When I was in the first grade and the mornings were nice, my mother would allow me to walk to school with the second grader that lived across the street. This boy's father was a policeman so he had to be good and responsible. Actually he was not a nice boy and would bully me and the other kids in the neighborhood. I really did not want to walk with him even though it was only a few blocks. I also did not have much of a choice since it was the only way to get to school. This guy was not well liked except by the adults who had respect for his Dad. I never will forget walking through the dark living room as I entered their house. When I arrived in the den and kitchen area it also was very dark. There was one light bulb in a socket hanging from the ceiling. I could not tell what color of paint was on the walls as my eyes would take a while to get accustomed to the lack of light. The darkness in that house must have created a musky, sort of mildew type smell. Every time I had to go inside his house I would almost get sick at that dingy, dirty smell. I remember other times in my life that I would unexpectedly run across that smell and remember that dirty house that I had to sit and wait for that boy to get ready before going to school. I was given an extra dose of the sense of smelling. I can actually smell a fire before smoke can be seen. Some perfumes force me to leave the room because the smell would repulse me. I wonder how many relationships would have been different if the lady's perfume had not been repulsive. I am not happy about this condition because it has caused much discomfort in my life.
Other conditions have caused discomfort in my life. I use the word condition but I might mean attributes or habits or learned behavior. I always fell in love with codependent women. I always had to be a leader even when I should not have been. This attribute kept me from ever learning how to follow. I always said that people who think they know it all are repulsive because they do not know that they think they know everything. I think I know it all but at least I know that I think I know it all. This helps me to stand out as different. I like standing out as different even though there is no reason for me to stand out. I choose to stand out as different and I choose to lead and I chose to marry codependent women but I did not choose to walk to school with the guy who lived in that smelly house.
Thirty years after I had to go in that neighbors house I decided to open a restaurant. This too was not necessarily what I should have done but I did. A few weeks after opening we had our second visit from the health department. At that visit the inspector told me to take a hand towel and put it in a bucket of water with Clorox added to the water. He said this would help to sanitize the counters as we cleaned with that cloth. After days I began to smell that nasty, dirty, musky smell in my restaurant. The same odor I smelled in that boy's dark house. This was not to be and I vowed to rid my restaurant of this smell and its cause. After tracing it to this bucket with Clorox in it I realized that I had been wrong for over thirty years. The smell in my restaurant was not of filth or uncleanliness but that of cleanliness. That smell in that boys house had been the smell of sanitizer. It had been the smell of cleanliness not filth. How can we know something without a shadow of a doubt only to find out years later we were wrong? How can we know it all or even think we know it all when in reality we don't know very much?How can we keep marrying codependent women even though we know it will make us unhappy? How can we learn to be better followers? How can we invent a sanitary agent that doesn't smell like Clorox and water?
Monday, November 22, 2010
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Does God Give You Sermons?
Once, I was asked if the Holy Spirit really gave you a sermon to preach. I had to answer yes, but you must listen and do what the Spirit leads you to do. Many weeks I stood behind the pulpit with a prepared sermon that I was not happy with. I also preached many sermons that I felt were guided by the Holy Spirit. On one particular Monday morning I began to prepare a sermon for the next Sunday but nothing would come to my mind. I realized that I needed to pray for God to lead me in finding a message that was appropriate or needed by the congregation that would be present. I prayed two or three times and nothing would come. Maybe, I needed to study more so I studied hard by reading the Bible and searching it for a sermon but nothing happened. Tuesday came and I repeated what I did on Monday and nothing happened. I had no ideas, no inspiration, and no sermon. Wednesday morning came and I got up early to pray and study but again nothing in the way of a sermon idea would enter my mind.
While at work on Wednesday as we talked about the Lord something came to my mind. It was something that I saw when I was twelve years old. There was a play that was performed at our church called I Searched All Over Heaven For You. This play was interesting and somewhat scary for a twelve year old boy. The people from another church that performed in this play were very convincing. They used lattice boards that they painted white as the pearly gates to Heaven. The women were dressed in white robes and stood in the rear as a choir but were pretending to be angels. A large stand was there in the middle of the stage and on it was a large open book. Later we realized it was representing the Lamb's Book of Life. The man in front of the open book was representing Jesus Christ and the guy in the red suit with a pointed tail and what looked like a pitch fork represented Satan. Anyway it was nice thinking about this play but I can't do anything with this for a sermon. No verse of Scripture came to mind and there is no way I could act it out alone so I just need to forget it.
I worked all day on Thursday and I must have asked God to lead me to a sermon a thousand times but it didn't seem to matter because I had nothing to preach about. I got out my Bible and read and read and read. After many chapters I gave up and retired to bed. Friday and Saturday were the same except I had to drive 180 miles to the church on Saturday. While I was driving to the little town where the church was, I again thought about that play. I remembered how a man came down the middle aisle of the church and approached Jesus Christ. I remember how Jesus Christ looked up his name in that big book and looked down at the man and said, enter ye into the Kingdom of God thy good and faithful servant. The man walked onto the stage that represented Heaven and was welcomed by everyone and the angels were rejoicing. Another man came down the same aisle with a wad of money in his hand. He appeared to be cocky and sure about his journey so he told Jesus to open the gate he was here and ready to come in. Jesus opened his book and told the man I never knew you, depart from me forever more. Satan walked up the aisle and talked briefly to the man and took his money and the man walked back down the aisle boasting that he was glad someone understood his position in life. Later I believe we heard this same man scream form the back of the church. I can't make a sermon out of this so as I reached the destination that night and went to bed after reading many more chapters, but still no sermon.
Sunday Morning was here in a flash as it seemed. I jumped out of bed and got ready and sat down to read my Bible and finally get this sermon taken care of. Nothing would jump out as a subject for me to talk about. It was like my mind was frozen and nothing would sink into it. Sunday School began at 10 am so I went out to teach my lesson to the young mans class. I knew that if nothing else came to me that maybe I could use that lesson as a base for my sermon. For the next hour I talked to those boys and we had a lesson but nothing and I mean nothing would come to my mind for a sermon. We started the Worship Service at 11 o'clock so I took my seat behind the pulpit and still I searched through the Bible for a sermon. We sang and took up offerings and welcomed everyone and sang some more. After the special singing I asked for more singing but no one knew it was because I had no sermon. Do I just get up and announce that I did not have a sermon? Do I dismiss everyone and apologize and explain that God did not give me a sermon to preach to them on that particular Sunday? The singing was over now and it was my turn.
I stood up and grabbed the microphone from the holder and walked to the front of the pulpit. I did not feel right standing behind the pulpit especially because I did not have a sermon. I told them that I had no sermon but I did want to talk to them about a play I saw when I was twelve years old. I told them about the angels and Jesus and the big open book. I told them about the lattice work that represented the pearly gates. I told them about the two men that walked the aisle and how one made it to heaven and how Satan had carried off the other guy. I went on to tell them about other people that came down to see Jesus and how some made it to heaven and how some did not. I explained how the angels came out in the audience and started taking people to heaven. My grandmother was taken and my mother. A great aunt and another aunt was taken to heaven. They came to our aisle and we were scared to death that they would choose us but they did not. They chose my cousin who to this day will not let us forget that he was chosen and he made it to heaven and we did not. I remember that what impressed me the most was that some people made it to heaven and some did not. I remember looking up on the stage or in to heaven and all the people that made it were crying tears of joy and they were hugging each other and happy. I was not with them and I was not as happy. Some people made it and some people did not. I told my congregation to let me show you what I mean. I laid down the microphone and walked to one of my deacons and told him to get up and follow me. He did and I took him to our stage and asked him to walk up and I said welcome ye into the kingdom of heaven thy good and faithful servant. I repeated this with other people some seven or eight of them. I pick the microphone back up and again I repeated that some people made it to heaven and some did not.
