By Rev. Tom White, May 8, 2019 — Revenge is a meal best served cold. It is also better when you did little to gain revenge. It is even better when the little you did do to get the revenge, you did unwittingly.
Nevertheless, it was just as sweet.
This story begins in the spring of 1963. I was a student pastor in a Methodist church in North Wildwood, NJ. I had to travel sixty-some miles and back to Camden five days a week to carry a full load of courses at Rutgers University, College of South Jersey. I did my best to keep up with my church work, which included pastoral visitation. One Sunday afternoon, an old retired minister friend called me to tell me that some independent church pastor was making visits to Mr. Frank Stewart, one of my church leaders. Frank had recently been operated on for more cancer but was now recovering nicely. I decided that I would check on Mr. Stewart later that day.
Sure enough, there was brother Epstein, Pastor of Cape May Point Chapel, in the Stewart household living room. It was an awkward situation. I made my visit short inasmuch as I had to prepare for a MYF meeting back at the church. I offered a short prayer, asking God to continue the healing process for Mr. Stewart, then excused myself. Pastor Epstein said he also had to go. However, as I walked toward my car, I noticed that Pastor Epstein did not come out.
This was something to think about.
Later that night I gave my reverend brother a phone call. I tried to keep things on a high level. I told him that perhaps he was not aware that Mr. Stewart was an active member of the North Wildwood Methodist Church and that I was not only his pastor but that I did make visits to his home. Pastor Epstein listened silently and made no reply then, but two days later I received a letter from him. In substance, he said:
“The reason I did not follow you out the door last Sunday was because Mr. Stewart silently signaled me to remain. Then he said, ‘I get nothing from Rev. White’s prayers. I want you to pray for me. Therefore, I want you to keep coming and praying for me.’”
I was devastated. The letter burned in my heart. I had to confide in someone. I chose to share the letter with Mrs. Susan Sterling, an older widow who was a good church leader. She simply smiled and asked me to give her the letter, which I did. I felt better. Life goes on.
I had put the whole issue to rest—or so I thought.
Frank Stewart, who worried so much about what was going to happen to his wife when he died, woke up one morning to find that his wife had died during her sleep. This was just three months after the Epstein episode. After a decent interval, Mr. Stewart married again. And who did he marry? Why, an old family friend, Mrs. Susan Sterling, the same lady who possessed that letter!
Sure enough, the Rev. Paul Epstein soon came a calling. After greeting the new bride, Susan asked her husband to step into the bedroom. She showed him the letter he had written me. Frank Stewart strode into the living room and confronted Epstein with his letter. Of course, I can imagine the scene! Mr. Stewart said, “ I never said any of that. You have hurt a very fine young minister. I think that you had better leave and not come here anymore.”
Revenge is not about getting even; it’s about getting exonerated.
Twenty years later, I attended a countywide breakfast for ministers and rabbis, sponsored by the Ocean County Fellowship of Christians and Jews. We were seated at tables of four, and who should be seated at the table with me? The Rev. Paul Epstein, now pastor of a small Pentecostal church in Toms River.
I introduced myself, and he introduced himself. Now what? What happened next…
He knew who I was. He knew that I knew who he was. I simply said, “You used to serve a church down in Lower Cape May, didn’t you? He nodded. I replied, “Back in the early 1960’s, I served a Methodist church in North Wildwood.”
That was it. Nothing more. If there was anything more to be said, it would have to be up to him. I was way past him. In the immortal words of Paul McCartney, “Down the Road I Go.”