people will give.  If people give out of true love and a glad heart led by the Spirit, there is no limit to their giving.  Ten percent just holds them back; puts a ceiling on it.”

“That’s very spiritual, Mark,” Steve replied hoping to avoid a full blown theological debate, “and I totally agree.  But I have been around numbers and these parishioners quite a while and, not to offend anyone,  they are not close to the spiritual level required for them to open the windows of their hearts and pour out all their money spontaneously.  They need a catalyst.  A goad to prompt them.  Let’s just say Father David should address this from the pulpit.  Agreed?”

Mark nodded his grimacing head in agreement.

Everyone nodded except Tim McCreary, the new member, who was still perusing the two sheets of paper Steve handed out waiting for the theological discussions to finish.

“We definitely need to address the revenue side,” Tim started, “I agree, but what about the expense side?  That is just as important.  To be honest, I can’t really tell what is going on with these statements.  I see a miscellaneous line item which is a big number with no detail.  Maybe a credit card account?”  He looked over at Steve pointing to the account.

“Yes,” Steve said after looking.  “That covers a lot of things.  Gas, repairs, the communion wine, supplies . . . just a lot of various things.”

“I see,” said Tim.  “I’m new here, so I apologize if don’t know everything that is going on, but one thing I have heard from several is their giving is down because they don’t know where the money is going.  From some of these numbers, I have to say I can understand their concern.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Steve asked glaring at Tim.  “It’s all transparent.  Is someone accusing the staff of impropriety?”

“No, no,” he replied.  “I’m just saying, they don’t think there is enough transparency.  Like these numbers that are presented.  They don’t have any detail.  No one knows what it actually is being spent on.  Any time there is a gap in information, human nature fills the gap, usually with misinformation.  I’ve heard rumors, only rumors of course, of extravagant lunches, party expenses, personal expenses, payments to people for doing volunteer work.  Stuff like that.”

“All they have to do is ask,” Steve replied. “Any uses of church funds are for church business and done appropriately.  If some money is not used say . . . as efficiently as it should be in someone’s opinion. . . we shouldn’t be splitting hairs when you consider that none of us are paid for our services.  Don’t muzzle the ox is what scripture says.  It sounds like a lot of pettiness based on rumor and innuendo.”

“No one is accusing anyone, Steve,” Tim said calmly.  “Just for my edification, who has the credit cards?  I understand just you and the pastor?”

“Yes,” Steve replied daring a follow up comment.

“I see,” Tim said.  He wasn’t done.  “The other thing I can’t figure out is the school costs.  They seem awfully high given the number of students.  The total salaries are extremely high.  There isn’t a breakdown, but I understand this little school has a superintendent and an assistant superintendent?”

“Well . . . yes,” Steve answered, “but that operates more as a business.  We don’t typically tackle the operation of the school in this committee.  I have reviewed all the numbers and the ratios are within norms for a school of this size.  It might be a little beyond your scope.”

“Maybe,” Tim said not showing offense, “but I run my own business and this one seems to be top heavy.  Too much overhead.  I could be wrong.  Anyway can we get our hands on the actual budget detail?  I might be able to help.”

“I’m sure we can do that,” Steve said trying to control his frustration.  “I’ll see what we can for next time.”

“I’m not sure we accomplished much in this session,” Steve said abruptly, quickly moving to adjourn.  “I wanted to make everyone aware of the situation.  Let’s all pray about it and bring some more ideas to the next meeting.  Thanks for coming.”  Steve’s toothy smile masked his fury as he got up to leave.

“No closing prayer?” Mark asked.

Steve was half way out the door and didn’t look back.

“Guess not.”

Steve went straight to his car passing a few others in the hall without speaking.  He sat in it for a few moments to gain his composure.  Easy, Steve, he coached himself.  Never let them see you sweat.  Who is that wet behind the ears SOB to come in here and start hacking away at our operations?  Accusing me of how I handle the finances!  Really!  Challenging expenditures!  One thing I know, worrying about nickels and dimes is not the answer.  I’ve busted my ass for this church for years, even as an altar boy, and then this little pissant comes in worrying that someone might have gotten something they didn’t deserve?  Worrying about a tank of gas for church business.  This car doesn’t run on air.