What happened next was amazing. I closed the service by asking the congregation that if anyone needed prayer or anyone wanted to make a profession of faith or anyone wishing to join the church could come to the front of the church and we could have prayer. A line formed in front of me that seemed to reach the back of the church. I looked back into heaven or actually on the stage and all the people were crying and hugging each other just like I had seen in the play at twelve years old. That Sunday Morning we had many people ask for prayer and three made professions of faith and three rededicated their lives to the Lord and ten people joined the church. Ten people had not joined this church in the past ten years. It had been years since God had moved in this congregation in this matter. It turns out that this was the most successful Sunday I ever saw at this church. After the service the deacons and many members commented they they had never seen anything like that Sunday service. I do not tell you this to toot my horn because remember I did nothing but tell a story about something I saw twenty-five years earlier. I can take no credit for what happened because I neither wrote this play or performed it. I merely told a story and God could have used anyone to do that. However, if anyone were to ask me if God gives you sermons I would say yes, if you shut up and listen.
While at work on Wednesday as we talked about the Lord something came to my mind. It was something that I saw when I was twelve years old. There was a play that was performed at our church called I Searched All Over Heaven For You. This play was interesting and somewhat scary for a twelve year old boy. The people from another church that performed in this play were very convincing. They used lattice boards that they painted white as the pearly gates to Heaven. The women were dressed in white robes and stood in the rear as a choir but were pretending to be angels. A large stand was there in the middle of the stage and on it was a large open book. Later we realized it was representing the Lamb's Book of Life. The man in front of the open book was representing Jesus Christ and the guy in the red suit with a pointed tail and what looked like a pitch fork represented Satan. Anyway it was nice thinking about this play but I can't do anything with this for a sermon. No verse of Scripture came to mind and there is no way I could act it out alone so I just need to forget it.
I worked all day on Thursday and I must have asked God to lead me to a sermon a thousand times but it didn't seem to matter because I had nothing to preach about. I got out my Bible and read and read and read. After many chapters I gave up and retired to bed. Friday and Saturday were the same except I had to drive 180 miles to the church on Saturday. While I was driving to the little town where the church was, I again thought about that play. I remembered how a man came down the middle aisle of the church and approached Jesus Christ. I remember how Jesus Christ looked up his name in that big book and looked down at the man and said, enter ye into the Kingdom of God thy good and faithful servant. The man walked onto the stage that represented Heaven and was welcomed by everyone and the angels were rejoicing. Another man came down the same aisle with a wad of money in his hand. He appeared to be cocky and sure about his journey so he told Jesus to open the gate he was here and ready to come in. Jesus opened his book and told the man I never knew you, depart from me forever more. Satan walked up the aisle and talked briefly to the man and took his money and the man walked back down the aisle boasting that he was glad someone understood his position in life. Later I believe we heard this same man scream form the back of the church. I can't make a sermon out of this so as I reached the destination that night and went to bed after reading many more chapters, but still no sermon.
Sunday Morning was here in a flash as it seemed. I jumped out of bed and got ready and sat down to read my Bible and finally get this sermon taken care of. Nothing would jump out as a subject for me to talk about. It was like my mind was frozen and nothing would sink into it. Sunday School began at 10 am so I went out to teach my lesson to the young mans class. I knew that if nothing else came to me that maybe I could use that lesson as a base for my sermon. For the next hour I talked to those boys and we had a lesson but nothing and I mean nothing would come to my mind for a sermon. We started the Worship Service at 11 o'clock so I took my seat behind the pulpit and still I searched through the Bible for a sermon. We sang and took up offerings and welcomed everyone and sang some more. After the special singing I asked for more singing but no one knew it was because I had no sermon. Do I just get up and announce that I did not have a sermon? Do I dismiss everyone and apologize and explain that God did not give me a sermon to preach to them on that particular Sunday? The singing was over now and it was my turn.
I stood up and grabbed the microphone from the holder and walked to the front of the pulpit. I did not feel right standing behind the pulpit especially because I did not have a sermon. I told them that I had no sermon but I did want to talk to them about a play I saw when I was twelve years old. I told them about the angels and Jesus and the big open book. I told them about the lattice work that represented the pearly gates. I told them about the two men that walked the aisle and how one made it to heaven and how Satan had carried off the other guy. I went on to tell them about other people that came down to see Jesus and how some made it to heaven and how some did not. I explained how the angels came out in the audience and started taking people to heaven. My grandmother was taken and my mother. A great aunt and another aunt was taken to heaven. They came to our aisle and we were scared to death that they would choose us but they did not. They chose my cousin who to this day will not let us forget that he was chosen and he made it to heaven and we did not. I remember that what impressed me the most was that some people made it to heaven and some did not. I remember looking up on the stage or in to heaven and all the people that made it were crying tears of joy and they were hugging each other and happy. I was not with them and I was not as happy. Some people made it and some people did not. I told my congregation to let me show you what I mean. I laid down the microphone and walked to one of my deacons and told him to get up and follow me. He did and I took him to our stage and asked him to walk up and I said welcome ye into the kingdom of heaven thy good and faithful servant. I repeated this with other people some seven or eight of them. I pick the microphone back up and again I repeated that some people made it to heaven and some did not.
What happened next was amazing. I closed the service by asking the congregation that if anyone needed prayer or anyone wanted to make a profession of faith or anyone wishing to join the church could come to the front of the church and we could have prayer. A line formed in front of me that seemed to reach the back of the church. I looked back into heaven or actually on the stage and all the people were crying and hugging each other just like I had seen in the play at twelve years old. That Sunday Morning we had many people ask for prayer and three made professions of faith and three rededicated their lives to the Lord and ten people joined the church. Ten people had not joined this church in the past ten years. It had been years since God had moved in this congregation in this matter. It turns out that this was the most successful Sunday I ever saw at this church. After the service the deacons and many members commented they they had never seen anything like that Sunday service. I do not tell you this to toot my horn because remember I did nothing but tell a story about something I saw twenty-five years earlier. I can take no credit for what happened because I neither wrote this play or performed it. I merely told a story and God could have used anyone to do that. However, if anyone were to ask me if God gives you sermons I would say yes, if you shut up and listen.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Amazing Oil
What makes us do things? I mean, what makes us do things that we would never think of doing but all of the sudden we must do? Could it be that God moves us to do things? After my experience I would have to say I think God does lead us to do certain things.
