"It Shall Be Seen"

(originally told 10/9-1994)



"…and with your blood you purchased humanity for God."
Revelation 5:9b


Revelations sat in Howell Park, as he did just about every afternoon nowadays, reading The West End Newletter. As his gaze drifted north he caught site of the belfry of the Ralph David Abernathy All Kindreds Cathedral. "How long has it been?" he thought to himself.

His mind drifted back across the decades to once upon a time when he was leader of that very same church. His paper drooped as he began to stare. From where he sat he imagined that, if it were not for the cut stone pillars and iron rod fencing around the yard of the funeral parlor next to the park, he might be able to see the orange and white billboard in the left-most portion of the front yard of the church. It detailed all the recreational pursuits that were available at the church: basketball, baseball, volleyball, karate, dance, cooking, etc. Thirty-some-odd he believed he'd counted. He chuckled to himself; then, repented.

He shouldn’t be so cynical he told himself. It was a good thing that they were offering these pastime opportunities to the community. There was a time when no one but church members could be involved in church sponsored activities. Perhaps things had changed. Perhaps this wasn’t just an ad for why RDA All Kindreds was better than the next guys. Perhaps they had changed over the years while he’d been gone. He certainly had. Still, it seemed to Revelations that institutions evolved more slowly, less intentionally, than people.

It was there at RDA All Kindreds that he had started telling stories. He had always loved them, especially the ones his grandfather, Baba, use to tell. At the church they had become particularly useful as a way to broach difficult subjects, allowing people to see themselves as opposed to having to hear about themselves all the time.

The first such time had come up when a young woman in the congregation, Aliya (pronounced |'ä·le·ä|), announced to her parents that she was leaving Christianity for Islam. As Revelations put it, “Her parents were like to hit the roof!”

Her mother, a true Southern lady with hopes of cotillions and big fancy weddings for her daughters, just couldn’t understand why Aliya would choose to cover her beautiful hair and wear funny clothes. What hurt even more was her daughter’s refusal to eat just anything she cooked. The mother was a wonder in the kitchen, no doubt, and cooking was one of the ways she loved. The father, an elder in the church, was overcome by the sheer embarrassment of it all. They, the mother and father, had brought Aliya to Revelations, Rev. Sent St. Common, as a last ditch effort to talk some sense into her. They knew she respected him.

Revelations remembered the conversation as if it were happening in that very moment. "So tell me why, Aliya. What draws you to Islam—the way of submission to Allah—outside of your Arabic (and, strangely, Hebrew as well) name, of course?" he inquired and jested.

"Because I love the strength I saw in my friend Hagar and her family during the West Bank incursion. Kids at school would give her a hard time, particularly when they began to notice the uniqueness of her head scarf and diet and the fact she’d stop to pray twice everyday while we were at school. They would call her "raghead" and "terrorist" and other kinds of evil things. And it wasn’t the Jewish kids. It was the so-called Christians. Still Hagar kept right on doing her thing.

"Hagar's mom really impresses me too. Not only has she raised 5 children of her own (Hagar being the youngest), but she has made a home for countless numbers of children from the community at a moment's notice, just because they needed help. You can't beat that.

"Mr. Abdul, Hagar's father, is a community organizer, but after the last intifada began, he lost his job because some foundation pulled his organization's funding for his specific position. He could have been bitter and angry, but he wasn't. When Malik Johnson was falsely accused of raping that white college student down at State, while his former employer was organizing rallies and marches, which Mr. Abdul participated in, he also made sure Malik's family had food and rent until Malik was released and able to find a new job.

"I remember asking my dad, who's a judge, about the Malik Johnson case and he gave me some crap about 'we all have our cross and we must learn to bear it with patience' and something about 'dying to self' and 'suffering as a Christian,' which is easy to say when one's suffering never jeopardizes his own or his family's 'basic human dignities' (to use one of your phrases, Pastor Revelations). When I pressed him, he gave me some colonial BS about letting the system do its job. I can't stand it!

"I just don't get Christianity. It's not that I don't know or believe the stories; I do. It's just that the majority of Christianity seems to be about thinking the right things and not about doing what's right. And don't get me started on the role of Christianity in every major atrocity throughout modern history.

"Islam just resonates with me. I have no problem with Jesus. 'I find no fault in him,' you might say," she giggled, "but I don't see how Christianity does his message much of a service. It seems to me that, if Christians were at all interested in the way of Jesus, they would live as if he were reason enough to channel as much good as they can into the world before their time is up."

How could Revelations disagree…

CONTINUE READING "It Shall Be Seen">>>

"You read the scripture, chapter 22 of Genesis verse 1, 'And it came to pass that God did tempt Abraham.' Strong words! Real strong words: 'God did tempt.' But we know right off the bat that God's temptations must be as different from the Enemy's temptations as their characters are opposite of each other. They just must be because, you see, I do not believe God is concerned with tempting us to see if we'll fail, but rather, I know, God is quick to test us so that He might clarify our conception of who He is and who He wants to be for us. I've seen Him do it time and time again from eternity past.

"My name is Jhishayon. I am what you might call an angel. Now don't let my dress fool you, styles have changed since biblical times. Nonetheless, I am an angel. And, in fact, I was the guardian that was assigned to Isaac—second son of Abraham, first son of Sarah, brother of Ishmael and threat to Hagar—when he was born.
I was excited about it. I knew that there was something special about the child. I had heard all the promises God had made regarding Isaac to Abraham. 'Through your family, all the families of the earth will be blessed.' This was one of the children of those promises, and I knew that this child was to be important in the redemption of man. So I was excited about the assignment. And being the person that I am (I grow attached very quickly) from the moment I saw him I loved him. I loved Isaac as if he were my own son. That is why I was quite bewildered, even upset, when God told me they planned to ask Abraham to kill Isaac.

"Now let me not get ahead of myself. Let me explain to you how things unfolded. I'll even share with you some of what I learned in the process.

"As I said, before God went to Abraham, God came to me (you do know that everyone's story is connected to many others; we're all interdependent like that). Well, God came to me and said, 'Now, Jhishayon, I'm about to request something of Abraham. However, I wanted to come to you first because when you hear it you will more than likely be angry. I'm not going to hold that against you. All I ask of you as you work through your anger is that you trust me. Whatever happens know that my good intentions towards you, Abraham, Sarah, Isaac and all the rest of creation have not changed, even though your feelings will have.'

"Being the faithful servant I thought I was, I responded, 'Of course I trust you. And be angry towards you—never! What is it? What are you going to ask him?'

"'I'm going to ask Abraham to sacrifice Isaac on an altar to me.'

"I was dumb-struck. 'How in Heaven's name could they—' But there was a determination in the eyes that I knew could not be argued with. Still I had to ask the question, 'Why... why?'

"'I know it hurts right now,' God replied, 'and I know you don't really understand. Please trust in me.'

"I threw up.

"I was literally sick as I took my usual post beside Isaac's bed that night and overheard God outside the tent asking Abraham to cut the throat of his and Sarah's only son—the one it had taken so long to have, even after the promise—over 30 years trying. It didn't sit with me any better to hear it a second time…

"That evening Abraham began preparing for his trip to the place where the murder (as
far as I was concerned) was to take place, telling his family that he and the boy were going into the wilderness to perform sacrifice unto to Lord. However, because of the sadness of his countenance everyone in the camp suspected more, yet no one asked. Everyone knew the special connection Abraham had with Yahweh.

"The next day Abraham got up and left early, long before the sun woke. The journey seemed like it would never end. I walked with them every step of the way. Although the Lord endured every question Abraham posed those three days as we journeyed through the land of Moriah, all God would offer in explanation was, 'Trust in me.'

"Finally we came to the base of a particular mountain in the region. It was there that Abraham asked his servants to stay while he and the boy went on alone.

"I must say that it wasn't until the whole episode was over that Abraham's words to his servants began to mean anything to me. He said, 'I and the boy will go on and worship, and then come back.' 'I and the boy.' It didn't mean anything to me at the time. In fact, I thought poorly of Abraham that he would even hint at deception.

"Then he and his son walked on, and for the first time, as they trudged up the side of the mountain, Isaac questioned his father. Isaac said, 'Abba, I'm carrying the hot coals and the wood, but we forgot the lamb for the offering.'

"I will never, ever forget Abraham's response, 'God will provide Godself a lamb, son.'

"'Son?' I said to myself, 'What! How dare you lie to that boy? You know what you have to do at the top of that hill!'

