The pastor was trying to lead the congregation in a worship hymn, while Faith, the pastor's wife, was playing the piano with all the excitement that she could muster. Faith was a beautiful woman of twenty-two. Her long blonde hair framed her face with curls. Unfortunately, the natural glow that she was so famous for was starting to wear thin. Times had been hard. Faith had tried to support her husband by praying for him and encouraging him, but sometimes the situation looked bleak.

Today's congregation was small, only twelve in number well, fourteen if one counted Markus and Pinklin on the back row. However, even those who were present in body were not necessarily present in spirit. Old Man Jones was sleeping in the front row, snoring lightly with each breath. The only one who was really alert was Markus, listening to every word and watching every expression.

The congregation was a fairly good representation of the church's membership. Most were white and middle class. They saw themselves as the good upstanding people of the community. For years the church had been a place to meet and visit other members of their social class. The adult class, the sole Sunday school class, was more like a country club than a church. The class calendar was filled with picnics, games, and parties but rarely a prayer meeting or visitation evening.

Pastor Brown had been trying to change everything. He had started inviting people to their church from the nearby slum area. He invited street people, people on welfare, gang members, and even a few nonwhite people.

It was appalling to the membership that the pastor was inviting so many undesirables to their church. The grumbles and complaints had been building over the phone lines since the pastor first invited a pair of transients. No one was pleased by the direction that the pastor was taking. In fact, none of the members were pleased by anything that was happening lately.

The more people complained, the better Markus felt. He spoke to Pinklin in what would have been a loud interrupting voice, if anyone could have heard it.

"You see, Pinklin. These young preachers have to be broken in right. They have this idealized view that they are going to save the world, but these people just want someone to stand up in the podium and pretend to have service. They don't care about fighting us. Look at Mrs. Simon over there. Do you see that expression?"

"Yeah, I see it."

"You are an Inteller. You tell me. What is she thinking about?"

"Well, I haven't been watching her too closely, but if I had to guess, I would say she is wondering what to fix for dinner."

"That would be my conclusion also, but do you think she cares about what would be the best approach to saving souls? No, she doesn't care about a word that Pastor Brown is saying. If you tried to keep her from this church though, she would fight you tooth and nail. Isn't it interesting that we can win more battles by letting people come to a church like this instead of trying to make them stay home?"

"I've never thought about it before, but I guess so," Pinklin answered.

"How did your Inteller do with his report?" Markus asked as the minister started another chorus.

"I don't know yet. He broke off surveillance Friday night to prepare his report."

"So who watched him Saturday?"

"Why, nobody," Pinklin answered defensively. "I thought you just wanted to get a personality profile. I didn't know you wanted continuous surveillance."

"Do you mean you left that man unwatched all day Saturday?" Markus asked, his red pus pockets starting to swell.

"Yes, sir. I didn't see the harm."

Markus was becoming more and more upset. Something did not smell right. The pastor did not act right. The whole church was starting to feel different.

As Pastor Brown stepped up to preach, Markus turned his attention to the podium. Each of his red eyes concentrated on the young minister's every move.

Markus had learned that by careful observation, it was easy to tell what a human was thinking, even if he did not say it. However, Pastor Brown was more difficult. He did not have things planned out. It was almost as if he was writing his sermon as he went. The tone and the posture worried Markus. The preacher was too aggressive. It was as if he was going to attack something. Markus just hoped that it was not him.

"I'm going to be blunt with you today," the young preacher said. "During the last week, I've been given a lot of advice. I know there's been a lot of talk about my ideas concerning the slums. It is true that I feel God has sent me to this church to do a work. I was persuaded of this by your unanimous vote, but if we're going to be successful, then we'll need to work together. Today I'm going to show you a vision, my vision for the church!"

The crowd was attentive. It was a very unusual moment. Every eye in the building was on the pastor. Even Old Man Jones woke up from his nap to listen. The young minister liked their attention. It was exciting to have everyone waiting for his next word, so he paused for an extra moment to relish in the limelight.

