Fall from Grace – April 1977

The house they lived in was small – only four rooms and a bathroom, and other than the one for the bathroom, there were no doors.  The living room and two bedrooms were separated from each other only by curtains.  So it was hard in such a confined and open space to keep any secrets.  There was no where to hide and nowhere or way to hide anything from the rest of the family.  It was this truth that allowed the boy to discover that his father had, in the words of his brothers and sisters in the faith, backslid.

The boy had troubles of his own.  He hated the school he had been attending for the past year.  He didn’t fit in, and as a small, nerdy-looking kid with glasses and a bookish manner, he was constantly picked on, especially on the bus ride to and from school.  Luckily, his was the first stop the bus made on the way from school, but this also meant he was the last kid picked up on the way to school.  Just finding a seat on the crowded bus in the morning proved problematic, and more often than not, he ended up next to other kids whose sole source of entertainment seemed to be making his life an absolute hell for the duration of the 10 minute ride to school. 

To avoid this, the boy had taken to skipping school as often as he could away with it.  And on many days when he actually went to school, he would walk the 3 miles there and back though overgrown fields in order to avoid the inevitable torture.  Every night he worried about what would happen the next day, and the worry kept him awake until his body, worn out by the anxiety, would finally drift off to sleep long after midnight had come and gone.  This was how he learned about his father’s loss of faith.

The boy’s mom was in the hospital.  Nervous exhaustion was the diagnosis.  So who was his father talking to in muffled tones late at night on the phone?  It couldn’t have been her.  The room phones in the hospital weren’t even operational after 9:00pm.  Maybe it was a friend of his father, he thought.  Brother Bob or Brother Tommy.  Or maybe his father was talking to another minister, seeking his advice.  At first he was willing to believe the best, but as the conversations continued, his curiosity grew, until one night he slipped out of his bed, crept silently to the phone in the kitchen, and picked up the receiver.  It was a woman’s voice he heard, and it wasn’t his mother’s.

He stood in silence for a long time, shocked at what he heard.  He was unable to move until he heard the goodbyes.  These words finally released him from his frozen state, and the boy was able to carefully place the receiver back in place and go back to his bed.  What was father doing?  Well, it was obvious what he was doing.  His dad, a church pastor, was having an affair, even as his mom was at the hospital.  The weight of this revelation had barely begun to sink in upon him, when the boy saw a light, a flame, suddenly flicker through the curtain.  The sound of a match being struck accompanied it.  And soon the smell of cigarette smoke drifted into his room.

Now the boy knew for sure how far his father had fallen from grace, and in that moment he knew that the life he had been living was now over.

Okay - June 2007

He watches her breathe . . . quick shallow breathes, and he sees the IV drip its medicine and morphine into her arm. They provide an artificial, but necessary, peace and a relief from any pain she may feel. He listens to the oxygen as it bubbles in the water in the small jar hanging on the wall behind her bed and he hears, as she exhales, the gurgling sounds of congestion and struggle.

Her chest rises and falls with each swallow of air, and she tosses and turns on her bed. At one point she turns on her side and her hand finds his resting on the bed and she grasps it in her sleep. Her grip is still strong, and she squeezes his hand and holds on to it.

He wonders if she is dreaming and if she sees in her dreams her husband or her son or a daughter or a long lost friend.  He imagines her talking to a friend, speaking her mind, as she has always done since he has known her.  After all, when woman reaches a certain age (and she is now 85), she is exempt from holding her tongue,
she can say what she thinks, when she thinks it, and no one is allowed to reproach her with remarks like, “That’s not a very nice thing to say,” or “You really should keep those kinds of thought to yourself.”

But tonight the only word she could say was “okay.” “Bettie, I’m going to pray with you now,” he says.

“Okay.”

Bettie, I’ll be back later tonight. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay.”

And so here here he is, back at her bedside.  It's after 10 pm, and other than the nurses, no one else is here.  But someone before him  has attempted to fill the silence and beat back death by turning on the TV and turning up the volume so that a constant chatter fills the air.  The darkness has also been kept at bay, at least temporarily, in the fluorescent lights that glare right above her head —
lights that flicker from time to time and cast a unhealthy pallor over everyone and everything in the room. It would be bad enough without them, but with them on, even the most vigorous of people look pale and sickly.