"I couldn't take anymore. I had to leave. I had to get as far away from them as possible. How could Abraham stand there gazing into those innocent, unsuspecting eyes and say, 'God will provide Godself a lamb,' knowing what God had asked him to do.

"When I came to my senses, I found myself in a place in the Nephesh realm that I often go when I want to be alone. To get there you follow the great river out of the city of God as it burrows through the Delectable Mountains. The river ultimately spills over a ridge on the backside of the range where it forms several lesser waterfalls whose waters converge to form The Great Waterfall. There are many caves in those mountains. But there is one cave in particular right behind the spill of the first of the Lessers where I like to sit away lonely. It was there that he found me.

"'Hello, Jhishayon. You probably didn't know I knew of this place.'

"I looked at him and rolled my eyes.

"He chuckled. 'Perhaps I deserve that. What's on your mind?'

"'You know already.'

"'Isaac, right?'

"'Of course'

"'But you didn't stay to see what happened.'

"'How could I stay and watch him die?'

"'Don't you remember. I asked you to trust me, to have faith in me, and promised that if you would stick with me it would begin to make better sense to you.'

"'I couldn't! I couldn't stay and watch him die!' I shouted.

"'Okay, okay,' he sighed with compassion. 'Look, I know you don't understand much, but indulge me for a moment. Share with me what you have seen and what you do understand. Maybe I can help you make sense of it.'

"I must confess I unloaded with both guns. 'I'll never understand why you would ask Abraham to murder Isaac, knowing he would obey you! That's right, it's murder, and it's sick! You know how much he loves you, yet you ask him to do this evil. What kind of love is that?

"'At the same time, I find it hard to believe that you are the type to just toy with Abraham's devotion, one who would push him just to see how far he would go. I've never known you to do something like that. And if that is who you really are, then maybe I'm on the wrong team.'

"At that moment there was a strange, reflective pause, and he kind of looked at me as if he had heard that accusation before. Then he replied shaking his head, 'I would hope that no one would ever get that impression. That's just not me.'

"'Then why, Lord? Why would you do it? Help me understand. You've always told how one day you would give your life to live in radical solidarity with humanity so humanity might find life once again, might be reconciled to you, despite their having chosen to disconnect and, thus, wane. You told me you would go after them and create new possibilities even in the mist of the impossibility, the death, they had chosen. So why is it that you would take from Isaac the very life you plan to make possible for him? Couldn't it be enough for them to learn from you how to reconnect, how to live fully human, how to love well and then, in faith that you would resource their efforts, do just that? Or will man eternally have to prove himself in penance to you—for disconnecting in the first place—looking for more and more to give up, even unto to death, to prove how much he loves and needs you? That's narcissistic and doesn't make any sense. That can't be the great Plan of Redemption. It would seem to me that you, being the author of life, would be more concerned with humanity finding ways to live in you, rather than looking for ways to die for you.'

"He looked at me in that strangely unassuming way that he has, and he smiled. Then he shrugged as he commented, 'Now you see that, but how do you know that Abraham does?'

"I puzzled over that for a brief moment before I had to smile back at him.

"Then he continued, 'I gave Abraham's ancestors the practice of sacrificing lambs, first, to show them that being divorced (separated, exiled, isolated, apart, distant, aloof, disconnected) from life by choice was a serious thing with real consequences and, secondly, to signify that I would one day come and fall victim to their shame in order to reconcile them to me. I wanted it to always be clear that death is necessary, but only as a means, not an end. They should never get caught up in the sacrifice or dying because that's my part. What I do want them to focus on is making the most of the life that my act of sacrifice, solidarity and eternal embrace makes possible for them. Unfortunately, you have some of them so caught up in judgment and blood-letting, thinking that's what I would have of them, not seeing it as just further degradation, that they even sacrifice their own children in what they think is my honor. Even among Abraham's clan some only understand the killing of the lamb, but I want to make sure Abraham knows the life beyond the death. I'm not Death; I find no pleasure in it. I'm Resurrection and Life.'

"I was blown away. 'So that means that Abraham never really had to sacrifice Isaac.'

"'Of course he would, if I were a Lord who desired it, but I've already paid that price. Whether or not he has to do it is, perhaps, the wrong question. Maybe a better question is, "What am I after?" because I'll always be after that which promotes life.'

"'Okay, Lord. But I have one more question. If that is the case, why would you put Abraham through such mental anguish over the thought that he would have to give up his son.'

"'So his faith in me might grow. Is it cruel to ask of one's child what one knows he does not have, in order to cultivate in him what one knows he needs? You know as well as I do that the only way one can live is through faith. The just have always lived by faith. And if my goal is for Abraham to embrace life, I have to strengthen his faith in me.'

"I couldn't believe it. It was all for faith—for Abraham's and for mine. I briefly got caught up in the moment of revelation, but then I remembered—Abraham was about to take Isaac's life!

"Then the Teacher looked at me, and I looked at him, and he said, 'Don't you have something to do?'

"I shot up out of there, following the river back to the city, flew past the constellations, slid down the Milky Way almost knocking the outer planets out of orbit as I came careening to earth. 'Abraham, no!'"

"But he didn't hear me. Before I even got there, there was the Provider, and I heard him saying, 'Abraham, don't take your son's life.' At which point I smiled and wiped my forehead. He continued, 'I can see your faith. By not keeping your son from me, you have demonstrated your trust in me above all else.'

"It was now time for Abraham to express his confusion, 'Now, wait a minute. Even I know it's not enough to want to obey. One must follow through. You asked me for my son's life. I must follow through.'
Having had this conversation already, I stood by grinning the most cheesy grin you ever did see.

"'I knew from the beginning that you would. I know who you want to be for me, but I wanted you to see… I needed you to see who I am for you.'

"It was then that Abraham noticed the ram stuck in a thicket not too far from where he stood, and he sacrificed it to God that day, instead of Isaac.

"Abraham named that place Jehovah-jireh (interpreted 'The Lord Will Provide') to remind himself and his children of what he saw of the Lord in that place. And it is said of that place even today that 'in the Mount of God it shall be seen.'"

"…So I have to give my life in faith to something that I believe counts, not just for me, but for others as well," Aliya concluded. "The Imam at the Abduls' mosque told me that, if I could not get my father's permission, I must, at least, seek my pastor's blessing. Otherwise, he would not welcome me. That's the reason I let my parents drag me here. I wanted to know what you had to say, but I also needed your support."

Revelations thought long and hard about what was being asked of him. He had spoken with her parents prior to this meeting. Her father had made it abundantly clear that he would not have any "rag-wearing, Mecca-claiming, Arabic-speaking, Allah-praying, swine-condemning, potential terrorist Muslims" in his family. He would probably disown her. At the same time, in the way of "submission to Allah" Aliyah had found a vision of life that was worthy of the kingdom of God.

"Welcome to the family of faith, little sister," Revelations said, as he stood up to embrace her. "Who am I to deny you the path Allah has for you? But don't fool yourself. Nothing about this is going to be easy. And you'll only have my blessing if you are steadfast in your embrace of all those among your family and friends who will think it their Christian duty to exclude you from their company—do you hear me? If you can 'turn the other cheek,' and keep coming back at them with love, then my blessing is eternally yours. And know that I am always here for you and willing to walk this path in friendship with you wherever your journey may lead you."

"Oh, and for what it's worth, if you truly find no fault with him, I am certain that one can be a follower in the way of Jesus and a practitioner of Islam, all at the same time," he smiled.



Freedom Haven

"…And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations."
Rev. 22:2b


It was a sweltering hot, Georgia day. The elders and deacons were early in formation: two at every entrance, two in the parking lot, two on the sidewalk down on the street. The First Elder was determined to maintain control this day. He had always blamed Revelations for the "loss" of his daughter, who had converted to Islam a few years back. His regret was that he had not "ruled the day" instead of letting her confide in this so called "man of God."

The church was packed. They were all there to mark the passing of an era. Today was to be Revelations' last sermon in the church that he had grown up in and later pastored. Whether they were for him or against him, most somehow knew this was a day to be remembered.

The First Elder made it his business to personally escort Revelations everywhere he went that morning, accept to the bathroom where Revelations stopped him at the door and said with a smile, "I haven't needed help in here since I was 4."

The 11 o'clock service had a definitively different feel to it. For one thing, First Elder felt the need to MC the entire program. For another, the music selection seemed such an after-thought and was saturated with "Jesus & Me" songs (love me, care for me, protect me, bless me, etc.—"God bless America… and nobody else"-type stuff), both of which were pet peeves for Revelations. Also, everything seemed so somber. Of course, the First Elder and his small yet vocal group of supporters felt it was a much needed return to more dignified proceedings.