I was lucky to have a special Grandfather that was the founder and pastor of the church that I grew up as a member. Being a member as well as the grandson of the pastor would give you special privileges and free use of the church when no one was around. I could go into the church and play the piano or organ and sing using the microphone and even preach a sermon if I wanted to. Often, I would be accompanied by a friend or family member. We could rearrange the furniture and play all kinds of games that we created. I would be willing to say that we knew where everything was in that Church. It is a good thing it was a Baptist church and no alcohol was available or we would have found it. We fooled around with everything in that church except the little bottle of oil that was under the pulpit. This bottle of oil was kept under the pulpit for use when Grandpa would use it for an anointing prayer. This type of prayer was reserved for people that were really sick. Grandpa would open this little bottle of oil and would put some on his hand and would reach out to anyone that was helping him pray and touch their hand with oil. They would then lay their hands on the person they were praying for. Most people call this laying on of the hands, or also anointing with oil. All we knew was that this oil was special and we did not feel right playing with it. It always amazed us that this little tiny bottle of oil had so much power. As we grew up in the church we saw many people who were anointed with oil and special prayers offered to God asking for healing and other things. We saw these people healed or at least some of them were healed. We were inquisitive and adventurous but we knew this was special and always left the oil alone.
This little bottle had some kind of power in it that probably scared us at the time. As we grew older we would come to realize that the Bible taught such things. It didn't matter that Grandpa may or may not be doing it as they did in the time of Jesus but what mattered was that they had faith and believed that they were doing as instructed by God. This church was special also and was a powerful force in my life. My first and all my bible school projects were there. My first sermon was preached there as well as my first Christmas play in which I performed. I overcame my fear of public speaking by teaching a child's class as I got older. I won a contest that required us to find bible verses very fast. I even attended Sunday School for thirteen years without missing a Sunday and was awarded lapel pins each year I qualified. I later became choir director and Sunday School director and also a deacon. My children were born while I went to this church. My Grandfather anointed them with oil at a special service when we dedicated them to God. I stayed an active member of this church until my Grandfather passed away even though I lived twenty miles away in another town.
Many years had passed and I had already been a Pastor myself. I had relocated back to my hometown and had another job. I knew that the church I had grown up in was gone. I knew that the building we use to play and worship in had caught on fire and was no longer in use. I did not know that they were going to bulldoze it down until after it had been done. All that was left was a concrete pad and a foundation that was there to hold the concrete. I called my father when I saw that it had been bulldozed and we discussed that the church no longer exist. I could not help but feel sad and to reminisce about the history I had at this place. Christmas was not far away at this time and I had been thinking of a special gift to give my brothers. One day as I passed the location where my Church once stood, I had an idea to get rocks from the foundation of the old Church and pass them on to my brothers. As usual I did not act on it and kept driving on. A few weeks had passed and my wife and I were out shopping. We were on the other side of our town and this thought came to me again. No voice in the sky or inner voice had spoken, it was just a need to go and pick up some rocks for my brothers or so I thought. I told my wife that I felt compelled to do this and she said for us to go and do it now. I could have thought of many reasons why that day was not a good day to do this, however I felt compelled and my wife was willing to put aside what we were doing to go pick up rocks off of someones property. I never for one minute felt that I did not have a right to do this. My past experience with this property should have given me the right to pick up or steal some rocks off of this property. If the police had arrived I would have been in trouble but what happened would have been worth it.
I got out of my car and walked to the foundation and the concrete pad that was still there. I bent down and picked up a few rocks but could not find enough on the ground. At the corner of the slab were some loose rocks and what I thought were some good ones for me to get. I pulled a few stones from this stack of blocks and I saw something sticking out as the sand in the block began to pour out of it. I grabbed the top of what appeared to be a small brown bottle. The bottle was identical to the ones that grandpa would keep in the pulpit. I rubbed away what was probably sand and dirt that had been attached to this bottle for forty years. Very gently I opened the bottle to see and smell that yes it was filled with oil. After a short while I went back to the car and shared this with my wife. I phoned my uncle who was the associate pastor of this church and asked if he remembered a ceremony or celebration or dedication that may have went on that would require putting oil in this foundation. He told me that he did not remember any but that it sounded like something my Grandfather would have done. After sharing this story to another pastor I was told of a verse in Exodus that required things in the church to be anointed with oil. Exodus chapter 40 verse 9 "Then you shall take the anointing oil and anoint the tabernacle and all that is in it..................". Forty years later and after many years of being open as a church and many were successful years of sharing God's word and doing God's will, this foundation gave up the oil that anointed it. As for my brothers, they each got a rock that had been anointed with the oil and placed in a shadow box. They loved their Christmas present and I loved mine. The bottle was my gift and is still in my possession but can be used when needed. I am so glad that my wife and I followed that feeling to go and collect rocks because we ended up collecting something much more special.
The Church Sanctuary was already in existence when Grandpa started his ministry there and so was the parsonage. Two other buildings were added on this property while he was pastor. The Sanctuary and the Sunday School rooms that held the oil for forty years were the two buildings that were bulldozed, but the parsonage and the Fellowship Center is still there. Sometime in the future they will tear down the Fellowship Center that was built during his ministry and I can't wait so I can search through the rubble and see what Grandpa put into this building's foundation. I bet there is some very special oil in a very special bottle in a very special foundation put there by a very special person.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Reaching for the Marbles
The winner doesn’t always get the prize and the victor doesn’t always get the spoils but heroes are always known for what they leave behind. At least this was the case with Johnny Kirk. Johnny, a few years my elder, was just one of the neighborhood children that made a lasting impression on me. He was the greatest marble player I have ever seen even to this day and also the best snake catcher. Other kids, like the Wilson boys, made lasting impressions on me, also. They were heroes just for staying alive. Their dad was an ex-fighter and a real loser so he took most of his frustration out on those two boys. Jeannie Jones was the tomboy. She was also a few years my elder and the first girl or person for that matter that I knew that owned a motor scooter. She also cooked the best baked potatoes you will ever eat and she cooked them in a hole dug in the ground with hot coals.
The meanest person I knew was also a girl named Earline and also a tomboy and also the big sister of the Wilson boys. She could out curse a Charleston sailor and whip his you know what while doing it. It was nothing to receive a head slap from her on the back of the head. This usually meant you were still in her good graces and that you had not ticked her off in a while. My sweetheart lived down the street. She was also a few years my elder and extremely beautiful. I hate figs but every summer I would pick those nasty things and take them to her mother in hopes that I could catch a glimpse of her or have her smile at me at the door. Do you know what a bunch of rotten figs feel like when mashed between your toes? I hope not. I prefer not to tell you her name because it was a secret love affair of mine and I still would not want her to know it even though she came to my eight year old birthday party and every body joked about me being in love with her.
The rest of us kids in the neighborhood were just normal. No one seemed to notice us much. We were the team players the tag alongs and the non-trouble makers. We worshipped the others but wouldn’t dare admit it. If we admitted it we would be accepting our normality and that was not going to happen. Though we knew we were the worshippers we never wanted the worshipped to know that they were worshipped. This would destroy most of these relationships and when all you had were these friendships you could not handle the loss of one unless of course someone moved away. This is how we lost Johnny Kirk. In fact this is the way we lost everybody.