He started the car and slowly pulled out down the road toward the office but his mind still raced.  And the accusation of nepotism.  Tim knew my wife was the Assistant Superintendent.  That was a smartass jag.  She’s only part time.  Did he know that?  She’s more than qualified.  Bachelor’s in English and Master’s in Reading.  Who better to develop the curriculum?

As he got closer to the office, he knew he had to shake off his emotions to set his mind on the next meeting which was expected to be no more pleasant.  As the CFO for MacNeil and MacNeil, an accounting firm, he planned on doing great things, reducing costs, improving productivity, and making a name for himself.  This was only a stepping stone.

After being in the job only two months, he decided to start to start by reengineering his entire department.  That meant eliminating redundancy, the modern term for downsizing.  In reality, it was a guise to justify ridding himself of non-team players.  He had a meeting setup with Eric George, the Director of HR, to go over the severance package for one Senior Accountant, Dick Masterson.  Dick, a longtime employee, was passed over for the promotion and, in Steve’s opinion, was disrupting his strategies and authority.  He had to go.

Erik was already in his office going over a file.  Erik suggested doing it on a Sunday afternoon to assure confidentiality.

“Afternoon, Erik,” greeted Steve.  “Ready to make short work of this?”

“Afternoon, Steve,” returned Erik.  “I don’t know how short.  I have some definite concerns about this termination.”

“Such as?” asked Steve.

“Well, Dick Masterson is a long time employee.  He’s been with this company since the old man started it thirty five years ago.  From all accounts he’s been a very effective employee, had good reviews, and gets along well with others.  True, he has exhibited an attitude at times, but I sure hope that is not the motivation here.  That could backfire.”

“Of course not, Erik,” Steve lied.  “He has been here a long time, long before me, and made positive contributions no doubt.  But he hasn’t kept up with the latest in accounting standards and methods.  Jim is younger, but he has exceptional knowledge of the craft and new techniques.  What he does will go straight to the bottom line as I explained to Mr. MacNeil.  He also had concerns, but in the end, even he could see my logic.  Dick is not the most qualified person to handle this job and I don’t need two people doing the same thing in two different ways.  That makes his position no longer necessary.  That is unfortunate, but we are in business to make money.”

“I am not going to argue the technical aspects of the job or your organization, Steve,” Erik said.  “My part in this is the legal aspect.  To protect the company and to protect Dick if appropriate.  You know he is in a protected class. He’s 58 years old which automatically puts him in a difficult position to obtain a similar job.  We can say age discrimination is against the law but that does not eliminate it at all.  It’s alive and well with us in very subtle and covert ways.  I can’t worry about what discrimination he receives after he leaves here, but I have to be certain it is not an element of what we are about to do here today.”

“I certainly agree,” said Steve.  “I can assure you that his age was not taken into consideration.”

“Ok,” Erik said, “I’ll of course take your word for it.  Now, I did hear from a couple persons, unsolicited by the way, that you might have made some age related comments.  Specifically calling him an ‘Old Fart’ one time and a ‘Dinosaur’ another time in the hearing range of others?”

“I don’t recall ever making comments about his age publicly or privately,” Steve said.  “If they thought they heard something, it had to have been a joke taken out of context and before I became his boss.  I would deny it.”

Erik did the best he could to discourage him but he could see that Steve was set on proceeding.  The younger and elder MacNeil had signed off.  It was a done deal.

“Ok,” he acquiesced.  “Don’t take offense to my questioning.  They had to be asked.”

“Understood,” Steve said.

“Just be prepared,” Erik continued.  “This is a very fair severance package.  Nevertheless, there it is no sure thing he will accept it and sign a release.  He does have a reputation of being hard headed.  If he decides to lawyer up, you will need to defend the decision.  No offense, but you are new to management.  Let’s hope this isn’t a mistake.  If a court found in his favor for discrimination, it would hurt this company substantially.”