First Elder was very formal in his introduction of "Pastor Sentinel St. Common;" he made a point of avoiding the title 'Reverend'. He was also quite cagey, some might say diplomatic, in his official explanation of why Revelations was leaving. It tickled Revelations to think of all First Elder was trying not to say, and in the spirit of the whole 'dignified' affair, Revelations stepped to the lectern, which he had not used in years, with the gravity becoming a 19th century abolitionist of great renowned…

CONTINUE READING Freedom Haven>>>

"Thank you for having me today. My name is Malcolm Turner. I am just an old country preacher, a Reverend in the AME tradition. I do, however, bear a more dubious distinction. I am the only grandson of Nat Turner.

"For those of you who have forgotten (or may have never learned) this part of your history, Nat Turner was the leader of the largest, most effective slave insurrection in US history. He was born and lived in Southhampton, VA. From a young age, he took great interest in spiritual things. He was known to have seen visions and dreamed dreams. So powerful were the messages he spoke regarding the reign of God that many called him "The Prophet. " As such, he could never reconcile himself to the injustice of the physical state in which he found himself: the peculiar institution of chattel slavery.

"Early in 1831 there was an eclipse that my grandfather took as a sign that the time had come to end, by any means necessary, the horror of slavery. A second eclipse later that year only served to confirm his conviction. Initially, his plan for rebellion was set for July 4th, Independence Day. Notwithstanding the symbolic significance it may have had if executed that day, it was postponed for a short time. Then on 21 Aug 1831 in the fullness of time Nat Turner and his fellow freedom fighters—which eventually numbered more than 50 slaves and free blacks—rose up and threw off the chains of their oppression. In sadly ironic fulfillment of words inked earlier that year by yet another abolitionist prophet, William Lloyd Garrison, within 48 hours 55 white men, women and children were dead. My grandfather and his collaborators may have proven successful in taking the town of Southhampton if it were not for the fearful in their mist. A confidant betrayed them to his master who was able to rally a militia to douse the spirit of freedom just before it set the countryside ablaze.

"I must admit that I find myself ambivalent about grandfather's actions though I refuse to speak of his freedom-fight as if it were a crime. What was criminal was the enslavement and dehumanization of people, and perhaps only the force of arms would bring it to certain death. He only initiated the armed resistance that was continued with the war between the states. What other political recourse is available to those denied any political rights? Had I been born and old enough, I would probably have fought right alongside him. Nonetheless, I harbor mixed feelings, for I was privileged to grow up in a different world, at a different time.

"I was born into the world of Freedom Haven. Freedom Haven is a small town nestled in a forgotten valley on the boarder of W. Virginia and Pennsylvania. It was founded 1845 in collaborative effort by Frederick Douglass, Harriett Tubman, Sojourner Truth and others. Almost immediately it became refuge for runaway and otherwise freed Negroes, dislocated natives and formerly indentured persons of color from other parts of the world, but it was predominately Black, with an elders council that was Black with one native. During the 20 years that the peculiar institution remained intact, Freedom Haven was a depot, and for Tubman a turnabout, of the Underground Railroad. It was an unfathomable secret for most, a secret kept sacred by the Society of Friends whose own village hid the only trail leading in and out of the valley of Freedom Haven.

"Freedom Haven was a special yet complex place to grow up. As you might imagine, not everyone there had the same story. Some were former slaves and remembered all too well the brutal inhumanity of not just the lash, but it all. For them freedom walked hand in hand with fear that the emergent village we were cultivating could be snatched away without warning. Often these had tried so many times to escape slavery and had suffered in ways too painful to recount for every attempt. They had lost loved ones as punishment upon recapture or as the bitter reward of success. I suppose it was difficult for them not to cling to resentment and distrust as the only safeguard against reoccurring exploitation.

"Then there were those like I, next generation free ones, who had never known anything else. For us freedom, equality, possibility were values never in question. I knew no other way to relate to another, even a white person, except as an equal. Deference was never conceptually a necessary act of fear, but a chosen expression of respect. My gaze never fell unless I thought there was something of interest on the ground, and I did not think it disrespectful for one my junior to look me in the eyes to express their opinions. Our generation's sense of unassailable self-efficacy, though sometimes seen as arrogant and reckless, and at times rightfully so, made new things possible.

"These and other dissimilarities that lived in vibrant tension with one another made the turn of the century an exciting time to live in Freedom Haven. It wasn't until 1865, 2 years after the Emancipation Proclamation and the end of the war between the states, when the Freedman Bureau was finally being established, that the elders of our community thought it safe to incorporate as a recognized township. It was only then that our existence became general knowledge. Still, we were so far off the beaten path that few came our way except family and Southern Blacks who were tired of traveling north. That didn't stop the folks from Freedom Haven venturing out, and it didn't take long before there were all kinds of interaction between us and neighboring towns, particularly with the nearby Quakers. After the abolition of slavery was secured, they immediately set about helping us establish commerce with the outside world. Several in our group, the more ambitious of us, did pretty well for themselves. Most of us chose to get along like we always had, growing enough for our families to eat and for us to sell or trade for necessities we couldn't manufacture ourselves and giving the rest away. I was just a schoolboy at that time, but by 1900 I had grown into my vocation and was now pastor of the Freedom Haven First AME Church.

"As the town had matured, prominent community members began to itch for the trappings of other more broadly known communities. Eventually the Great Oak in the center of town under which we used to meet was cut, and its wood was used to build a town hall in its place. Around it other little proprietorships began to pop up. Pete Fisher's butcher shop. Jimmy Ambishon's blacksmith shop. Doctor Tom Seer's office. A small trading post and diner run by Maggie Alabaster. I remember my father lamenting the centralization of everything. In his declining years he used to say it was only "the beginning of sorrows:" something about power coalescing and building on itself for itself. If he had only known.

"Around 1902 the most pressing desire became to establish a school. The truth was we didn't so much need one as a few wanted one. Up 'til this point children had been educated at home. Parents with children around the same age would often team up together and do things. There was no set curriculum. Education in Freedom Haven was a real organic process that had as much to do with life skills and virtue as it did with academics and trades. The formality of it all changed with the rhythm of the seasons, with children spending more time in books during the winter. Intellectual pursuits were rightly appreciated, but an honest day's work was the most valued learning experience, so spring, summer and early fall provided more hands-on opportunities. However this was not enough for some.

"They were a small yet vocal group. One would often hear comments such as, 'In Pittsburgh every child goes to common school every day. They're thinking about making attendance compulsory.' Or 'even Allentown has it's own schoolhouse.' This is how the seed of discontent was sown, in the most unassuming way. But it didn't take long before the "need" for our own schoolhouse became a topic of paramount concern.

"The community had most the resources to do it. Pete Fisher had proposed the use of his land and barn since he ran his business in town now. His brother Andy, who had continued in the family business, offered to provide all the fish, beef and poultry the students would need for meals as long as the students would tend what they could on Pete's land and learned how to raise livestock. Matt & Marti who ran one of the most productive farms in town guaranteed all the needed vegetables, again, provided the students would make the effort also to grow their own. Maggie offered to cook, even though lunch was often her busiest time of the day. Johnny Ambishon, Jimmy's brother, a master carpenter, said he would lead out in the necessary renovations of Pete's barn. Jimmy made plans to build what he called a 'jungle gym' adjacent to the barn, some new-fangled contraption he and his wife had seen on a trip to Philadelphia. He said it was the latest thing in the promotion of physical fitness among young people. Of course the project was supported by sundry others in the community, those with and without youngins. They asked Doc Tom Seer to chair the process, and called a meeting to discuss plans for making their hopes reality.

"The meeting came together easily enough. We all gathered at the Old Oak Tree (the new town hall). After a large potluck, we settled down to hear about it. After a review of all those who had committed their means in addition to their money to the project, Doc Seer rattled off what remained to be secured in terms of facility and how much it would cost out of pocket if the community were to pay for it. It wasn't as much as one might think. Then he turned his attention to the two most significant of our deficiencies. What we were still missing were a teacher and adequate textbooks.

"Now we had multiple options as it related to the textbooks. It would be a matter of patience and ingenuity, but we felt we would be able to gather enough older McGuffey Readers and the like for classroom use as well begin a little library. As for a teacher, we were at a loss. Though most everyone except for the very oldest in Freedom Haven could read and figure, the specter of being responsible for the learning of all the kids in the community intimidated just about everyone. Very few of us had been privileged to a formal education, and all of those who had were active in a career.