"What is a church? Why are we here? These are two of the things that I believe we need to look at. Are we a social club that has parties and picnics? Do we have an exclusive membership roster allowing only the privileged few to join? What is the purpose?"

"Well, when I read the great commission, it doesn't say that we are to sit in comfortable seats and look down our noses at the world. I read that we are to go out to the whole world in witness of Christ. Isn't that what the Bible says, Brother Jones?"

Old Man Jones reacted with a shocked and confused face.

"Now, I have been accused of wanting to witness to the slums, and I admit that I do, but didn't Jesus go and eat with the lepers? Didn't He witness to the sinners? Or did He just sit in the temple and say, 'I sure am glad that I'll be in heaven soon?'"

"I realize that what I'm about to do is rather unorthodox. Please hear me out. Afterward, if you still feel that I am not God's man for this church, I will leave, but first, let me read you a scripture and share something with you. Turn to Matthew 19:13-14 if you will."

The pastor read:

"Then were there brought unto him little children, that he should put his hands on them, and pray: and the disciples rebuked them. But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven."

It was a familiar verse. Most of the members had heard it a thousand times during their own childhoods. This time, Pastor Brown read it as if it was supposed to mean something extra, something special.

"Now I want to show you something," Pastor Brown said as he walked to the side of the platform and opened a side door.

Six small children, dressed in tattered and faded clothes, came into the room. The oldest one, who couldn't have been more than seven, was holding a worn copy of the New Testament in his hands. The youngest child was a small girl in ponytails wearing a flowery dress. All the children were frightened. The young minister, sensing their fear, patted their heads to show them that everything was going to be okay.

"This is what I have been talking about. I drove down to the slum area today before church and saw these kids playing in the streets. These children are souls. In the slums there are many more children with souls like these who would like a place to belong. They would like to learn about God, as you did as a child. They are excited to hear the story of David and Goliath. Do you know why, Sister Simon? The answer is simple because they have never heard it before.

"The churches of today have ignored these souls. These children don't have any money to tithe, so they're overlooked. I'm sorry, but I feel a burden for these little ones and the teenagers they will become. I believe that we should be soldiers fighting a war, not just homesteading.

"So, I would like for you to take the remaining time in the service to introduce yourself to these children. Get to know them. Then tell me that the slums aren't a harvest ground. If you still feel that God hasn't called this church to service, then I will freely resign."

The children slowly walked off the stage. For a few minutes the older congregation just stared at the small poor children.

Sister Simon was first to take the initiative. She walked up to the little girl in the flowery dress and kneeled beside her. The little girl had deep blue eyes that looked up at her with pure innocence.

"Hello, my name is Sister Simon. What is yours?"

"Jennifer," the little girl answered quietly.

It was as if that one little word broke the entire resistance of the church. The other members of the congregation came down and started talking to the little ones. The air seemed charged with electricity. The elderly people were alive with love and compassion. The children, most of whom were neglected by their own parents, soaked in all of the attention.

Meanwhile Markus had watched without saying a word. His red pus pockets were open, and red slime started to boil out.

Pinklin wished that he was anywhere but in this church at this particular moment. He waited patiently for the rebuke that he knew he deserved. It never came. Markus didn't act out of anger and emotion. For that control, Pinklin had to respect him.

Markus started to think logically and methodically. "We have a situation here. Pinklin, I want you to make sure that your man has his report complete. I mean, I want a complete report! Next, call all the area leaders for an emergency meeting tomorrow night. Then I want you to run a check through our files on this preacher, see what you can come up with in terms of a history. Finally, send a request to headquarters requesting physical confrontation. We may need it. If this minister is going to play hardball, then we've got to be ready. Do you understand everything?"

"Yes, sir."

Pinklin felt a fear build deep inside of him. This was his first real battle, and it frightened him. The puzzling thing was, he didn't know why. He had a cloak of invisibility and five times a normal man's strength; yet he was frightened.

Worse than that, Markus was frightened.