“I’m sure,” Steve said with some impatience.  “I may be new but I know what I’m doing.”

“Ok,” Erik said.  “When do you want to do it?”

“Let’s get it over with,” Steve said.  “I’ll grab him first thing in the morning.”

“Good enough.  Bring him right here.  I’ll have all the paperwork ready.”

Steve got in his car one more time.  He shook his head.  What a hellacious day, he said to himself.  Challenged every which direction.  Now one more task.  To cut his grandfather’s grass.

Norman Season had a mild stroke a year earlier and needed help with the house chores.  Steve to the rescue again, he complained.  Where the hell is that worthless Sam, the “favored one” when work is involved?  Damn him, he mumbled, and the twelve acres waiting for him.  But he lightened up when he considered its worth.  Serious money was a good presumption.  Steve had watched over the last few years as housing developments and strip malls had encroached closer and closer to the property.  He knew developers had made lucrative offers, but he wasn’t sure how much.  He just knew Pop had declined to consider any of them.  Steve planned on getting his just due for all he had done for his grandfather over the years.  Sam should get his just due also . . . nothing.

How he hated cutting grass, but today, he thought, it would be good therapy. Help to burn off the dross of the day.

Norman was not home.  He was at his Dad’s for Sunday dinner.  Steve brought some clothes to change in and mounted the tractor.  At least, he thought, this would be the last mowing of the season.  This might not be too bad.  I’m glad he got a highway size tractor for this.

Steve had a couple hours to let his mind float and forget the conflicts of the day, but there was no relief.  They were just replaced by dredging up other age old conflicts.  Why, he wondered, did he always have to be the dutiful one with no help?  It never seemed to be appreciated.  Why was it Sam seemed to be favored by his grandfather?  He never did anything for him.  He was shiftless.  He never did anything in school.  At least I was the Eagle Scout; I carried the family’s name to some glory in sports.  The Salutatorian, the One Most Likely to Succeed.  But the praise never seemed commensurate with the achievement.   The “other one,” on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind getting all the handouts he could.  In and out of college.  A quitter.  Wasting his father’s money.  Spending his time partying, drinking, smoking.  It disgusted Steve.  What a loser.  Why am I having to compete with him?

The two hours passed in an instant.

He carefully hung his suit on the rear passenger hook of his car and headed toward his parent’s house for Sunday dinner.  It was an open invitation every Sunday.  Sam never seemed to be there which didn’t bother Steve.

Steve pulled into his father’s gated community which wound its way through a golf course.  As soon as he passed the gate, the course sprinklers lit up and drenched his shiny black BMW with muddy recirculated water.  Anger shot through him like a bullet.

“Damn,” he burned.  How he wanted to go up to the pro-shop and light into them and stand over them while they rewaxed the car that he had labored over just the day before.  How he would have made them get on their knees and wax it, square inch by square inch . . . if only he could.

The anger didn’t have much time to subside before he was in the driveway.  He got out and walked around his beautiful possession glaring at the muddy spots.  The garage door was open so he grabbed a rag, wet it, and started to wipe it down, cleaning it as best he could.  Finally satisfied, he entered the house forcing a smile.

The smile quickly faded when he entered the kitchen.  His mother was talking frantically on the phone.  His father was sitting at the kitchen table, his head in his hands.  Pop sat across from him silent, listening.

“What?” His mother was asking.  “What?  . . . When? . . . Where? . . . How?”

“Hey,” said Steve.  “What?  What’s going on?  Why the faces?”

“It’s . . . it’s Sam . . .,” his father stammered.

“What’s he done now?” Steve demanded.  “Lord only knows what damn fool predicament he got himself into this time.”

His mother hung up the phone.   “Sam .  . . ,” she said quietly, “he crashed that damn airplane . . .”

Faces went white and lost all expression.  Except Steve’s.