"The first suggestion made was that I or one of the other formally trained pastors might split our time between the classroom and the pulpit. That idea didn't last long. Once the pastors began to articulate what would have to be sacrificed in terms of clergy duties, the people took the suggestion off the table. I didn't mind exploring the idea, but it was a certainty that I could not teach full-time. Yet I wouldn't mind partnering with someone. Doc Seer suggested the community hold onto my offer as one possibility.

Next, someone suggested Marti's sister, Marie, who would have been perfect for the job except she was in the south teaching at a former plantation now owned by the Freedman Bureau. At that point someone suggested that we run an add in the Pittsburgh and Philadelphia newspapers, but with so much going toward getting the school off the ground, Doc Seer doubted we would be able to entice a stranger to relocate for what we might be able to afford to offer by way of salary. For a moment we were left with nothing.

"Then something occurred to me. 'We've been over-thinking our situation and ignoring what's right in front of us,' I said to the group of about a hundred assembled there that evening. 'Why don't we invite a teacher from the Society of Friends to partner with me as co-teacher?' It seemed most reasonable to me, and I thought I saw most heads nodding in consideration as I surveyed the crowd.

"However, from over my shoulder Ol'man Zebedee curtly responded, 'Absolutely not.'

"I have always loved the name 'Zebedee.' I like the way it rolls off the tongue. Mr. Ambishon's name was actually Zedekiah, but when he was a boy, his baby sister use to pronounce it 'Zebedee,' and it stuck. In my entire life I had never heard him referred to any differently.

"I didn't really understand his flat-out refusal so I inquired, 'Why?'

"'Because you can't trust white folks.'

"I didn't understand what he was saying. Yes they were white, but this was the Society of Friends, the abolitionists, we were talking about. 'What are you talking about?' I respectfully demanded. 'The Quakers have always been kind to us. They protected the secret of our existence for over a generation,' I said overlooking the impact of his words on the rest of those gathered.

"In response to the suspicion I knew his words were conjuring in all of us I continued, 'It's okay if we choose to live as the free people we are. Otherwise, why be free? Just to remain cloistered off to ourselves? Is that all our freedom is worth to us? Is it just for our own well-being? We're so busy thinking about what might benefit us. What about what might make us better neighbors? What about what might create different possibilities for our children and for the other children that surround this valley? There are poor whites, more than what the current Friend's school can accommodate, who live within a few miles of here who could benefit from a school as much, if not more, than we would. And if we partner with the Quakers we could draw them in.'

"Let them see to themselves," Zebedee countered.

"I should have known I was skating on very thin ice. Only a very few of my fellow parishioners appeared to be tracking with me now. The rest seemed visibly distressed by the alternative view given, yet I resisted the impulse to relent.

"'In fact,' I pressed thinking I could excite the town's collective imagination, "If we're going to do it, why not do something that's never been done before? Why not create a multi-racial, egalitarian board of trustees with equal representation from each of the races represented among the students? You know, something like 3 Blacks, 3 natives, 3 Orientals, 3 whites, wealthy and not, formally educated and not—equal numbers, equal power. No one group would hold sway. The setup would force all involved to learn to relate to each other as equals. It could establish a whole new model for cooperation between the races.

"An audible murmur rolled through the room. My fellow community members looked astonished. Doc Seer tried to brush it off as a 'fanciful notion,' and to turn the group's attention toward more 'sensible' suggestions, but it was out there now, and I wouldn't let them off the hook.

"'No, no, I'm serious. I've been thinking about something like this for a while now. Let me explain—' I began to say when Ol'man-Zebedee interrupted, 'That's quite enough. We know exactly what you are saying. Your grandfather would roll over in his grave to hear you talk like that.'

It was then that Pete Fisher took the floor. He and I were life-long aquaintances, but there had always been this intense competition between us. He had a commanding voice and loved to move a crowd. 'Hold on now preacher. You would have us to give our children over to white folks to be subjected to be subjected to whatever notions they have, latent or overt, of their 'natural' superiority? Abolitionist Quakers or no, this is a white man's country. Privilege is his right. And even if he has no desire to see Africans in chains, that does not mean he wants to see us enjoy and revel in what's his.'

"'What are you talking about?' I protested, 'These are not just any white folks, not just any abolitionists. These are the Quakers, our allies, remember? If we cannot risk with them, who might we ever risk with? Besides, there would be no "giving our children over" to anything. I would be right there every step of the way partnering with the other teacher.'

"'Yes, but with the way you're talking, how can we trust you would be there protecting our interests?' he quipped.

"'I wouldn't!' I fired back. 'I would be—' but before I could assure them of my goodwill to all—no matter black, red, yellow or white—I felt the sentiment in the room turn decidedly hostile. I had lost them.

"In the moment, I couldn't make sense of it. I now realize that what I was saying was so radical that it scared them to their very core. I'm sure they were thinking, 'Why ever give power to white folks?' The challenge was that they couldn't see the difference between giving power away and giving themselves over to the power of another. You see, power always accrues to the dominant culture or group in any situation and creates a predictable inequity, which in human affairs inevitably leads to injustice. Thus, it is incumbent upon the powerful to divest themselves of that power, if they are to correct the inequity and avoid the injustice. This, we know, was the example of Jesus.

"In Freedom Haven, unlike your average American town, the dominant group were Black folks—more specifically educated or wealthy Blacks. Because of the way the rest of America functioned, we were tempted to believe that power was a thing to be grasped tightly, for fear of becoming exploited. Giving power away was wholly absurd to most of us.

"Notwithstanding, giving power away is not a bad thing, if it is done in a environment of trust. First of all, to give power away assumes that it is yours to give and, consequently, yours to take back, if necessary. Secondly, inequity suffocates cooperation, limits possibilities and thwarts our ability to live at peace with one another long-term. Inequity is an unsustainable proposition that must be structurally overturned. If one continues to live in the same patterns or systems that have at any point proven hostile to herself or others, then one will perpetuate the same injustices. Thus is why I proposed we alter the pattern from clutching to giving and put in place a more equitable system—a prescribed board composition—to create a new power dynamic. This is something totally different than giving one's self or one's children over to the power of another.

"Well, things all slid downhill from there. I remember hearing someone in the crowd shout, 'What are you a white-folk-sympathizer or something?" 'Naw, he's a cracker-lover, that's what he is,' another answered. 'Don't they have enough that you would want to give them what little we do have?' came an almost plaintive cry. And then came an older voice that said as cold as stone, 'Other traitors have been hung for less.' And like a match to a pile of tinder, the flame was struck.

"'Hang him,' sparked the whisper. 'Hang him' came the hiss of a response. 'Hang him,' crackled the worst fears of everyone's heart. 'Hang him!' it sang as it burst into open flame.

"'What?' I muttered, as six or so strong arms grabbed me and hoisted me off of my feet. The blaze of frustration and fear spread. No one jumped to my defense. I'm almost certain that not everyone was committed to this act of ironic rage, but who in his or her right mind would try to resist the mob in their moment of madness?

"Did I forget to mention I was a Black man, and these were Black people? The native people and other colored folks among us had long grown accustom to having little voice, so they seldom came to community meetings. These were my people acting out a script that was not theirs in the writing, but had found it's way into their psyches through years of unprecedented abuse. Never mind the absence of such oppression in their immediate environment. It had still become a part of their rationalization of the world in general.

"The fire of emotion swept me out the door and into the street, onto a wagon, down the road a piece and up a small hill into a clearing near the river where we use to gather as a community for recreation and parties. There was a large tree there upon which was hung a rope that the children often used for swinging. Pete stopped his wagon, climbed over the seat and kicked me out the open back into the dirt. Dust and blood filled my mouth. Some the others who had followed quickly wrestled me from the ground as I coughed and spit and tried to make sense of my surroundings. It was country dark.

At this, Revelations quickly ducked down behind the lectern only to reappear with a noose around his neck and his hands apparently tied. A half earnest gasp went up from some in the crowd and a look of utter disgust fixed itself on the First Elder's face.

"Only after those carrying more torches caught up and a bonfire lit could I look into the faces of my fearful accusers. By then I had been stood up back up on Pete's wagon and a noose formed around my neck out of the children's swing. There they were: my friends, my loved ones, my fellow parishioners, the only home I had ever known. There they were: Matt and Marti, Jean and Bertha, Alfred, Eagle Joe, Johnny and Jimmy, their father, Andy, Doc, Delores, Gregory an a host of others—about 30 or 40 total, maybe more. All had fear in their eyes. Fear of change. Fear of past harms. Conjured fear. Fear of what might happen next.