He reaches over and turns down the volume of the TV, and he calls out her name,
but there is no response. Either she can’t hear him just can't respond.  He doesn't  know which, and it really doesn't matter.  And so he prays.

Our Father in heaven, holy is your name . . .

He quotes some scriptures that he knows by heart . . .
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. . .
I love the Lord, because he hears my prayers and answers them. . .
I lift up my eyes to the hills . . .

And then he begins to sing, slowly and softly.  Partly because he doesn't want to disturb anyone else and partly because he is a little embarrassed.  Nevertheless, he sings;

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found; was blind, but now I see.

Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved.
How precious did that grace appear, the hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares, I have already come.
Tis grace that brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.

And then other songs come into his mind and he sings them as well.

I am a poor wayfaring stranger, traveling through this world of woe . . .

I wonder as I wander out under the sky . . .

When I survey the wondrous cross, on which the Prince of Glory died.

He sings song after song until silence creeps into his  heart and back into the room.
He holds her hand and watches her breathing, and he thinks about other bedsides he has attended; other men and women he has prayed for and over.  After 20 years in pastoral ministry, he is all too familiar with death -- with what it looks like and how it sounds.  And if  the truth be told, he is sick to death of death.  And yet, here it is again . . . and soon enough it will take another life.

He sits and waits and listens.  He watches her breathing, and he can feel the slight tremors in her hand and her papery thin skin, stretched and relieved, for a time, of its wrinkles.  Finally he prays again.  He prays for her peace, for the grace of God to be with her. He prays for her family and friends, for their consolation.  And he prays for himself - for all the people he has known and loved and lost.

He squeezes her hand one more time and leans down over her face.  “Bettie,” he says, "I will see you in the morning.”  But no “okay” is forthcoming from her now,
and so he adds it himself, “Okay. . . okay.”

Technorati tags: death, dying, hospital

Conversion - August 1967

I remember now the time, I can show you the place.
Where the Lord saved me by his wonderful grace.
But I do not know the how, and cannot tell you why.
But he’ll tell me all about it . . . in the by and by.

It was a song they sang in his church all the time, and even when they weren't singing it, they were living it.  Worship services at the boy's church often included "testimony time," during which one of the saints would stand up and invariably say something along the lines of "I am so glad that I am saved, sanctified and filled with the Holy Ghost.  I remember the day I gave my life to Jesus, praise God!  And thanks be to God, I remember the place and the hour when Jesus saved my soul."

Testimonies like that would always elicit a hearty round of "Amen," "Praise the Lord!," and "Preach it, Brother (or Sister)!" from the congregation. And if the one giving a word of witness happened to a man or woman who had lived a particularly destitute life before coming to Jesus, the responses would be all the more numerous and heartfelt. The trouble for the boy was this:  he couldn't remember the place, time or day when he got saved, and sometimes he wondered if that meant he wasn't really saved at all.  It was a worry to him, especially at night, just before he fell asleep.  But at times like that, he would comfort himself by remembering how his dad found Jesus, and he would later come to see this as his own conversion as well.  And in a sense, it was, because after the night his daddy was saved, his own life would be forever tied to Jesus as well. 

He was five years old, and had gone to church for the first time ever with his dad on that fateful Friday night.  His little brother and mother has stayed at home (signaling from the very beginning that they would not be as captivated by church and that old-time religion as the boy and his father would be).  And to be honest, there were plenty of times during that first free-for-all that church members called worship that he had wished he had stayed at home too.

Sister Ruby was the church pastor.  Well into her fifties, she was a plain woman with her hair all bound up in beehive.  Like all the women of the church, she also wore plain clothes and a plain face.  The very idea of makeup on a woman's face was treated with contempt, and offenders would be shunned as "Jezebels."  But Sister Ruby more than made up for her nondescript appearance by her enthusiastic preaching, praying and piano playing.  Sister Ruby was a whirlwind of a woman.  She could do it all, and this night was no exception.

The boy knew this, even though as the years passed, he could recall little of his first church service except what happened near the end.  He was sure there had been spirited singing.  He knew there had been a convicting sermon on being ready for your own untimely death or Jesus' soon return to earth to rapture the saints (whichever came first).  And he had heard a lot of shouting and seen some people he knew running up and down the aisles of the church or dancing where they stood "in the Spirit."  He was certain all these things happened because they always happened every time the church opened its doors for worship.  But he couldn't recall any of the specifics until some of the church brothers and sisters came back to pray for his father, who had not gone forward to pray when the altar call was given.

