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“Then one day, a rich man arrived with a new idea. He wanted to buy a parcel of land, just outside of town. The stream flowed through the parcel, and the rich man’s plan was to dam the stream and build a lake. With an entire lake of water to tap, the town would be able to grow. The farms could get bigger, the businesses more elaborate. More people would come to the town, and there’d be more money to make. Of course, the rich man would charge something for his water—after all, he was building the lake and it was on his property. But his rates would be fair. He even agreed to sign a contract assuring that.
“Now, to the people of the town, this seemed like a reasonable plan. More than that, it seemed like a good one. Everyone wanted to get bigger; everyone wanted to get richer. The idea of building a lake seemed progressive, the way things were supposed to be. So the rich man bought the land, dammed the stream, and created a lake; he called it Abundance Lake, for all the good it was going to bring. Soon the town started to grow. The farms expanded and spread up into the foothills of the mountains. New granaries opened to accommodate the farmers. Other businesses arrived as people moved in to work on the farms and in the stores. Soon, the town had filled the entire plain. After a while, the beautiful green mountains were dotted with homes. People were pleased with what was happening, particularly the original residents. Now there were many more opportunities. The rich man who’d built the lake had got much richer, of course, but other people had made more money, too. Indeed, things were going so well that one day the town fathers decided to rename the town. From then on, it too was known as Abundance Lake.”
Reverend Vaughn paused and surveyed his audience. The congregation was listening in complete silence. No one coughed. No one squirmed. Even the children had been caught up by the sermon and were staring intently at the tall, robed figure rising above them. Beside me, Bunny sat stiffly erect, wound to a fine tautness by the minister’s words. For some reason, I suddenly remembered his tattoo. It pleased me to think that of all these people, only I knew.
“Well, of course, time passed,” he continued. “New people came to the town, and old people died. Eventually, the rich man died, and his property, including the lake, passed to his son. Now the son wasn’t like the father. The son hadn’t had to work for his money; he hadn’t been part of building something up. He was spoiled, and he was used to getting what he wanted. And one thing he wanted was a house beside a clear mountain stream. There used to be such a stream on his property, but now it was part of the lake. So the son had a simple solution: He’d tear down the dam and empty the lake. Why not? He didn’t need to sell water anymore. He already had more money than he could ever spend in his lifetime. What he wanted was to enjoy his money—and to do it in exactly the manner that pleased him.
“When the people of Abundance Lake heard what he planned to do, they of course were distraught. The town fathers went to him and tried to talk him out of it, but he remained adamant. Indeed, their entreaties may actually have stiffened his resolve; after all, he reasoned, it’s a free country. Who were they to tell him how to use his property? The original contract with the rich man was pulled out and studied. It said clearly enough that the water rates would always be reasonable, but it said nothing about keeping the lake there forever. By now, the people who’d drawn up the contract were long dead. There was no one to explain the oversight. There wasn’t even anyone to blame, really, except for the son, and he didn’t care whether people blamed him or not.
“There was a lot of talk in the town of what the people could do. Some said they should petition the government, though the government never seemed to care much about people as unimportant as the farmers and shopkeepers of Abundance Lake. Others said they should sue the son, though lawyers warned that the law wasn’t really on their side. The angriest citizens of Abundance Lake said they should storm the son’s property and kick him out, but that talk never got much beyond the barrooms of the town. Most people just shook their heads and worried and figured that it was somehow in the nature of things that the lives they’d built for themselves could get ruined on a whim.
“So the rich man’
s son took down the dam, and Abundance Lake drained and shriveled to the original stream. Of course, without the water to support it, the town of Abundance Lake started to shrivel, too. The farms got smaller, people left the houses on the mountainsides. The businesses in town lost customers and had to close up. Within a few years, most people had moved away. The population returned to about what it had first been—only now the setting was far less lovely. The rich man’s son had his mansion beside the stream, of course. But as for the rest of the town, Abundance Lake was nothing more than the shabby husk of something that had once been large and vibrant.” The minister looked around, pausing for his audience to absorb the image. “For all practical purposes,” he said, clipping his words to signal the end of the story, “the town was dead.”
Around the church, there was an easing, a slight relaxation. Reverend Vaughn waited patiently for it to pass. After a few seconds, he took a breath, then started again. “Now, obviously, this story is designed to provoke a comparison between Abundance Lake and Katydid. Just as obviously, the comparison is a bit farfetched. As I said at the beginning, I’ve whittled a very complex subject down. For the most part, I’ll let you people decide whether I’ve done that fairly.”