"I don't remember much of what Pete Fisher was saying standing on the podium of his wagon leaning on his rifle beside me speaking down at those gathered. I was too drunk with the surrealness of it all. (Pete, his brother Andy, Jimmy, Johnny and I had all grown up together.) More than likely Peter was laying out the case for why my type of 'disloyalty' could not be tolerated. (Wasn't it Pete who had dived into the river during flood season, when we were in our early teens to save Jimmy from being swept under?) For the sake of our children… for the sake of preserving all that was sacred and safe about Freedom Haven, the community had to be purged of such a 'divisive' element. And with that, he moved toward the front of the wagon to drive it out from under me. But as he moved someone shouted from the shadows (I did not catch the voice, but I will always be grateful to whomever it was), 'Doesn't he get to say last words?'

"Pete paused in thought for a moment. Then said, 'Why certainly,' relishing the de facto authority that had accrued to him in this of all moments, 'Let's hear what parting words he has to say.'

"Hush enveloped the crowd. In the brief seconds of that eternal pause, I felt the chill of the night air for the first time; I heard the rhythmic screech of country crickets; I tasted the smoke of the blazing bonfire embers; I smelled the intermittent wafting of early honeysuckle in the breeze; I sensed the rising flood of the river. And as I stood before these my people, it came to me how very much like the crucifixion this moment must have been. Then it dawned on me that the crucifixion was very much an ol' fashion lynching. I have never felt closer to God than at that moment.

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble…
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

"It was a glorious and frightful thing. I stood there wondering what to say in my final moments. I wanted to speak to their hearts, not their heads. 'What might reverberate in them long after I was gone?' I asked myself.

"Then something came to me. 'I hope you don't mind if I share one final Word with you since I won't be here on Sunday morning. I am reminded in this moment of the story of a fig tree. Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem according to Mark's gospel in possible anticipation of the Passion. On the way from Bethany to the holy city, he and his disciples got hungry, and seeing a fig tree whose leaves were showing early, ran over to it to partake of its fruit. To their dismay, the gorgeous green tree was empty. Not one fig to be found. And in response to its uselessness—as if the tree owed him something—Jesus pronounced the shortest blessing over a meal, or lack there of, in his life. "God, damn it!" he says in disgust.

Some in the crowd winced at the audacity of those words.

"'Get to the point, Reverend,' Pete not so gently urged with the butt of his riffle. 'Let him speak!' someone responded, and the crowd seemed to be in agreement. So Peter backed off.

"'He continues on into the city and into the temple where, in ironic repetition to his uncommon display of vehemence along the way, he starts turning over tables and causing a stampede, a riot in reaction to the injustice he finds there. He just could not bear the sight of moneychangers cheating peasants in converting their Roman coins, which were not permitted in the temple, into Jewish coin, which did not bear the image of Caesar. He could not stand to witness merchants baiting two days' wages from subsistence farmers for a pair of spotless turtledoves that were then switched for birds that were blemished while the buyer was settling his account. Jesus could no longer abide seeing priests denying those same farmers God's forgiveness because they were found guilty of bringing blemished sacrifices, which meant they would have to pay a penalty of 40 days wages in order to come again before the Lord. Jesus knew that the priest were not only the adjudicators of debt to God but also of debts owed to the wealthy landowners on whose land these sharecroppers farmed. Thus, many acts of denied forgiveness were simply attempts for priest to enrich themselves through the crooked financial arrangements they had with their moneychanger, merchant and wealthy landowner accomplices.'

"'As he had done with the fig tree, Jesus rejected the self-serving nature of the temple system. He cleaned house with a proclamation from the prophet Isaiah, "'My house shall be called a house of worship for all nations,' not a den of thieves!" And for at least that day, the temple in Jerusalem was a place where all could benefit from the grace and goodness of God.'

"'On the way back home that afternoon, Jesus and his disciples came across that fig tree from the previous encounter, or should I say what was left of it. There was only left a shriveled trunk, scarred almost beyond recognition. It astonished the men traveling with Jesus, for they had not expected it. And when they asked what had happened, Jesus, as he was apt to do, seemed to answer a different question.'

"'He said, "Have faith in God. For with faith, you can tell this mountain to get up and find its way to the bottom of the sea, and it will. And also be sure to forgive, for your Father in heaven has forgiven you much. That is the only way to be sure that he will hear you."'

"'Now I don't know about you, but to hear a pronouncement about faith and forgiveness in response to the question, "What happened?" would be very confusing to me, very confusing indeed, and it has been. Was Jesus asking his disciples to begin reorganizing the topography of Palestine by casting mountain and mole-hill, tree and bush this way and that? Me thinks not. But what metaphoric mountains was he looking to move?

"'It is only in this moment that this scripture begins to make an inkling of sense to me. You see, what was happening in Jerusalem at the temple was for most intents and purposes a crisis of faith. Yes, the temple system had become corrupt, but I do not believe it had done so out of complete contrariness to God. Much of it was more than likely certain priest feeling that if they were just a little more exacting, a little more pure, a little more discerning about who was allowed in and who was kept out, then maybe God would finally be pleased and deliver Jerusalem from Roman occupation. Other priests groaning under the weight of oppression themselves, seeing the temple deteriorating and the things of God despised, were possibly trying to generate just a little more revenue to keep the house and ways of God as they understood them from falling into absolute disrepair. Of course there were those who were just seeking their own benefit at the expense and exclusion of others, but not everybody was this way. For most I believe it was a crisis of faith. The just couldn't see what God was doing or seeking to inspire.'

"'Faith is the eyes to see and hands to create new possibilities beyond what already is, and that's what the priests in Jerusalem were missing. It is what Jesus traveled through the countryside giving people when he would say, "The kingdom of God is at hand. It is in your mist." And in Jerusalem he also wanted to awaken the same new possibilities. "My house shall be a house of worship for all people," but moving the impediments to this divine hope becoming reality would be like moving a mountain. And where might one find faith that could move mountains?'

For verily I say unto you, scripture records, That whosoever shall say unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea; and shall not doubt in his heart, but shall believe that those things which he saith shall come to pass; he shall have whatsoever he saith. Therefore I say unto you, What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.

"'And where on earth does one find faith that can move mountains? Well, it's all about where you look. The biggest faith can often be found in the smallest acts, 'cause faith is nothing until enacted. So Jesus pairs this big, complicated idea of faith with the simplest of acts: forgiveness.'

And when ye stand praying, forgive, if ye have ought against any, Jesus said, that your Father also which is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses.

"'Forgiveness is an act of grace. Grace is the act of giving—as in forgiving—more than one can ever expect in return. God forgives us and invites us to forgive each other, and somehow in the process of joining God in this seemingly small act of giving more than we're looking to receive—miracle or miracles—in faith our eyes are opened and our hands strengthened to see and create new possibilities for the good of not self, but others. On the other hand, choosing not to give to others in appreciation of all God has given you preempts new possibilities and, according to Jesus, eventually ends up cutting you off from God's life-giving grace to you. And this is much of what Jesus saw happening in the temple system; hence the physical parable of the fig tree.'

"'So Jesus' answer to Peter's question about what happened to that ol' fig tree was that it was real good at soaking up all the nutrients in its soil for its lush, green, pretty leaves, but that was completely for its own benefit. You all know that fig trees don't usually show their leaves until their fruit is ripe for the picking. Ripe fruit would have been for the benefit of others. Instead this ol' tree—so fittingly located beside the main road leading from Bethany to Jerusalem—had hoarded to itself the nutrients God had provided, and when strangers, neighbors, travelers, anyone in need of sustenance happened by in hopes of food to fill their empty, churning, achy stomachs, there was none.'

So I leave you with this:

Woe unto thee,
If you like that fig tree,
Show only leaves and no fruit to eat.
For always indeed
Others will need
And yours is the grace to feed them.

"Now that's absolutely enough, Pastor St. Common! Enough! Do you think us too thick to know what you're saying? I will not have you attempting to chastise this congregation any further. You're the one in the wrong! You’re the one who tried to bring sin into our mist," blustered the First Elder who had been sitting on the pulpit patting his foot impatiently throughout Revelations farewell sermon. "If I had had my way we would have thrown you out on your ear the moment—"

"Now wait a minute, young man," interrupted Deacon Ezekiel Jenkins (also on the rostrum), one of the oldest members of the church who had held office for almost 60 years. "When I was a boy, my daddy, whose name happened to be Zedekiah," he said with a smile and a nod at Rev. St Common, "couldn't read, but he had nonetheless memorized long passages of scripture. His favorite passage—"

"Sit down Deacon Jenkins. We have no more time for stories," announced First Elder wrenching control back. "It's time for you to go, Pastor St. Common. No more fanfare. It was your own doing. Good-bye." Then directing his attention toward two deacons hovering close by like Secret Service, he motioned, "Gentleman…"

The men escorted Revelations off the pulpit. He offered no resistance. He marched down the stairs and on out the door.

