Kiera was wedged between her mom and dad, staring daggers at me. That gaze was too intense, so I dropped my eyes and skittered to the seat Cressie had saved next to Mom and Dad. I sat, thought it over, then bowed my head and closed my eyes, praying that all would go well.

Service started on time, but the songs seemed longer. There had to be a record number of announcements, and so many cursory prayers that I feared the crowd would start to siphon off before Pastor took the lectern. One request always wrapped up announcements before the real sermon started. Missus Baines, in her creaky old-lady voice, said, “Would all visitors please stand so the First Missionary family might greet you properly?”

Every other Sunday the question was a formality. That day, dozens of people stood. Most were young. All were because of me.

Missus Baines, who wore thick bifocals and maybe couldn’t see so well beyond the first pew, seemed startled by all this movement. She adjusted quickly, excited for so much company. “Well, praise the Lord! First Missionary, please greet our newcomers.”

Another few minutes passed as every visitor got a handshake or hug from the regular attendee closest to them.

Newsome observed it all. No smile.

The greetings calmed, everyone sat. Newsome approached the lectern. “Every head bowed, every eye closed as we pray.”

I didn’t peek for once. Didn’t want to see what was going on around me.

“Dear Lord,” he began, “we are often faced with choices. Choices that lead to other choices. And more choices after that. We know choosing wrong can lead to a path of darkness, which is why it is best to seek your guidance in our decision making. Yours. Not earthly advice from a man, or a boy.”

Uh oh.

“We know the domino effect can be devastating, as it was for Lot, whose decisions eventually led to his tragic fall in Sodom. . . .”

My stomach sank. I knew this story from Purity Pledge, and it was mad creepy. A city destroyed. A wife turned to salt. All sorts of implications that trash people have used for centuries to justify oppression, and racism, and homophobia, and misogyny.

Please, I thought—prayed, if there’s anyone listening, steer him away from this. Don’t let it be what it’s always been.

“. . . Lot’s wife made the mistake of looking back,” Newsome said, “and . . . and . . .”

Silence. A few light coughs rattled in the sanctuary. Murmurs as the quiet stretched a few seconds too long. I opened my eyes and watched a lone moth lurch up and down toward the pulpit.

Newsome seemed in deep thought, staring intently at his Bible’s cover. Finally, he said, “As I gaze upon the faces of you all, the faithful I see every Sunday, and you newcomers, I’m reminded of what our church’s First Lady used to say to me when we were home on quiet nights. She’d say, ‘Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing themselves.’ Now, that’s not Bible, y’all. And when she said it, she mostly meant my long-standing habit of watching Wheel of Fortune every evening. She despised that show.”