He brushed a few strands of yellow hair off his forehead. “I don’t think the story needs much elaboration,” he continued, “but I do want to make two points. The first is that sometimes, in the hurly-burly of everyday life, we don’t stop to look ahead by a week or a month or a year. Predicting the future is a most imperfect science, of course, but occasionally it has to be done. Just think of Dickens’s A Christmas Carol Would Scrooge really have changed his ways if the ghost of Christmas future hadn’t demonstrated what lay ahead for the old man? In our case, I sense that no one is really thinking about what lies ahead for Katydid if the KTD closes. How can this town survive? Think of the people living on your block. How many of them would still be here in a year, or two years, if the town’s largest employer suddenly packed up? Do we want to see Katydid wither away?
“The second point I want to make is that it doesn’t necessarily have to be this way. Most of the people of Abundance Lake just shrugged their shoulders and figured there was nothing they could do. I’m here to say that’s wrong. There’s always something you can do. Perhaps, in the long run, it won’t be effective, perhaps it won’t work, but that shouldn’t stop you from doing what you know is right. It is true, as the people of Abundance Lake believed, that the world is sometimes an inhospitable place that can crush your dreams in a moment. But the forces of the world aren’t all impersonal and unresponsive. There isn’t one giant wheel of life that rolls inevitably foreward, crushing everything in its path. People, institutions, nature—they all mix together to move life forward, and, sometimes, that mixture responds to a little poking, a little prodding. Not always, but sometimes.
“Friends, let me say it more baldly.” He slapped the pulpit with his open hand and a cracking noise echoed through the vast, quiet church. “The largest employer in Katydid is threatening to leave town. Hundreds of people will be out of work. Misery is upon us. The very survival of Katydid is in question. And no one is doing anything. Not the town fathers, not the religious leaders, not you, not me. We have our heads in the sand, and it’s not right. More precisely, it’s not Christian. Friends, there is nothing inevitable about being crushed. If history teaches us anything, if Christ’s life has any meaning whatsoever, it’s that one person, one idea, one hope can make a difference. We have to work to fix what’s wrong. That’s the message of our faith, and that’s what we must believe if we are to continue to lead honorable, Christian lives.” He bowed his head. “Amen,” he said gently.
In the great, soft commotion that followed, as people shifted and cleared their throats and allowed themselves to relax, I leaned toward Bunny. “Isn’t he wonderful?” I whispered.
“I wish he didn’t talk about such depressing things,” she said.
Afterward, Reverend Vaughn greeted people at the door as the congregation slowly filed out. Bunny and I got in line behind the Pratt family. The four young Pratt boys were all wearing matching navy sports coats and clip-on bow ties. The two oldest kept turning around to stare at Bunny. They didn’t have to say anything to each other. Bunny pretended not to notice.
The line stalled for a few minutes. Mr. Pratt, a compact man who walks with a kind of swagger in front of his troop of boys, was berating the minister. He was obviously angry, talking through a tight jaw and twisting his torso to lead with his shoulder. Reverend Vaughn listened and nodded impassively. I tried to edge forward to catch what was being said, but the angry man kept his voice down so others wouldn’t hear. “Damned irresponsible,” was all that floated out of his mutterings.
Finally, the Pratts moved on and Reverend Vaughn took my hand. “I’m so glad you could come,” he said. “What a friendly sight your face was.”
I introduced Bunny, who held out her hand stiffly, like a man.
“Martha has said so many wonderful things about you,” Reverend Vaughn said. Bunny seemed to be studying his starched, white collar. “I hope you liked the service,” he added.
“I like organ music,” Bunny said.
“Oh!” He caught his breath, momentarily taken aback. “So do I,” he said, his face brightening. “Martha can tell you that. So do I.”
Bunny and I walked down the steep stone steps. She held my arm for balance. Back on the sidewalk, I said, “I never heard you talk about liking organ music before.”
“Well, I had to say something nice. He was just begging for a compliment.”
“But what about the sermon? I thought the sermon was great.”
She quickened her pace, and we left behind the groups of people chatting on the sidewalk in front of the church. “Maybe. I don’t know. I told you it sounded depressing. Anyway, I didn’t listen that carefully. I couldn’t concentrate. His voice bothers me. It kind of drones.”
“It does not,” I said angrily.
“My, my.” She raised her eyebrows and looked sideways at me.
“Anyway, you could have been nicer to him,” I said. “He’s been terrific to me, visiting almost every day.”
“I was nice enough,” said Bunny, crossing the intersection. “Besides, what do you two talk about, anyway?”
“Things.”
