The Evangelist

He held his pistol on the preacher. Not something he wanted to do. But something he was being paid to do. Kill this man. Seemingly unaware of his assassin, the pastor went about his business. Writing out his sermon for the next day, he whirled his desk chair around. He studied the books on the shelf behind him. Pulling out a brown covered volume, he lay it on the desk and opened it to a certain page.
“Yes, yes, this will do nicely.” He said, smiling. He hummed a tune. A tune that clicked in his would-be killer’s memory. He was five. Ill with the flu. His mother setting by the bed, her fingers cool she bathed his brow. As she did, she hummed a tune.
“Mommy, what’s that song?” He asked, looking into her smiling face.
“We sang it in church last Sunday. Do you remember? She quietly sang.
There is a name I love to hear
I love to sing it’s worth
It sounds like music in mine ear
The sweetest name on earth
O how I love Jesus
O how I love Jesus
O how I love Jesus
Because He first loved me

Without looking up, the preacher said. “You can come in and set down if you like.”

He shifted uncomfortably. He thought the darkness of the sanctuary would hide him. The pastor straightened up and smiled. “Yes, I see you out there.”

He came to the door of the office.

“I’ve been watching you since you came in a few minutes ago.” The pastor said. “Please have a seat.” He swept his hand at one of the two guest chairs.

“You know why I’m here?” Jacko said. He pulled his pistol and trained it on the pastor.

“Yes, I suppose my letters hit a nerve.” The preacher said, smiling. He templed his hands on his desk.

“There is a contract on you.” Jacko said. The pastor laughed. “What’s so funny?”

“When I told your boss, he should accept Christ or he would wind up in hell, I expected him to ignore me, or a nasty letter in return. I must admit, I never expected him to send someone to kill me.”

“How do you know your letters resulted in my coming here tonight?” Jacko said.

“Look …I don’t know what to call you.” The pastor said.

“Just call me Jacko.”

”Ok Jacko. I’m an old man. My wife passed away several years ago. We had no children. Most of my relatives are dead. My congregation is small. Next year I will retire and live on a small salary until it is time to meet my saviour and wife in heaven.” He smiled, setting back in his desk chair. “If you kill me, I will go to my eternal home tonight.”

Jacko lay the pistol on the desk. It suddenly seemed heavy in his hands.

“Jacko, how many people have you killed?” The pastor said. Not going near the gun now laying on his desk.

“A few,” Jacko lied. In truth, this would be his first kill. Others he had beaten up. Two landed in the hospital, but none had died.

“Are you on a time schedule? Do you have to complete this task tonight?” The pastor said.

“Look preacher, are you trying to talk me out of killing you?” Jacko said, picking up the gun and putting it back in his shoulder holster.

“No, I’m just asking you to wait for 24 hours so I can deliver one last sermon.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Call it an old man’s dying wish.”

“So you can have the police waiting? I don’t think so.”

The pastor frowned. “Young man, if there is one thing I have learned over the years that I lived is to keep your word. I give you my word. I will meet you here in this very spot tomorrow night and there will be no police and I will keep our conversation private. No one will be privy to our conversation.”

Somehow, Jacko believed the elderly man. “Ok, one day. On one condition. I want to hear the whole sermon.”

The pastor laughed. “Of course. Would you like to set in the sanctuary? We receive very few visitors.”

“I’ll call you on your cellphone just before you preach.” Jacko got up and moved to the door of the darkened sanctuary. “If I hear one hint, the police are here, I’m gone and you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.”

The preacher watched the shadowy figure move among the pews and out the front door of the church. He turned to the portrait of his wife hanging on the wall opposite the desk. “Honey, my sweetheart. I will see you tomorrow.” He turned out the light and returned to the parsonage.

10 years later

Evangelist James Fugate waited for his introduction. After the pastor re-counted of his ministering of the last 6 years, he turned the pulpit over to Jim. He looked at the small congregation.
“Ten years ago I set in the office of this church.” His moist eyes swept the congregation. “I came here ready to kill the pastor. My name I had adopted that very afternoon for my first job of killing people was Jacko. Your pastor asks me to let him preach one last sermon. Reluctantly I agreed.”
He smiled at his wife and three-year-old son setting in the front pew. “The words he spoke the next morning changed my life. The words from this book changed me from a life of crime, prison, and death to one of eternal life and hope. Your pastor and I became good friends. So good, in fact, he asks me to preach at his funeral. A task I did in this very church eight years ago.” He flipped through his Bible.
“In 2 Corinthians 5:17, we read: Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.”
He paused and looked at the members of the congregation. “I stand before you tonight not as a contract killer, but as a new creature. A preacher of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”