Moving away was the escape, the reward, and sometimes the best thing that could happen to a young kid in that neighborhood. No one would really mourn the loss of one of us ordinary kids but the day that Johnny Kirk left was a big day in our ordinary lives. Johnny had not prepared us and we were not ready to say goodbye. The truck just pulled up and they started loading it as if nothing was out of the ordinary but everything was out of the ordinary. Today was suppose to be a regular day when Johnny and I would play some marbles, burn some snakes, or just aggravate the hound out of the Wilson boy’s big sister Earline. Today was to be a day of fun and torture and I had enough money to buy a new bag of marbles to lose to Johnny. Today was not supposed to be the day that I would remember all of my life. It was not suppose to be a life changing experience kind of day. I was angry, sad, and lost all in one moment. How could Johnny leave me here with all these other ordinary kids and the Wilson’s boy’s big sister? She will kill me now. She will be the King of the hill and I’ll be a real nobody. I can’t even beat her in marbles even though I’m as good as she is. She always gets mad when she loses and beats up the one who takes her marbles. I’m smart enough not to beat her and that is the very reason Johnny wouldn’t allow her to play with us. Now my protector, my hero, my teacher, and best friend is moving. I want to die. Well, that will come soon enough. Finally, I find myself in Johnny’s yard watching them load the truck. The entire neighborhood had gathered there or just across the street to watch.
No one had looked up to see Johnny’s big surprise. No one could imagine what Johnny had done. Everyone just sat quietly watching as the man of the hour helped load his families’ furniture on the truck. Johnny’s mother had taken some blue denim cloth from the mill and had sewn together a large bag with a drawstring in the top. This was where Johnny had kept his marbles. There must have been a million marbles in there. I know that I lost a few thousand to him myself including my prize shooter. I, like most of the other kids were not allowed to gamble but playing for keeps as we called it just did not seem like gambling. My mother knew I was losing the marbles she bought me but with a wink she would always buy me more. It was like she understood even though as she gave them to me she would lecture me against gambling with them. I just knew that when I did God would forgive me for playing for keeps because we had to learn somehow. The kids that played for fun were wusses and not real challenging and besides that, it wasn’t fun anyway. The thrill of playing for shooters was the greatest thing except maybe for seeing my sweetheart smile at me. Nothing made your heart race faster than waiting your turn to shoot. You would aim with all the strength you could muster and release that shooter toward those helpless marbles. You would watch them scatter outside the circle drawn into the dirt then pick up your winnings while hoping your shooter would stop before it too came out of the circle. If your shooter stayed in the circle you could shoot again and again till it too came out of the circle. It was the greatest of thrills so I thought at the time.
The curtains were already down and the house was already looking bad. An empty house always begins to look bad after a short time. You really never see the chipped paint or the torn shingles or the rust dripping form the gutters while someone lives there. It is funny how living in a home makes no one notice such things. No matter how much I try not to think about it, Johnny is still moving. Johnny is going to say “adios partner”. Johnny will tip his hat and say “we’ll be seeing ya good buddy”. He will rare up on his horse if Johnny had a horse and say “see you later, Tonto”. Someone yelled out to Johnny asking him where he was moving. Johnny then told us that he was moving just a few streets over on the other side of the railroad tracks. This was devastating to us. A few blocks away would not be so bad but we all knew we would not ever see him again because of the railroad tracks. We were not allowed to cross the railroad tracks. This was not like playing for keeps or burning snakes for that matter. We were not allowed to do that either but if we were caught crossing those tracks it would be a belt burning night at our house and my rear end would be the kindling. No more games of marbles and no more life, as I knew it. How on earth would we cope?
Johnny was ready to pull out with the last load. As he pulled away he was laughing and waiving good bye and pointing to the tree that stood beside his house and with that he was gone. Some of us watched till he was out of sight and others stood there in amazement at what Johnny had been pointing to in the tree. You have to understand that this tree was huge. It was a water oak tree that never lost all of its leaves. It was the very tree that made playing marbles in Johnny’s yard possible because the shade from the huge tree would never allow enough light to filter through to grow grass. This left the dirt for us to draw our circles in which we played marbles. I had ruined many pairs of jeans by kneeling in the dirt to play marbles. Most of my playing outside jeans had two or three patches on them. This tree was our refuge in the summer from the rays of the sun. We played in the streets till way after dark because of the canopy that it made. A streetlight was lower than it limbs and would direct enough light on the street to make even stick ball possible. This was the tree of trees and hanging in that tree high on a limb was Johnny’s bag of marbles. They were impossible to get. No one had ever climbed that tree. The fire department wouldn’t be able to get them down. I assume Johnny was saying goodbye the best way he knew how by leaving his greatest prize behind. Maybe this was his way of moving out of boyhood into adolescence. Maybe this was his way of leaving the challenge to the next leader to be. Whoever obtained that bag of marbles would be the new hero and the new leader and the new King of the hill.
We all stood in silence looking at that bag of marbles in that tree. Then without a warning we all scattered to find the right tool needed to knock that bag down. Many days passed and thousands of attempts were made but no one prevailed. The Wilson boy’s sister tried harder than the rest of us. Johnny was long gone but he was still the hero and still the leader and still the King of the hill. No one could take his place until that bag of marbles came down and I was sure that only a tornado would be able to do that and we were nowhere near tornado season. The day finally came when we were all so focused on bringing down that bag of marbles that we had dedicated the whole day to making it happen. We made spears out of bamboo and bows and arrows out of tree limbs and we loaded our arsenal with BBs to use with our slingshots because not one of us had a BB gun. We had been at it most of the day when a young boy from another neighborhood past by. We were not allowed to pass through other neighborhoods unless we were walking to school but because our neighborhood was near both stores we seem to always have traffic from others. Of course, this young boy wanted to know what all the fuss was about. We started to tell him about Johnny Kirk and the hero he was as well as all the nice things he had done and finally we showed him the bag of marbles that hang on the tree branch entirely out of our reach. The young barefooted boy said that he would get the bag and started climbing up the tree. He used his fingers and toes like a monkey and using only the bark of the tree began to climb. Finally I was going to get my prize shooter back and some of the many marbles I had lost to Johnny Kirk. I knew this because the bag of marbles was too large for the young boy to carry down the tree if he was successful in reaching the marbles. I knew that he would have to drop them to be able to climb down. I knew that even though I was not the biggest person there I was not the smallest either and that no one person would be able to carry off this bag of marbles. All of this hinged on whether this outside intruder to our neighborhood would make it all the way out on that limb and untie the bag and drop it to us. We all gasped for air as he slipped but did not fall. He was very strong to be able to hold onto the branches as he did. I am glad that no adult had seen him in the tree as I’m sure they would have called the police or fire department. to come to his rescue. Finally he made it to the bag and while balancing his body on the tree limb he was able to untie the string that held the bag to the limb. We all rejoiced and danced in the street and calling out to the boy as to what we felt he should do with this bag of marbles. Drop it we said, let it down so we can help you, we said. Sweat had started to bead on the boys lips by now and we knew at any moment we were going to have our prize. We didn’t seem to worry about the boy anymore but only the bag of marbles. With the bag in his teeth he began a very slow and methodical crawl backwards to the tree trunk. Backwards he continued down the trunk of the tree until he dropped safely to the ground never letting go of the marbles. Sweaty, dirty and exhausted and with a big smile on his face the young boy began walking away with our marbles. We outnumbered him and we could have overpowered him to take away those marbles but we did not. We all stood in amazement at what we had witnessed. Even the Tomboy Jeanie Jones did nothing to stop him. After that there was very little talk of the bag of marbles or Johnnie Kirk or the boy who miraculously climbed that tree. We moved on as if nothing had happened but our lives had really changed. The Wilson family moved away and the tomboy Jeannie Jones was sent to reform school and my girlfriend never did find out that I was in love with her. The tree finally got too old and was cut down and I guess I also moved on myself. No one ever stepped forth as the leader or the hero or the protector. Life became difficult and more complex as we grew older. Families were started and babies came and jobs grew depressing and we all kept reaching for the marbles. God gives us many chances and many opportunities to learn from our adventures. I think that I brought away from this one an amazement for the different type of people that God made and the different talents that they possess. I think I better understand the limits that I have as a person but at the same time the possibilities that I have as a person. Maybe I did not get my marbles back and maybe I did not get the girl or was not the hero but I was there and I experienced it.