There were those, including Deacon Jenkins, who made their way out the church behind him to say good-bye. There were those confused and saddened and hurt by the whole sorted affair. There were even some who stood and clapped in solidarity with him. But what was done, was done. Rev. Sentinel "Sent" St. Common was no longer pastor of the Ralph David Abernathy All Kindreds Cathedral.

While chatting outside, amid good-byes and well wishes, Revelations asked what it was that Deacon Jenkins had been trying to tell about his father.

"Simply that what you had said reminded me of his favorite scripture, Revelation chapter 22 verse 2. Something about a tree growing up from both sides of the River of Life in the earth made new, it bearing fruit and it's leaves being 'for the healing of the nations.' I believe that's who I, even at my old age, am supposed to be in the world, and I owe that realization to you."

"Thank you, elder. That means more to me than I could ever say."

"Where will you go?" someone else asked.

"I don't know," Revelations smiled, "but know that this is only the beginning of the adventure, not the end."

Audio of "Beautiful Anyway"

I've divided it into 3 parts:
Segment 1 (13 min; 15 MB), featuring "Anyway" by Nichole Nordeman from her Wide-eyed cd as invocation at the worship gathering where this story is told.
Segment 2 (12 min; 14 MB)
Segment 3 (18 min; 21 MB), featuring "Oh Lord Your Love" by Caedmon's Call from their In The Company Of Angels: A Call To Worship cd as benediction.

Beautiful Anyway--Happy Valentine's Day

"For the former things are passed away."
Revelations 21:4b

One day, sitting on his park bench, Revelations' mind drifted back. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he was a pastor with a church and all. His thoughts settle upon a particular day. The day he found his true calling. They were both there that day. Both trying desperately to hide the hurt locked up inside.

She was 17. He was 14. Neither had known their fathers. Revelations had tried to do what he could to let them both know they were loved, but absent a father’s early attention they didn’t always know who to trust. They both craved love.

She sought it in the arms of the head elder’s son because he told her he loved her brown skin. One day he had playfully asked, “Is there any more room for me in those jeans?” She gave him plenty. He “loved” her as best he knew how, but he had his own issues. She made room for him time and time again hoping, wishing… praying that at the same time he might somehow fill the void in her heart. Now she was pregnant trying to be strong by herself, struggling to remain focused on finishing school. Then, after that, what? She had no idea. He was away at college.

He—the 14-year-old—had kept his void to himself. He longed to know what it meant to be loved by a man, by a father. He had always been a quiet boy so few seemed to notice his growing insecurity, besides Revelations… and the predator. As he had started to come out of his shell, Revelations had noticed a growing effeminacy that hadn't been there before. It didn't take much investigation to uncover the impetus for this change in him. Revelations had confronted the predator and made sure that the evil he had inflected would never happen by his hand again, but damage had already been done. Revelations had gotten the boy into counseling, and he was doing well. It had been about 2 years, but it would take time.

Before service began, Revelations found him and whispered in his ear, "Today's message is for you. I love you."

Then Revelations found her and whispered, "I know you had hoped that no one would notice yet. It's going to be alright. I'm glad you're here. When you're ready, just ask. I love you."

Then he went backstage to get into character to deliver the sermon for the day.

CONTINUE READING Beautiful Anyway>>>

A man in a Tuxedo paces back and forth outside what is supposed to be a courtyard constructed as the backdrop for that day's sermon.

“What time is it?... Ah, man, it’s almost time. I hope he makes it [sigh]… Let me leave him a note. That’s what I’ll do.”

Taking out a sheet of paper he begins to scribble a note, but unable to get his thoughts together he stops and shakes his head. “Nah, that’s not it.”

Resigning himself to his inability to gather his thoughts, he begins to pace again. “Where is he?” he says in quiet exasperation as he looks at his watch. “He’s going to be late. I hope he makes it.”

He again returns to his note. Momentarily a thought comes to him, and he jots down a few words.

After his brief moment of inspiration, he returns to wondering about the arrival of his friend. It is then that he takes notice of those sitting in the audience, and greets them as if they were just a few passers-by.

“Hi. How are you? Are you here for the wedding too? Well, it's great to see you. I’m glad you passed by.

“I came out to see if a friend of mine, Joshua, had come by. I’ve been waiting on him. I don’t want him to miss it. The bride would be disappointed (to say the least). But he’ll be here. I’m sure.

“Do you know the bride or groom? No? Well, the groom, he’s a nice enough guy, I guess—nothing bad to say about him really. I guess the best thing I could say about him is that Hadaus chose him to be her husband.

“Hadaus? She’s the bride. Haduas… now that’s a person worth knowing. She’s one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. I mean, she is just adorable… and kind… and loving… and she cares about people. It’s a care that you can see in her eyes and hear in the way she talks to you and feel in the way she’s so attentive. It’s a wonderful thing, truly. And, man, is she beautiful. I snuck a peak at her a few minutes ago just before I came out.

“I remember the first time I met Hadaus. Well, actually, I saw her first from a distance. I was coming out of a wedding reception that was taking place downtown. As my friends and I walked out we saw this big crowd gathered in Centennial Park. None of us had heard about anything going on in the park that day. So before we gave our tickets to the valet, we decided we’d drift across the street right quick to see what was going on.

“We pressed our way through the crowd and got to a place where we could see. It was the strangest thing. JC, the guy I’m waiting on, (his real name is Joshua, but many of us just call him JC) was standing in the middle of the crowd. And there was this man standing opposite him, I guess he was the leader of the pack. And there was this woman.

“Now, I don’t know if you know JC, but JC’s the type of guy that you either love or hate. There’s no in between. When he came to town, he pretty much turned the whole religious community on its head. At the time most preachers were preaching hell fire and brimstone. They were preaching that you gotta live right, you gotta do right, you gotta be right, and if not, you’e going to hell! Then JC comes along and says, 'I don't think you quite have it. In fact, it's really not about being "right". It's about being "righteous". Being righteous means that you're in proper relationship with God. Your own righteousness amounts to nothing more than a used tampon.' Yeah, that's the phrase he used. Poignant, isn't it? He went on to say, 'So unless you're in relationship with my Father, you have no rightness or righteousness to talk about.'

"That was powerful. His message of relationship—righteousness as opposed to rightness—and the importance of it. Be that as it may, people didn't seem to like him after that, at least not the religious leaders. They thought he was crass and dangerously misguided. A lot of the pastors in the city got together and denied him access to their churches. They wouldn't let him even visit anymore. They didn't want their congregations listening to him or being influenced by him.

"Well, this specific day out in the park I noticed a lot of the big time ministers from the city were there standing around. But there was one in particular (I won't call his name 'cause you might know him) who was talking really loud about the woman who was kneeling there crying. Supposedly they had caught her shacked-up with—" he paused, then continued, "I guess he wouldn't be her 'significant other'. Well, let me put it this way, she was a kept woman. Though she was just 19, she was a mistress. Her 'lover' was notably absent from the center of attention that day. From what I've heard he's a minister as well, so I guess his colleagues were extending to him a measure of quid pro quo. Each minister was looking out for himself and each other. So they hadn’t called their colleague out, but they had dragged the woman out and were airing all her laundry in public.

"JC was standing there when the loud, leading minister shoved the woman to JC's feet and said, 'This woman is an adulteress. We caught her in the act. She's breaking up somebody's home.' What he didn't mention was that the woman had just the week before told her 'lover' that they were going to have to break it off. The whole performance was probably just an attempt to discredit her before she got any ideas of confessing to her boyfriend's wife.

The loud-mouthed minister went on, 'What do you have to say about that? You say that life isn't about right living. Do you mean to tell us God wants someone like her in his kingdom? She's going to hell!'

"If it were me, I would probably have gotten upset that someone called me out like that in public, but JC just stood there looking with compassion at her. Of course, she was crying. It seemed like an eternity before JC made his move. He looked them all in the eye, one by one, all of her accusers. Then it was like they slowly disappeared to him. He knelt down in the dirt beside the woman and started doodling. It wasn't scribble. He was actually writing something. I wasn't close enough to see it, but I know he was writing something because the ministers and people around him were watching his hands intently.