That was one of the things about his church.  If you didn't go forward to pray when people thought you ought to, they would come back to pray with or for you wherever you sat.  And that was a little scary.  You never knew when someone or a whole flock of people would surround you, lifting you and your life up to the throne room and mercy of God.  His dad was now the recipient of such an ambush by prayer.

"Now Jimmy, you know you need to let Jesus into your heart," Sister Ruby said,  "If you will just let him in, he will drive away those demons inside of you - that drinkin' demon and that smokin' demon and that cussin' demon.  You won't ever drink or smoke or cuss again.  Your heart will be filled with the love of Jesus, and he will turn your life right around.  Just let him in, Jimmy, just let him in."

But his dad was not an easy sell, and why should he be the boy wondered.  Their life, as far as he knew, wasn't so bad.  But then the praying began. Four or five people laid hands on his dad and began to plead with God for the salvation of his soul.  They began to speak a kind of gibberish and some started to shake, and as they continued their vigil over him, the boy saw tears start to run down his dad's face.

And so he started to cry too.  He didn't know why he did, but he did.  He could not see his dad in such a state without being in one himself, and the same would be true for him for the rest of his life from that moment on.  Someone else's tears would always bring tears to his own eyes. In time, it wouldn't even matter whether he knew the weeping person or not.  Their sorrow would become his sorrow.

Sister Sue saw the boy's tears and took him by the hand.  She led him to the basement of the church where there was a kitchen and community room.  After rooting around the cabinets and fridge, she brought him some cookies and milk.  "There's no need to cry, William."  she said, "Your daddy is just getting saved.  He's letting Jesus into his heart, and from now on, his life will never be the same.  He's gonna be a changed man."

As he ate one of the cookies, the boy wondered what she meant.  How was his dad gonna change?  What was he being saved from?  And how was his dad's life gonna be different than before? 

When he had finished his treat, Sister Sue led him back upstairs.  The praying was all over by then, and people were coming up to his dad and shaking his hand or giving him a hug.   When he got back to where his dad was standing and now smiling, Sister Ruby turned to the boy and said, "You should be proud of your daddy, son.  He's a new man now. 

And he did look different to the boy. Sister Ruby must have seen something in the boy's face, for she bent down to his level and said, "Your daddy has been born again." And with that, she walked over to the piano and began to play, and the people went back to their seats, singing and praising God for their newly born Brother Jimmy:

I remember now the time, I can show you the place.
Where the Lord saved me by his wonderful grace.
But I do not know the how, and cannot tell you why.
But he’ll tell me all about it . . . in the by and by.

Technorati tags: conversion, church. saved, I remember now the time, born again

First Memory - June 1964

He remembers it this way: He was two and a half years old, and he had come with his dad and mom to the doctor's office. The town they lived in had only one doctor: Dr.Skaggs, and he was already an ancient man who would have retired long ago if he had been able to find a suitable replacement. As it was, the boy was there with his parents to welcome a new brother or sister into the family.

These were the days before doctors could tell you the sex of a baby before it was born, but the boy knew he would soon have a baby brother. After all, that is what his Ma Nellie had told everyone. Ma Nellie said it had to do with the way the boy's mom carried the baby inside her belly. And as far as the boy was concerned, what Ma Nellie said was the gospel truth.

He remembers drinking a Coke. It was one of those six and a half ounce glass bottles of the nectar that had the highest ratio of fizz to drink available. It was so potent that a swig of it could bring tears to your eyes if you swallowed it too quickly. Maybe his tears were the reason he made a wrong turn when he left the bathroom to return to the waiting room were his dad was sitting.

Instead the boy found himself in a hallway. He could hear voices coming from a room at the end of the corridor, as well as a baby crying. Curious, he made his way to the room and opened the door. The first thing he saw was his mother laying on a bed, with her legs sprawled open. The next thing he saw was the blood. To his eyes the blood seemed to be everywhere. And though it was the first time had seen so much blood, he wasn't scared. He didn't know about the danger of too much blood loss then, and to him it was pretty - especially the blood soaked into the sheets of bed.

He stared into the room and watched as the Doctor and two nurses hovered around his mom. Then a small blur of motion in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning, he saw his baby brother in the incubator. Tiny hands and feet waving in the air. He smiled and said, "Hello baby brother. How are you?"