The meanest person I knew was also a girl named Earline and also a tomboy and also the big sister of the Wilson boys. She could out curse a Charleston sailor and whip his you know what while doing it. It was nothing to receive a head slap from her on the back of the head. This usually meant you were still in her good graces and that you had not ticked her off in a while. My sweetheart lived down the street. She was also a few years my elder and extremely beautiful. I hate figs but every summer I would pick those nasty things and take them to her mother in hopes that I could catch a glimpse of her or have her smile at me at the door. Do you know what a bunch of rotten figs feel like when mashed between your toes? I hope not. I prefer not to tell you her name because it was a secret love affair of mine and I still would not want her to know it even though she came to my eight year old birthday party and every body joked about me being in love with her.
The rest of us kids in the neighborhood were just normal. No one seemed to notice us much. We were the team players the tag alongs and the non-trouble makers. We worshipped the others but wouldn’t dare admit it. If we admitted it we would be accepting our normality and that was not going to happen. Though we knew we were the worshippers we never wanted the worshipped to know that they were worshipped. This would destroy most of these relationships and when all you had were these friendships you could not handle the loss of one unless of course someone moved away. This is how we lost Johnny Kirk. In fact this is the way we lost everybody.
Moving away was the escape, the reward, and sometimes the best thing that could happen to a young kid in that neighborhood. No one would really mourn the loss of one of us ordinary kids but the day that Johnny Kirk left was a big day in our ordinary lives. Johnny had not prepared us and we were not ready to say goodbye. The truck just pulled up and they started loading it as if nothing was out of the ordinary but everything was out of the ordinary. Today was suppose to be a regular day when Johnny and I would play some marbles, burn some snakes, or just aggravate the hound out of the Wilson boy’s big sister Earline. Today was to be a day of fun and torture and I had enough money to buy a new bag of marbles to lose to Johnny. Today was not supposed to be the day that I would remember all of my life. It was not suppose to be a life changing experience kind of day. I was angry, sad, and lost all in one moment. How could Johnny leave me here with all these other ordinary kids and the Wilson’s boy’s big sister? She will kill me now. She will be the King of the hill and I’ll be a real nobody. I can’t even beat her in marbles even though I’m as good as she is. She always gets mad when she loses and beats up the one who takes her marbles. I’m smart enough not to beat her and that is the very reason Johnny wouldn’t allow her to play with us. Now my protector, my hero, my teacher, and best friend is moving. I want to die. Well, that will come soon enough. Finally, I find myself in Johnny’s yard watching them load the truck. The entire neighborhood had gathered there or just across the street to watch.
No one had looked up to see Johnny’s big surprise. No one could imagine what Johnny had done. Everyone just sat quietly watching as the man of the hour helped load his families’ furniture on the truck. Johnny’s mother had taken some blue denim cloth from the mill and had sewn together a large bag with a drawstring in the top. This was where Johnny had kept his marbles. There must have been a million marbles in there. I know that I lost a few thousand to him myself including my prize shooter. I, like most of the other kids were not allowed to gamble but playing for keeps as we called it just did not seem like gambling. My mother knew I was losing the marbles she bought me but with a wink she would always buy me more. It was like she understood even though as she gave them to me she would lecture me against gambling with them. I just knew that when I did God would forgive me for playing for keeps because we had to learn somehow. The kids that played for fun were wusses and not real challenging and besides that, it wasn’t fun anyway. The thrill of playing for shooters was the greatest thing except maybe for seeing my sweetheart smile at me. Nothing made your heart race faster than waiting your turn to shoot. You would aim with all the strength you could muster and release that shooter toward those helpless marbles. You would watch them scatter outside the circle drawn into the dirt then pick up your winnings while hoping your shooter would stop before it too came out of the circle. If your shooter stayed in the circle you could shoot again and again till it too came out of the circle. It was the greatest of thrills so I thought at the time.
The curtains were already down and the house was already looking bad. An empty house always begins to look bad after a short time. You really never see the chipped paint or the torn shingles or the rust dripping form the gutters while someone lives there. It is funny how living in a home makes no one notice such things. No matter how much I try not to think about it, Johnny is still moving. Johnny is going to say “adios partner”. Johnny will tip his hat and say “we’ll be seeing ya good buddy”. He will rare up on his horse if Johnny had a horse and say “see you later, Tonto”. Someone yelled out to Johnny asking him where he was moving. Johnny then told us that he was moving just a few streets over on the other side of the railroad tracks. This was devastating to us. A few blocks away would not be so bad but we all knew we would not ever see him again because of the railroad tracks. We were not allowed to cross the railroad tracks. This was not like playing for keeps or burning snakes for that matter. We were not allowed to do that either but if we were caught crossing those tracks it would be a belt burning night at our house and my rear end would be the kindling. No more games of marbles and no more life, as I knew it. How on earth would we cope?
Johnny was ready to pull out with the last load. As he pulled away he was laughing and waiving good bye and pointing to the tree that stood beside his house and with that he was gone. Some of us watched till he was out of sight and others stood there in amazement at what Johnny had been pointing to in the tree. You have to understand that this tree was huge. It was a water oak tree that never lost all of its leaves. It was the very tree that made playing marbles in Johnny’s yard possible because the shade from the huge tree would never allow enough light to filter through to grow grass. This left the dirt for us to draw our circles in which we played marbles. I had ruined many pairs of jeans by kneeling in the dirt to play marbles. Most of my playing outside jeans had two or three patches on them. This tree was our refuge in the summer from the rays of the sun. We played in the streets till way after dark because of the canopy that it made. A streetlight was lower than it limbs and would direct enough light on the street to make even stick ball possible. This was the tree of trees and hanging in that tree high on a limb was Johnny’s bag of marbles. They were impossible to get. No one had ever climbed that tree. The fire department wouldn’t be able to get them down. I assume Johnny was saying goodbye the best way he knew how by leaving his greatest prize behind. Maybe this was his way of moving out of boyhood into adolescence. Maybe this was his way of leaving the challenge to the next leader to be. Whoever obtained that bag of marbles would be the new hero and the new leader and the new King of the hill.
