The Pastor's Smashed Computer

In Evans, Arkansas, just as much out of boredom as religiosity, you go to church. Evans is four thousand people smack in the middle of the Ozarks, the range of mountains that straddles Oklahoma, Missouri, Arkansas, and just the littlest bit of Kansas. If you drive through Evans, not being from there, you’ll get some stares. It’s that kind of small town. The church is the biggest building in Evans, with the next biggest being the Walmart Supercenter. The school, which teaches kindergarten through 12th grade, is a close third.

  The lead pastor just died and his nephew took over. For forty years, Evans Church of the Redeemer, was run by Pastor Ron. When he passed, news of his nephew’s ascendance traveled quick. The nephew, Pastor Mark, had turned the church’s youth group into something of a divisive issue within the community. He wasn’t interested in God so much as he was interested in technology, though these days it’s getting harder to tell the difference. Pastor Mark had been teaching a bunch of kids who should be praying how to program and the town’s parents were half a step away from staging a mutiny.

  The town did not trust the new pastor and did not hide it. With clenched asses waiting readily in the hardwood oak pews of Evans Church of the Redeemer, Pastor Mark got ready to deliver his first sermon as head of the church. “I appreciate you all for joining us here today.” Pastor Mark scanned the crowd hoping for the slight squint and head nod that usually those in Evans used to say ‘carry on.’ He kept hoping. “My uncle has stewarded this church and the beautiful community and people here for four decades.” The elders in the crowd lifted their chins a bit. “I recognize I have some big shoes to fill and fill them I will, I promise you all, my congregants.” Asses remained clenched.

The new head pastor’s eyes welled up with tears, and he ended his sermon early. “Confessions will continue, as scheduled, this Friday, 5:20-6:00pm.”

   In Evans, Arkansas, on Friday at 5:58pm, Pastor Mark sat, crying, in the wrong side of the confessions booth. He knew no one would come and wished his uncle was still there.

Pastor Mark stood in front of his congregation for the second time. “Instead of the normal confessional” he paused to no reaction before continuing “we are going to do confessions virtually.” Pastor Mark grew wings. “I’ve set up a computer in the lobby area of the church. There, every week, whenever ya want, you can type in your confession. Everything’s anonymous. Completely anonymous. We are all sinners and we will all see each other in our fullness. As such, every Friday night during normal confessional hours, those sins will appear on the church’s website. You will be able to see that you are not alone in your sins.”

Pastor Mark ended his sermon early for the second week in a row.

   A stout man named Benjamin with three decades of callouses from pushing and pulling a dust mop down the hallways of Evans Public School shuffled out the church mumbling about that damn pastor and his obsession with computers. He never wanted to confess to Pastor Mark, didn’t trust him, and damn well didn’t trust his computer. He had been in those pews every week of his life and for the first time questioned whether he’d be back.

   That Friday was the quietest a Friday had ever been. Normally, you’d hear the crunching of beer cans, the gunshots emanating from various backyard firing ranges, and the music shooting out of speeding car windows taking advantage of empty roads. Today, much as most of them probably wouldn’t want to admit it, the whole town was sitting, enthralled, in front of their computer waiting to see what people had confessed.

   A whole town collectively gasped. “Fuck off with this nonsense” was the first confession. The second read “YOURE NOT YOUR UNCLE.” The third, fourth, fifth much of the same. Pastor Mark expected this. He closed his computer knowing that not one pew would be empty for his next sermon.

   Pastor Mark was right. This time, the congregation emanated an anxious energy, waiting for him to erupt. Instead, he thanked them. “As head pastor of this church, I appreciate your feedback. We are all sinners and the confession will still go on and will still be published at the end of the week. If you have any more feedback you’d like to give me, feel free to do so. However, please also take the time to confess. We are all sinners. Amen.” Benjamin, sat in the spot that perfectly formed to his present day cheeks, squinted and nodded; he liked anyone willing to stick to their guns.

   In Evans, Arkansas, the energy shifted. After Pastor Mark’s first successful sermon, he walked to his office elated. As he kept moving forward, a strong hand reached out from behind him and hooked his shoulder, his forward momentum causing him to pivot around.

-“Hello Benjamin, it’s nice to see you again.” -“I’m sorry about your uncle… good man.” -“That he was… Listen, Benjamin, I know you think it’s kind of weird, but I’d appreciate if you’d give the new confessions a try.”
-“I’ll… I’ll consider it Pastor Mark. Have a good one.”

   A rock the size of an SUV snapped off the side of a mountain and dropped onto the highway. It crushed a car, nearly killing the driver and passenger, a man and his girlfriend. The passenger door could open and the woman crawled out. The man was stuck inside, smashed between the crumbled metal of the car frame. The jaws of life ripped apart his temporary prison. The firefighters who wielded it watched the man fall out onto the road, finally able to breathe. They were surprised to see the two together. Darrel asked the firefighter to not mention it. The firefighter nodded, “my lips are sealed.”

   The town hit the refresh button on the keyboard a dozen times starting at 5:19pm. At 5:20, the confessions popped up. The first read “I broke my sobriety.” The second, “I lied to my business associate about how much money we had in the register.” The third, “Darrel is cheating on Laura.”

   The next morning, Darrel stormed into Evans Church of the Redeemer, when he knew Pastor Mark would be there, wielding an axe. He kicked open the door and smashed the computer. He made his way to the Pastor’s office and wailed the axe. When the tip stuck in the thick door, he jerked the axe back and swung it again. The tip went deeper. The third swing of the axe pushed into the meat of the door. As it went further, it acted as a wedge, pushing the partially broken sections of the door into the doorframe. Inside the office, Pastor Mark screamed for help.

   In Evans, Arkansas, Benjamin walked into the church. Despite his initial hesitancy with Pastor Mark and everything he brought, he was there to confess. He saw the broken computer and heard the crack of the axe splitting from the back of the church. He ran over and saw Darrel sticking his face through the hole in the door, shouting into the room. Benjamin ran as fast as he could, dropped his shoulder, and smashed into Darrel, immediately fracturing his collarbones.

   In Evans, Arkansas, Pastor Mark and Benjamin sat on the floor of the office, panting. Darrel rolled around, moaning and grimacing. Pastor Mark smiled, knowing Benjamin had come to the church to confess.