His smile faded quickly however when he heard the doctor's voice, "What the hell is that kid doing in here? Get him the hell out of here, now!"

One of the nurses came over to him, and turning him around, led him back to the waiting room to his dad. "Where've you been, boy?" his father asked.

"I saw my brother," he said.

"Well, you better get over here sit your hind end down and stay put." his father replied. "Cause if I have to sit you down myself, you're gonna be hurtin' before you're sitting."

"Okay," he said, taking another tear-inducing swig of his Coke.

Technorati tags: birth, first memory, family, Coca-Cola

The Flames of Hell - July 1977

There were times when his dad was preaching that he saw the flames of hell through the windows of the small store-front church.  Though not an educated man, having quit school when he was 14, the boy's father knew how to paint a picture with his words.  This was especially true when it came to describing the eternal torment that sinners would endure after their deaths.

Hell is a place where the fire is not not quenched and the worm never dies, his father exclaimed.  And if he did not understand the relationship between an undying worm and hellfire, the image nevertheless made the boys skin crawl.  You will be tormented for all time, and you would give anything you ever had - all your money, all your possessions - just to have a small drop of water placed on your tongue to quench your thirst.  But you will never have that drop of water.

The flames of hell will lick around your body for eternity.  Just when you think that you've felt the worst pain you could ever feel, those demons will ratchet up the fire a little more, and you will scream in agony and curse the day you were born and all the days that you failed to give your life over to Jesus.  Today is the day of your salvation, and if you leave this church without asking Jesus into your heart, you risk damning your soul to hell forever.

The boy has heard these same words many times before, and not just from his dad.  Hell was number two on the top five sermon lists of all the Pentecostal preachers he had ever met.  Number five was sexual immorality. Four was being baptized with the Holy Ghost as evidenced by speaking in tongues.  Condemning the so-called Christians in other so-called churches -like Catholics and Presbyterians and Methodists was number three.  The only sermon preached more frequently than the dangers of Hell was the Second Coming of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

The boy had heard them all, repeatedly.  He knew what the preachers would say before they said the words themselves.  He knew the rhythms and cadences that the best preachers employed.  He had already started practicing how to add an extra syllable to words at the end of sentences, like "You need to turn to Gawdda!"  and "Praise the Lordda!"  And he knew that everything they said was geared to getting people out their seats and down to the altar to confess their sins and be born again.  He knew that in part in was all a show, meant to entertain and bring about the desired response, but even so, when he looked at the window behind his dad's relentlessly pacing figure, he could see the flames of Hell waiting to claim him, body and soul. 

It was an image that would stalk him for the rest of his life. It was a fear that would consume him in the quiet of dark nights, whether he was alone or with his wife or lover, in his youth and his old age.  He would never be able to get away from those flames, and every window he ever looked through held the promise and terror of Hell finally catching up to him and his sins. 

Technorati tags: Hell, sermons, Pentecostal preaching, family

My Story

And He said, A certain man had two sons. And the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that is coming to me. And he divided his living to them. And not many days afterward, the younger son gathered all together and went away into a far country. And there he wasted his property, living dissolutely.

And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land. And he began to be in want. And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country. And he sent him into his fields to feed pigs. And he was longing to fill his belly with the husks that the pigs ate, and no one gave to him.

And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my father abound in loaves, and I perish with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and will say to him, Father, I have sinned against Heaven and before you and am no more worthy to be called your son. Make me like one of your hired servants.

And he arose and came to his father. But when he was still a great way off, his father saw him and had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him. And the son said to him, Father, I have sinned against Heaven and before you, and am no more worthy to be called your son.

But the father said to his servants, Bring the best robe and put it on him. And put a ring on his hand and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf here and kill it. And let us eat and be merry, for this my son was dead and is alive again, he was lost and is found. And they began to be merry.

And his elder son was in the field. And as he came and drew near the house, he heard music and dancing. And he called one of the servants and asked what these things meant. And he said to him, Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has received him safe and sound. And he was angry and would not go in.  Therefore his father came out and entreated him.

And answering he said to his father, Lo, these many years I have served you, neither did I transgress your commandment at any time. And yet you never gave me a kid so that I might make merry with my friends. But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your living with harlots, you have killed for him the fattened calf.

And he said to him, Son, you are always with me, and all that I have is yours. It was right that we should make merry and be glad, for this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.

(Luke 15:11-32)