We all stood in silence looking at that bag of marbles in that tree. Then without a warning we all scattered to find the right tool needed to knock that bag down. Many days passed and thousands of attempts were made but no one prevailed. The Wilson boy’s sister tried harder than the rest of us. Johnny was long gone but he was still the hero and still the leader and still the King of the hill. No one could take his place until that bag of marbles came down and I was sure that only a tornado would be able to do that and we were nowhere near tornado season. The day finally came when we were all so focused on bringing down that bag of marbles that we had dedicated the whole day to making it happen. We made spears out of bamboo and bows and arrows out of tree limbs and we loaded our arsenal with BBs to use with our slingshots because not one of us had a BB gun. We had been at it most of the day when a young boy from another neighborhood past by. We were not allowed to pass through other neighborhoods unless we were walking to school but because our neighborhood was near both stores we seem to always have traffic from others. Of course, this young boy wanted to know what all the fuss was about. We started to tell him about Johnny Kirk and the hero he was as well as all the nice things he had done and finally we showed him the bag of marbles that hang on the tree branch entirely out of our reach. The young barefooted boy said that he would get the bag and started climbing up the tree. He used his fingers and toes like a monkey and using only the bark of the tree began to climb. Finally I was going to get my prize shooter back and some of the many marbles I had lost to Johnny Kirk. I knew this because the bag of marbles was too large for the young boy to carry down the tree if he was successful in reaching the marbles. I knew that he would have to drop them to be able to climb down. I knew that even though I was not the biggest person there I was not the smallest either and that no one person would be able to carry off this bag of marbles. All of this hinged on whether this outside intruder to our neighborhood would make it all the way out on that limb and untie the bag and drop it to us. We all gasped for air as he slipped but did not fall. He was very strong to be able to hold onto the branches as he did. I am glad that no adult had seen him in the tree as I’m sure they would have called the police or fire department. to come to his rescue. Finally he made it to the bag and while balancing his body on the tree limb he was able to untie the string that held the bag to the limb. We all rejoiced and danced in the street and calling out to the boy as to what we felt he should do with this bag of marbles. Drop it we said, let it down so we can help you, we said. Sweat had started to bead on the boys lips by now and we knew at any moment we were going to have our prize. We didn’t seem to worry about the boy anymore but only the bag of marbles. With the bag in his teeth he began a very slow and methodical crawl backwards to the tree trunk. Backwards he continued down the trunk of the tree until he dropped safely to the ground never letting go of the marbles. Sweaty, dirty and exhausted and with a big smile on his face the young boy began walking away with our marbles. We outnumbered him and we could have overpowered him to take away those marbles but we did not. We all stood in amazement at what we had witnessed. Even the Tomboy Jeanie Jones did nothing to stop him. After that there was very little talk of the bag of marbles or Johnnie Kirk or the boy who miraculously climbed that tree. We moved on as if nothing had happened but our lives had really changed. The Wilson family moved away and the tomboy Jeannie Jones was sent to reform school and my girlfriend never did find out that I was in love with her. The tree finally got too old and was cut down and I guess I also moved on myself. No one ever stepped forth as the leader or the hero or the protector. Life became difficult and more complex as we grew older. Families were started and babies came and jobs grew depressing and we all kept reaching for the marbles. God gives us many chances and many opportunities to learn from our adventures. I think that I brought away from this one an amazement for the different type of people that God made and the different talents that they possess. I think I better understand the limits that I have as a person but at the same time the possibilities that I have as a person. Maybe I did not get my marbles back and maybe I did not get the girl or was not the hero but I was there and I experienced it.
Guilty as charged
I am guilty of being one of those Sunday Scholl teachers that taught things that were wrong as well as damaging to other people’s lives. It was out of this guilt that I began to search for true answers. When I was teaching Sunday School at a boy’s reform school I was given the task to teach every three weeks. It just so happened that as my turn rolled around we were in the scriptures teaching about turning the other cheek. I taught this lesson like it had been taught to me. God wanted us to turn the other cheek and not fight. Jesus did this in the Garden Of Gethsemane. It would be like heaping coals of fire upon their heads as the Bible taught and I am positive I told them other untruths that day. After the lesson the toughest and meanest student we had in our class came and told me that he had prayed the prayer of faith with us and that he had accepted Jesus as his Savior. We were rejoicing at the work the Lord did that day. Others came to tell us they too had accepted Jesus as their Savior. I remember as we left rejoicing in this experience, we had no idea that a life changing experience was about to happen to us. The following week we returned as good teachers would but what we found shook my very soul. The meanest and toughest boy in this institution at the time was sitting on the couch clutching his Bible with a big smile on his face and two black eyes. He told me that another inmate tried to pick a fight and hit him with his fist. He proudly turned the other cheek and let him hit him again thus allowing this other inmate to give him two black eyes without raising a hand in defiance. Those black eyes that day represented black eyes to my belief system. How on earth could this be what God meant for mankind? How could God want us to roll over and play dead and allow others to take our dignity and our families and our livelihood away from us? Why would God want us to be wimps and turn the other cheek only to be hit again and again? Turning the other cheek must be wrong. My heart sank as I looked into those black eyes that day and I knew I would not rest until I found a better explanation for this passage in the Bible. I only hoped that this young man did not see the hurt in my face, as I knew that I was responsible for the pain he had suffered. I knew that someday he would question this teaching of mine and turn away from the joy that he now had. I feared that he would turn from God and I would be responsible. I feared that he would again lose himself in the past life but there was nothing I could do because I did not understand it myself. I knew that there must be a better explanation for this passage and I set out to find it. It took two years for me to find a reasonable explanation that did not take away from the story in the Bible but shed more light to this subject of turning the other cheek. It was amazing that I found this answer not in the Bible but in history. It seems that during the time of Jesus that a person who had been wronged by another could demand as part of the repayment a public display of guilt by slapping the wrongdoer on the face. This would be a display of guilt on the behalf of the wrongdoer as well as a means of retribution to the one who had been wronged. In this passage Jesus tells us to turn the other cheek. If we have wronged someone and their repayment is to publicly slap us then we should turn the other cheek and let them slap us again. We are to show that as followers of Christ we are better than the other people are and are willing to pay more for our wrongdoing. If we are wrong and we are required by law to give them our shirt then we should give them our coat also. The Roman soldiers had set outpost around the city and had a curfew. If one was caught out after the curfew they were required to walk between the outposts with the soldiers carrying their heavy armor. Jesus said, “If they bid you walk one mile you should walk two”. Remember that all this is conditional to the fact that they were caught in a wrongdoing and they were out after curfew. We are to show we are better by going the extra mile. If history could make this passage understandable and helpful in our lives then why is everyone so scared to look at history for solutions to hard questions? I felt relief when I found this answer but also so sad for those that others and I taught incorrectly. The Bible can be explained but it takes many sources to help one understand. When I study the Bible I use one simple principle. I come to the Word of God with the idea that it must be consistent with the other teachings of the Bible. A concept or story in the Bible cannot contradict another. If it appears to be a contradiction then we must look for an answer that rids the story or the concept of the contradiction. I cannot do anything about the boy with the two black eyes but I can tell others about what I have learned so that they will not turn their cheeks when they are not in the wrong. Black eyes can heal but closed minds can continue to do damage.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Clarence
We counted them up one day and we had lived in thirty-six houses before I reached the fourth grade, which is really moving around. I had just entered the second grade in what was my third school to be entered into and around the 34th house we lived in when I met Clarence. Clarence was the most ungifted person I ever had the privilege to meet. Ungifted, smelly, filthy, ragged, and poorer than me . I know that you are thinking that I have some amazing story to tell you about this boy and how we interacted and how close we became and how we always to this day stay in touch. Well, you would be wrong. I’m going to tell you about the worst possible moment in my childhood when I was part of a terrible prank that to this day I don’t think I can forgive myself for doing.