"Well, it didn't take long before one minister sidled away. And then another. One of the female ministers slipped away from the crowd. And another. Until, finally, the whole crowd had kinda dwindled down to just us onlookers. Left next to JC was this woman… in the dirt… tears streaming down her face… hair hanging in front of her eyes as she sobbed. I don't think see even noticed that the composition of the crowd had changed.

"JC then turns to Hadaus and asks, 'My dear, where are your accusers?'

"At this, she looks up and sees that all those who had condemned her are gone. Someone hands her a tissue, as she replies in shy astonishment, 'They're gone.'

"He said, 'Well, I'm not going to condemn you. Go and sin no more.'

Conscious of the time, Jacob becomes apologetic. "I'm so sorry. Am I keeping you from something? Are you sure? If so, please just let me know. Okay. I'll tell you what became of her.

"Now, by this time my friends and I had gravitated toward the front of the crowd. We were right there on the front row, and I don't know why it would surprise me, but I found my mother there as well.

"I was staring at the young lady as JC was talking to her, and I would have expected that he was looking at her too. But when I glanced at him, it was the weirdest thing. It appeared he was staring at me as he said, 'I don't condemn you. Go and sin no more.' That puzzled me for a while. I'll tell you what became of that a bit later.

"Just as JC said that the young lady kinda looked around like she didn't know what to do with herself. Taking her cue, my mom moved towards her, put something over her shoulders and said, 'Honey, I want you to come home with me tonight.'

"Hadaus came home with my mom that night and… she never left. She just kinda stayed. Mom couldn't have minded less really. It was no imposition. Mom runs a little bed and breakfast about twenty miles south of downtown, and Hadaus just started helping out around the place. In short order she began to fit right in. She started to cook a little bit. She cleaned a little bit. She helped mom with things. They became close.

"Now me, myself, I was somewhat embarrassed by her living there. I mean, yeah, it was nice. She is a good looking woman and all, but after that big incident in the park, her being in my mother's house (while I was there) wasn't a conversation I felt like having time and again with folks. You should have heard my friends, 'Yeah, that woman's staying at your house, isn't she? She's hot (wink, wink)!' Though few said anything, you could hear what they were thinking as you walked by them at church, yet really I couldn't complain. I was 22 at the time, had come home from college and probably should have been out on my own. Mom was doing me a favor as well. So I wasn't going to protest too much.

"Still I was embarrassed. To which my mom replied, 'Get over it.' This was why my mom was here. This was her purpose, and I understood that. Mom had done this for years. Because we had the house and it was big, mom just took in strays. Every animal that walked by found a home at our house. The word had gone out into the community. All kinds showed up at our house. I knew this, so I didn't stress it.

"Once I got over myself, I started trying to talk to Hadaus. I felt like I needed to at least give her a chance. For some reason she wasn't too interested in opening up to me. She seemed to have some trust issues. I guess that makes sense. Over time I've learned some things about her. She was abused as a child. Sadly, much like Jean Toomer's Karintha, Hadaus was so beautiful that men began to take an interest in her at an inappropriate age. She ended up being raped at age 12 by a man who was supposed to be like a father to her.

"The only reason I share this with you is because she's overcome that now, and she's decided that she's going to turn her hurt into healing to help others because these things happen more often than one might think.

"By time she was 16, she was dating a man who was 25. What she had discovered is that if she was willing to keep men company, they would take care of her as far as money was concerned. So why go to school?"

Shaking his head, Jacob sighed, "It's rough just to think about. Her stories hurt me. Just one man after another. Being kept. Being used. Looking for something that she couldn't quite find.

"So she didn't really trust men after that, understandably. She kept me at arm's length. Notwithstanding, there was one man she did seem to trust almost instinctively. It was JC. Every so often JC would come by. He'd show up at the house, and they'd go for walks or go out to dinner and talk. I'd hear them joking and laughing and having a great time together.

"I kinda resented him a little, to tell the truth, because I couldn't get in with her like that. But—" Jacob paused to reflect, "I think it was a good thing for her because she seemed to be lighter when he was there. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he didn't really care what her past was. It didn't much matter to him. She later told me that she felt really comfortable talking to him about it. With him she could unload a bunch of that mess, and as she unloaded it, she was freer, more whole.

"Still I don't think it was that that she loved so much. I think it was that when she was with him there were no expectations. She didn't have to pretend. She didn't have to be more sophisticated than she really was or more grown. She didn’t have to put on airs or anything like that. Just any way you come—he's always open. I think it was that thing right there that allowed her to let go of her hurt.

"When JC use to come by, he would try to pull me to the side and talk to me too. We'd shoot the breeze a while. I thought he was a cool guy. He did good stuff in the community. He took care of people. He was healing people. He'd make sure people found housing. He was teaching people things that they never knew before. I thought he was a decent guy, but for some reason when I was with him I felt somehow like less of a person. It wasn't really his fault. It was that he was so good. He was… perfect. He was so everything you would want in a friend or a dad or a husband or whatever the case may be. He was just all that. It wasn't that he looked a certain way. He wasn't the best looking guy. He wasn't the most sophisticated guy or suave. I would compare myself to him. I can dress pretty well, but he didn't even seem to be concerned about that kind of stuff. Still something attracted you to him. It wasn't like he judged me, but I would judge myself in his presence and feel bad about myself. So I didn't much like dealing with him when he would come by.

"Well, all that changed about a year ago. Hadaus had come to stay with us in June. By about August-September she and I started to become friends. It seemed like the more she opened up with him, the more she was able to open up to me. So I started to appreciate JC's visiting: if for no other reason, he had given me a good friend. Then, I guess (that's August, September, October…) about the end of the year Hadaus and I began talking about birthdays coming up. We discovered that we share the same birthday—Emancipation Day, the 1st of the year. So we made plans to celebrate together. We were going to go out and do something, maybe throw a little party or something, we weren't sure. Nonetheless, I was looking forward to it.

"The day came. It was early evening. Hadaus and I were getting ready to go out. I had gone into the house for something (I can't remember what it was), but somehow mom and I got into this fight—again. It seemed like mom and I were always fighting of late. I know it was more me than mom because I had all this anger brewing inside of me. I hadn't even noticed it before then. I always thought I was the guy who couldn't hold a grudge, but recently I found myself just mad for no apparent reason. I don't really remember what mom said that set me off. I think she heard me being pig-headed about something. I think Hadaus wanted to do a particular thing, and my reaction was, 'No! We have to do this.' Mom said something to me like, 'You know, baby, I've never talked bad about your father. But I watched his anger be his undoing. He was addicted to that domineering behavior, and he didn't know how to behave any other way. It drove a wedge between us, and eventually he walked out the door. Son… Jacob, I don't want you to be like that. I want better things for you, your father would want better for you.'

"I don't know why, but that lit my fuse. I was hot like fire! I screamed at my mother, 'How dare you compare me to my father?! I'm nothing like my father! My father use to beat on you. You think I don't remember? I was just a little kid, but I remember. I'm nothing like him!' And I got madder and madder."

Jacob acknowledges remorsefully, "She was just trying to help me. That's all she was doing, but I was just upset. I was mad he'd left. I was mad I had gone through life without my dad. I wanted him there. I wanted him when I caught my first pop-fly in the big game. I wanted to turn around and see him there, but he wasn't. When that first girl hurt me—broke my heart—I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to at least call him, but he wasn't there.

"Sobbing, I continued directing my pain towards my mother, 'Just the fact, Mom, that you would try to compare me to him… I'm nothing like him. I try to be there for you. I try to be there for my friends. I try to be loyal because he couldn't be…'

"I ended up saying some pretty obnoxious and hurtful things to my mom that night. Then I stormed out the house.

Mindful of the time again, Jacob inquires, "Are you sure I'm not keeping you? Okay. This is where it all comes together."

"Hadaus was sitting there on the front porch. Quite honestly, there was no one else I would rather have spoken to at that moment. She was sitting there on the steps. I crossed the porch to make my way down. I don't think I greeted her. I don't think I even asked if she wanted to hear what was going on. She had probably overheard more than she wanted through the screen door already, but I start to share with her all the things I was feeling. The things I was feeling about my dad. The things I was feeling about my mom. The things I was feeling about life: and how I felt trapped: and how I just didn't feel like I had any direction and that I was going around in circles. Yes, I had a degree, and I had a decent paying job. That was better than some. My friends were happy with those things, but I really wasn't happy. It felt like I couldn't get out of this rut. It seemed like I was angry all the time and couldn't get over it.