Mrs. Orr was my teacher in the second grade and she taught me so much. I use her real name so if you ever run into her you can tell her how much I still hate her. She was so mean she should have been in Catholic School. The Wilson boys went to Catholic School and were always telling us how mean those teachers were. Mrs. Orr was so mean she pinched the scab right off my arm that was there due to my vaccination. Too bad those vaccinations didn’t keep little boys from having to put up with people like Mrs. Orr. What then do you think I learned from this wretched lady? I learned that if at all possible to stay away from the mean people in this world and not to play jokes on people that don’t deserve it. You see that is what we did to poor Clarence. Actually what started to be a joke or just plain roughing up another kid turned out to have a result that no one really expected. During recess some other guys and I decided to allow Clarence to play football with us. None of us really wanted him to play but we felt that if we roughed him up a little bit then we would feel better about sitting in a hot classroom with this smelly person. As it turned out none of us wanted to tackle him either. Finally someone tackled him and at that moment we turned ugly. We decided that while we had him in the dirt we would give him and old fashion dirt down the pants deal. Actually we did not stop there. We filled his head full of dirt and his shirt, and just before the bell rang we rolled him in it so bad that his shoes were filled with dirt. We all ran to the room and sat quietly because you know who, Mrs. Orr would soon be in.
Clarence was sitting there as if nothing had happened. This had been the first time that anyone had paid attention to him and I really feel that he had enjoyed the attention he got even though it was bad. Just then Mrs. Orr walked in and with vicious eyes she scanned the room for do badders. It seemed she had a second sense when it came to smelling trouble. At first she did not see Clarence in all of his glory but just when we felt that we were clear she broke the silence with a loud thunder that started with "Clarence!!!! What in God’s name happened to you?" Needless to say that Clarence had buried his head in his arms on top of his desk. That was the moment that I started feeling bad. I reckoned it was guilt. It had to be guilt because I felt so bad. Clarence had no control of the conditions he lived in. He never appeared to be the type of boy that would refuse a bath or new clothes for that matter. He was very quite and shy and not involved with anyone. He was a loner and one whiff of his body odor would help you to understand why. However he did not get one breath of compassion from the mean old Mrs. Orr. She grabbed him by his dirt filled ear and towed him away to the office. My stomach began to hurt a little more. I could only imagine what they would do at the office with a poor kid who had gotten extremely dirty at recess. Would they send him home? That did not make sense since he came to school dirty anyway. Would he get the paddle for his behavior? Then the thought occurred to me that what if he told who had gotten him dirty. My stomach started hurting worse. It was now guilt mixed with fear. I thought I was going to have to ask to go to the nurse. It was unbearable.
After what seem to be an eternity a knock came on our closed door. Mrs. Orr opened the door and to everyone’s surprise there stood a clean well dressed Clarence. Someone at the school had given him a bath and good clothes to wear. He had on new shoes that looked a little large but new anyway. His hair was combed for the first time. We were surprised at how nice looking he really was. Clarence returned to his seat and never told anyone what had happened. Maybe he thought we were just playing and he got the best of the deal. Maybe he was glad to finally be apart of something and hoped it would continue. Maybe he was glad he got a bath and new clothes. None of the boys involved were ever good friends with Clarence but we sure held a different kind of respect for him. Clarence disappeared from our classroom shortly after that and I never got a chance to tell him I was sorry for helping to get him so dirty. It makes me wonder now in my latter years just how my mistakes affected someone else. Did I have a good impact on people or bad impact? Do they still think of me and incidents like this one? How was I active in the molding of their lives? I see it often in my children in the things they say and do. I hope I have left something for them to remember that will impact their lives in a positive way. I guess that was what Jesus did and why we still tell his stories. The writers of the New Testament tell us of many things that happen to Jesus and his response to them. I cannot recall one that included rolling someone in the dirt because they smelled bad or not dressed as well as he was. However. I do recall a verse in the New Testament that says good can come out of bad to them that love the Lord. That must be what God showed me through this. That must be why my heart sinks when I see a crusty beggar walking up the street. My prayer is God make something good out of this. My actions may not always be to stop and help but often I have. My intention is to never try to hurt someone. My lesson is God can do wonders with the mistakes we give him.
Mrs. Orr was my teacher in the second grade and she taught me so much. I use her real name so if you ever run into her you can tell her how much I still hate her. She was so mean she should have been in Catholic School. The Wilson boys went to Catholic School and were always telling us how mean those teachers were. Mrs. Orr was so mean she pinched the scab right off my arm that was there due to my vaccination. Too bad those vaccinations didn’t keep little boys from having to put up with people like Mrs. Orr. What then do you think I learned from this wretched lady? I learned that if at all possible to stay away from the mean people in this world and not to play jokes on people that don’t deserve it. You see that is what we did to poor Clarence. Actually what started to be a joke or just plain roughing up another kid turned out to have a result that no one really expected. During recess some other guys and I decided to allow Clarence to play football with us. None of us really wanted him to play but we felt that if we roughed him up a little bit then we would feel better about sitting in a hot classroom with this smelly person. As it turned out none of us wanted to tackle him either. Finally someone tackled him and at that moment we turned ugly. We decided that while we had him in the dirt we would give him and old fashion dirt down the pants deal. Actually we did not stop there. We filled his head full of dirt and his shirt, and just before the bell rang we rolled him in it so bad that his shoes were filled with dirt. We all ran to the room and sat quietly because you know who, Mrs. Orr would soon be in.
Clarence was sitting there as if nothing had happened. This had been the first time that anyone had paid attention to him and I really feel that he had enjoyed the attention he got even though it was bad. Just then Mrs. Orr walked in and with vicious eyes she scanned the room for do badders. It seemed she had a second sense when it came to smelling trouble. At first she did not see Clarence in all of his glory but just when we felt that we were clear she broke the silence with a loud thunder that started with "Clarence!!!! What in God’s name happened to you?" Needless to say that Clarence had buried his head in his arms on top of his desk. That was the moment that I started feeling bad. I reckoned it was guilt. It had to be guilt because I felt so bad. Clarence had no control of the conditions he lived in. He never appeared to be the type of boy that would refuse a bath or new clothes for that matter. He was very quite and shy and not involved with anyone. He was a loner and one whiff of his body odor would help you to understand why. However he did not get one breath of compassion from the mean old Mrs. Orr. She grabbed him by his dirt filled ear and towed him away to the office. My stomach began to hurt a little more. I could only imagine what they would do at the office with a poor kid who had gotten extremely dirty at recess. Would they send him home? That did not make sense since he came to school dirty anyway. Would he get the paddle for his behavior? Then the thought occurred to me that what if he told who had gotten him dirty. My stomach started hurting worse. It was now guilt mixed with fear. I thought I was going to have to ask to go to the nurse. It was unbearable.
After what seem to be an eternity a knock came on our closed door. Mrs. Orr opened the door and to everyone’s surprise there stood a clean well dressed Clarence. Someone at the school had given him a bath and good clothes to wear. He had on new shoes that looked a little large but new anyway. His hair was combed for the first time. We were surprised at how nice looking he really was. Clarence returned to his seat and never told anyone what had happened. Maybe he thought we were just playing and he got the best of the deal. Maybe he was glad to finally be apart of something and hoped it would continue. Maybe he was glad he got a bath and new clothes. None of the boys involved were ever good friends with Clarence but we sure held a different kind of respect for him. Clarence disappeared from our classroom shortly after that and I never got a chance to tell him I was sorry for helping to get him so dirty. It makes me wonder now in my latter years just how my mistakes affected someone else. Did I have a good impact on people or bad impact? Do they still think of me and incidents like this one? How was I active in the molding of their lives? I see it often in my children in the things they say and do. I hope I have left something for them to remember that will impact their lives in a positive way. I guess that was what Jesus did and why we still tell his stories. The writers of the New Testament tell us of many things that happen to Jesus and his response to them. I cannot recall one that included rolling someone in the dirt because they smelled bad or not dressed as well as he was. However. I do recall a verse in the New Testament that says good can come out of bad to them that love the Lord. That must be what God showed me through this. That must be why my heart sinks when I see a crusty beggar walking up the street. My prayer is God make something good out of this. My actions may not always be to stop and help but often I have. My intention is to never try to hurt someone. My lesson is God can do wonders with the mistakes we give him.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
The Church Sign
After I was given the opportunity to Pastor a local Church, I soon realized that my part-time duties were far more than I had expected. These included visitation, preaching, teaching, singing, preparing sermons, business meetings and then there was the sign. You know which sign I am talking about. The sign by the side of the road that is used to tell people when special services are held and when not in use for anything else it is the one with cute sayings on it. Sayings like “God is my Co-pilot” and “If God is your co-pilot then change seats”. I do hate these signs. More often than not I see these signs and their cute little sayings and cringe with pain. I put myself in the seat of a non-believer and wonder how they feel about those people that attend a Church that would have those stupid signs. The other day I saw one saying, “This sign broken come inside for directions”. I heard of another sign that said, “Everyone gives God credit but no one gives God cash.
The very week I was installed as pastor my name went on this sign announcing to the world and to that little community that a new pastor was hired and would be preaching the next Sunday at 11 o’clock worship hour. Many would have been proud to see their name in lights, {our sign had lights and a big arrow too}. My mother and Father would be among those who would have like the sign, but remember I hated those signs. Three weeks went by and the sign stayed the same. I really had hoped that someone would steal this sign and put me out of my misery. I had even thought of doing it myself except for the fact that the people of the church were so proud of that sign. I could not show them that I disapproved but rather had to cover up my feelings to protect the feelings of those good hearted people that not only wanted that sign but felt that the church needed that sign.
The moment finally came when the committee that bought the sign, came to me to ask me what I wanted to put on the sign. Well that did it. Now do I have to do everything including thinking of silly little sayings to put on silly signs? Remember I hate those signs. Just then in that moment of self-pity and frustration I had an epiphany. We had just announced the new pastor in town so now would be the time to shake up the community. Let’s put on the sign “The Church of the Second Chance.” I mean really isn’t that what church is, a place for people to come for a second chance. Doesn’t God give us a second chance when we ask for forgiveness? Isn’t the church a place for the gathering of those whom have been given a second chance? This was to be my sermon for the following week but what happened even I was not expecting. I was really busy at Seminary and had had no contact that week with anyone from the church.
When I arrived the following Sunday, I was greeted with big smiles and assurances that the sign project was a success. The phones of the members had rang off the hook that week because the local buzz was that the new pastor had come in and changed the name of a church in only three weeks. For Eighty years this church had stood as a monument and a home to this community. Someone could have hardly lived in this community and not have been touched by this church. Some had gotten married or baptized here or married someone whose parents had been married or baptized here. Some had attended socials and parties and Bible school here. It would have been hard to live in such a small community and not have been touched someway by its presence in the community. Now after only three weeks the most unbelievable thing had happened and a new preacher had poisoned the minds of the congregation and everyone had to come to see it with their own eyes. Yes I’m happy to say that attendance rose each week that the sign said Church of the Second Chance. It didn’t take but a few weeks however for the dust to settle and everyone had an opportunity to meet me and realize that the church was not changing names but in the process we had people coming back to church that had not come in years. I had to admit that the sign did work. After only a few weeks it was time again to change the sign. The same committee approached me to ask me to do it again. I had to think of something else to put on the sign. They felt that my first suggestion was such a big hit that they wanted me to choose again. I thought for only a few seconds and said put on the sign “Church of the Third Chance.”
The very week I was installed as pastor my name went on this sign announcing to the world and to that little community that a new pastor was hired and would be preaching the next Sunday at 11 o’clock worship hour. Many would have been proud to see their name in lights, {our sign had lights and a big arrow too}. My mother and Father would be among those who would have like the sign, but remember I hated those signs. Three weeks went by and the sign stayed the same. I really had hoped that someone would steal this sign and put me out of my misery. I had even thought of doing it myself except for the fact that the people of the church were so proud of that sign. I could not show them that I disapproved but rather had to cover up my feelings to protect the feelings of those good hearted people that not only wanted that sign but felt that the church needed that sign.
The moment finally came when the committee that bought the sign, came to me to ask me what I wanted to put on the sign. Well that did it. Now do I have to do everything including thinking of silly little sayings to put on silly signs? Remember I hate those signs. Just then in that moment of self-pity and frustration I had an epiphany. We had just announced the new pastor in town so now would be the time to shake up the community. Let’s put on the sign “The Church of the Second Chance.” I mean really isn’t that what church is, a place for people to come for a second chance. Doesn’t God give us a second chance when we ask for forgiveness? Isn’t the church a place for the gathering of those whom have been given a second chance? This was to be my sermon for the following week but what happened even I was not expecting. I was really busy at Seminary and had had no contact that week with anyone from the church.
When I arrived the following Sunday, I was greeted with big smiles and assurances that the sign project was a success. The phones of the members had rang off the hook that week because the local buzz was that the new pastor had come in and changed the name of a church in only three weeks. For Eighty years this church had stood as a monument and a home to this community. Someone could have hardly lived in this community and not have been touched by this church. Some had gotten married or baptized here or married someone whose parents had been married or baptized here. Some had attended socials and parties and Bible school here. It would have been hard to live in such a small community and not have been touched someway by its presence in the community. Now after only three weeks the most unbelievable thing had happened and a new preacher had poisoned the minds of the congregation and everyone had to come to see it with their own eyes. Yes I’m happy to say that attendance rose each week that the sign said Church of the Second Chance. It didn’t take but a few weeks however for the dust to settle and everyone had an opportunity to meet me and realize that the church was not changing names but in the process we had people coming back to church that had not come in years. I had to admit that the sign did work. After only a few weeks it was time again to change the sign. The same committee approached me to ask me to do it again. I had to think of something else to put on the sign. They felt that my first suggestion was such a big hit that they wanted me to choose again. I thought for only a few seconds and said put on the sign “Church of the Third Chance.”
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