"She listened to me quietly. She listened to me patiently. I wanted her to say something back to me. I wanted her—" he changes directions, "You know what it's like when you want someone who's close to you to say just the right thing that will make it better. She could have said it. But she didn't. In fact, she said exactly the wrong thing. She said, 'You know, Jacob, Joshua just arrived. He's down in the garden. You should probably talk to him.'

"'What?'" he chuckles sarcastically. Smiling he continues, "Then I was mad at her. So now I'm walking around mad at everybody I love.

"I walk away, and I go down towards the lake that's back behind the house, opposite the garden. I'm going to clear my head. I'm walking around screaming and shouting and kicking the air and 'Ahhhghgh!'" Jacob let's out a cry of remembered exasperation. "I think I even trip along the way and tear my pants and scrape up my leg which just makes me madder.

"I'm down there going through these internal and external convulsions when I come upon JC sitting on a rock. Before I can excuse myself or turn back the other way—I had been making so much noise it wasn't like he could have avoided noticing me—he says, 'You know I've been waiting for you to come by. What's going on, man? You sound like you're hurting.'

"Remember I told you how I felt when I was around him. Well, unfortunate for me at the time, what accompanied that feeling was this inability to resist talking to him. Those eyes are so gentle. They just pull the words out your mouth.

"So I start talking to him. I tell him everything. I share with him some things that I had never shared with another person before. Some really painful stuff. I just give it to him.

"It was kind of like I rolled up all my hurts and disappointments and fears into a big ball and threw them at him—BOW! And then I said, 'Now whatcha gonna do about that, Nosey?' because I really didn't want to talk to him.

"Pausing to fix his eyes on me, and he asks, 'How long are you going to hold on to that? How long?'

"'How long am I going to hold on to this? What's wrong with you, man? You don't even know me. How are you—'

"He interrupts me and says without the hint of arrogance, 'I probably know more than you think.'

"With that I stopped. I stopped attacking him for the moment. I asked, 'What do you mean holding on to it?'

"He responded with more tenderness than I know how to express, 'Jacob, you've been holding onto that all your life. Your daddy left you at 7. You're 22 now. What's that? 15 years. That's the better half of your life. When are you going to let that go so you can go on and get about the business of living? Because that's what life is about. You either "get busy living or get busy dying," and you've been dying for about 15 years now? When are you going to move on?'

"I said, 'Man, I don't know how! What do you mean move on? I don't know how. How do you move on?! How do you get over that?! How do you get over your father not being there at all the crucial times in your life? How do you get over that? How do you get over wanting to be something extraordinary, but not knowing how to get there? How do you get over that?'

"He replied, 'Well, let's talk about it for a second. Listen. You have to go back to that place where you can be dependent again. Where you can trust again. You know, it's almost like you have to be born again. You know? Because when a baby's born all that baby has is the person that's caring for him. He (or she) can't do anything for himself—can't do a thing. So all he can do is trust. That's it. All babies can do is wait and hope that they will be cared for. They don't pretend to know what's right or what's wrong. They don't pretend that they can even wipe their own behinds. That's where you've got to get. You've got to get to that place where you stop knowing right from wrong: where you stop acting like there's something more you should be doing. You have to get to that place where you can look your heavenly Father in the eye, or even me, look me in the eye and trust me to show you the way.'

"'What?' I skeptically thought to myself. 'What's that about?'

"It was like he knew what I was thinking. He said, 'Don't dismiss it, man. You see, apart from me your life hasn't amounted to much. You've had some success, but obviously it hasn't meant much because you're not fulfilled. You're not satisfied. Apart from me there's nothing: you can do nothing, and you are nothing. You are NO . . . THING. You don't even exist because in me there's life. Outside of me there's death. So until you're able to trust me and get in relationship with me, there's nothing. That's what I was trying to hint at you that day in the park The day you met Hadaus.

"That's why when people come to me, like Hadaus. When she finally came to me and started to talk to me and started to share with me, I didn't care about the things that happened in her past. They didn't matter. They were things that happen while she was apart from me: they were nothing. It took her a while to trust that. She was so use to being judged or to judging herself. But now she's beginning to trust, and you've experienced the difference that it's made in your own friendship with her. Get with me.

"'All this is why I can look at Hadaus, and I can see beauty. And it's not that beauty that you're thinking about. It's not that beauty that one sees in spite of or even glimpses of potential beauty. That's not what I'm talking about. I'm saying that because she's decided to be in real, dynamic relationship with me, when I look at her, I see beauty. Not qualified beauty. Beauty. Because she's connected to life now. There was nothing before that, and now there's something. And that something is relationship to me. So I see beauty. I don't see sins and mistakes and mess ups. I don't see that because it's not there. When you're truly connected to me, words like sins and blunders and mistakes are just words to denote what you haven't learned yet. What you don't know yet. What you're not mature enough to accomplish on your own yet. Think about it. Sensible adults don't despise children for not acting grown.

"'With me, you're always right where you're supposed to be. So the fact that you don't know how to love fully yet just means you haven't been with me long enough. The fact that you get all angry with your dad and with your mom and with life… In due time I'll show you how to handle all that stuff.

"'Now don't hear what I'm saying through the ears you always listen to things through. You know those ears. Those ears that make it not matter what's said to you, you turn it around so that it sits comfortably right in that place that allows you to think the way you've always thought so nothing changes. You know what I'm talking about. You've done it before. You know, someone will say something to you—something that's pregnant with life—and you'll say, 'Aw, man, that's deep… Thanks for that… I agree.' You'll say little stupid stuff like that, and, Jacob, you've been agreeing life away. Everything stays the same.

"'Jacob, you've been going to church for years. You have no excuse to be frustrated by life. You've known the Author of Life all your life. So what are you going to do, Jacob? What are you going to do?'

"What could I do? I said, 'Okay. I'll take it.'

"'"Love keeps no record of wrong." So what I want you to do, Jacob, is to forget all your mess, and get to know me.'

Turning his attention back to the audience, Jacob said, "I'm not going to lie to you. Life hasn't been perfect since, but it's been a lot more enjoyable. I made a decision that day that I was going to believe him when he said he'd cast all my mistakes into the bottom of the ocean and remember them no more. So I've been believing him for about a year now. And, you know, he comes by every once and a while to visit, and he doesn't just visit with Hadaus anymore. He visits with me too. The 3 of us have a great time together.

"I've gotten into this little habit. At times he'll show up and slip away before you really know he's been there. There'll just be a sweetness in the air. I figured I could prepare for that eventuality. So I started writing him these little notes and just leaving them in a basket at the front door so that if he came by and I missed him or he was hanging out with Hadaus, at least there'd be some communication going on between him and me. It's been a great thing.

"Today I wanted to write him something special. I was standing here when you passed by trying to figure out what to say. Nothing came to mind that seemed to express what was in my heart. I wanted to recount all the mistakes I'd made and all he had saved me from and all he had taught me. But every time I wrote it down it didn't feel right.

"Then I remembered. When he looks at me, he doesn't see all of that. He just sees a clean slate. He doesn't want me to recount my mess to him. He knows what I was before. So I just wrote, 'Thanks so much. Love always, Jacob.' I'm going to leave it over there in the basket. I've been waiting on him. Hopefully he'll make it. Prayerfully he'll be here.

"I have to go back inside now. I'm sorry I kept you so long. You're welcome to come in if you'd like. We'd love to have you.

"You don't have an invitation? We can take care of that. When you get to the door, tell them that the groom, Jacob, (Jacob's my name) invited you in to celebrate with us. Two beautiful, free people are getting married today."

Two women walked together out of service that day. One was indignant. The other reflective.

The first elder's wife did most of the talking. "I wish my son would tell me he was planning to marry some tramp we took in off the street. I'm all for being kind to one's neighbors, but there are limits. You know what I'm saying, Debra?"

"Hunh? Oh, of course."

"I mean just because you help someone out doesn't mean you have to make them a part of your family. Pastor St. Common goes a little overboard sometimes. Besides, all these little hot things running around here would just love to get their hooks into someone like my son—a handsome young thing who's going places. I just spoke to him last night. He's doing so well away in college."

"That's good," Debra responded from some place else. She was thinking about her own precious son. He had known such pain in his short 14 years. She hoped to heaven that he would find the courage to believe the truth Pastor St. Common had shared today.

"Take for example that little fresh thing over there. She started clinging to my Richard last summer, with her hot self. I told him she was good for nothing but the ruining of his future. I told him she definitely isn't marriage material. No harm intended, but she'll probably end up knocked up just like her mother."

She didn't know that she was soon to be a grandmother.