If This Goes On...
Stories
Object:
Contents
"If This Goes On..." by Keith Hewitt
"The Meanest Man in Patrick County" by Frank Ramirez
* * * * * * *
If This Goes On...
by Keith Hewitt
Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4
Holt pedaled his bike without thinking, head down, shoulders hunched against the wind -- and the outside world in general. He tried to focus on the narrow cobblestone street, where dry leaves fled before him, skittering between pools of soft yellow cast down by streetlights. At this hour of the morning, there was no one else on the street -- and by the time the residents of this village did begin to stir, the smell of delicious bread would already be wafting from Holt's shop, shaded by the smell of fresh pastries.
Until then, he would be alone with his thoughts. Heinz, his apprentice, was gone -- enlisted before he could be drafted, so he might have a choice of where he did his service. He didn't; Heinz was a foot soldier, now, one of millions of young men caught up in the Wehrmacht. Visions of trenches and clouds of burning gas rolling across men clawing at their throats flashed through his mind, souvenirs of the last war, but he shook them off and pushed them back beneath the surface. A turn in service might do Heinz some good -- the boy needed some discipline, discipline Holt hadn't been able to provide.
And if it seemed the fools in Berlin were bent on using the burgeoning army, so be it -- no doubt whatever war they stumbled into would be brief. Four years of carnage in the Great War would guarantee that, at least; if the war had done no other good, it at least taught everyone that modern warfare was too brutally thorough to be tolerated for more than a short time.
Still, he worried. He could not put a finger on it, but for months now it had seemed as if the world around him was developing fissures -- cracks that threatened to burst at any moment. There was the constant drum beat of international tension, of course, but also a hundred other things. He listened to the radio, read the papers, even went to the cinema now and then, and the pictures they painted were always different from the pictures he saw. Radio, newspapers, and movies all painted a picture of a glorious march forward, a tide of progress that would lift them to ever greater heights.
But the people seemed different.
Conversations, loud debates that used to be recreation in the beer halls were gone... or carried on in hushed tones. As the years had gone on -- and he couldn't put a finger on when it happened, it was one of those moments of insight -- the editorials questioning government policy had dried up, almost vanished entirely, and those that remained were critical in fawningly subservient ways.
Some newspapers and magazines had gone away without warning, vanished into the ether along with their dissent.
And there were the stories, trickling in from other villages. Did you hear about the Goldbergs, in Friedenstadt? They went away suddenly -- they were here yesterday, and today they're gone. Fantastic stories about trucks in the night and arrests of whole families; railcars full of people vanishing to... somewhere.
Lies, probably -- stories made up to scare the easily frightened, or to explain why the vicissitudes of life might suddenly cause someone to leave town; they surely were more compelling than a simple family tragedy or loss of a job. Such mysterious disappearances at the hands of dark forces would make no sense, in a modern nation -- this was not the time of witch hunts and persecution.
But they persisted, nonetheless.
But then there was the odd thing Reverend Koenig had said... about being muzzled. The instructions that had been passed down to them, not to say disloyal things that might encourage overreaction by the authorities because they misconstrued the church's loyalty. If Koenig, himself, had not gone away suddenly, Holt might not have even remembered him saying that. And there never had been a satisfactory explanation of why he left...
Such was his focus on the way his world was starting to twist, that he didn't hear the truck approaching. It was on him, then, and the horn blared to blast him out of his thinking. He raised his head in time to see the headlights, slammed on his brakes, and swerved onto the curb to avoid getting hit by a drab colored truck. For a moment, his attention was focused on not falling -- a feat he later looked back upon and could not understand.
But a moment later he looked up -- in time to see the tail end of the truck passing around the corner. And in the soft yellow light of the corner streetlight, he saw the dark canvas flap above the tailgate lift... raised by tiny hands. A boy, six or seven years old, peered out at him with owl-like eyes -- and then an invisible man shouted, and a woman's arm snaked around the boy and pulled him back, let the flap drop.
The Krause boy, he thought, and felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind.
He was still trying to make some sense of what he had seen later that morning, when one of his neighbors leaned close to him, over the counter, and half-whispered, "Did you hear about the Krauses? They left in the middle of the night. The landlord didn't want to talk about it -- just said Krause got a job in another town. Another newspaper."
Rolf Krause had been a reporter for the local paper for years -- ever since the war. During the last few years, Holt remembered, Krause had written several editorials about what he saw as the alarming state of affairs in Germany. Then his byline stopped appearing.
And now...
He murmured something noncommittal, and his neighbor just shrugged. Then, as he turned away, the neighbor said softly, "His was a good voice. It's a shame we won't hear it, now."
That parting thought was a refrain in Holt's head for the rest of the day. It made him uncomfortable. It frightened him a bit. It confused him and made him shake his head over the confused muddle of thoughts in his own mind.
Why would a man move in the middle of the night, without saying a word to anyone? He wouldn't.
Why would a family move in an army truck? They wouldn't.
And always, skirting at the edge of those thoughts, was a deeper, more troubling one -- Say it is true, that something bad is happening. What can I do?
"I bake bread," he said out loud, after the last customer of the day had left. "I bake bread, and I make pastries, and I am just one man. What can I do?"
Methodically, he washed and cleaned his tools and pans, washed the counter and cleaned the ovens, all the while wondering, what can I do?
The question followed him home, sat on his shoulder through dinner, followed him to the parlor, where he sat beside a table with a lamp, and stared out the window at the shadowy, empty streets. After a time he remembered something Reverend Koenig had told him: "Sometimes, when I'm troubled, I pull out my Bible and just start to look through it. I often find my answer there."
Feeling a little foolish -- and more than a little desperate -- he opened the table drawer and pulled out a much-used, black leather Bible. He cracked it open, let the pages fall open where they might, then looked down at the passage: "Write down the revelation and make it plain on tablets, so that whoever reads it may run with it...
There was more, but he did not read it --
In the spare bedroom he found his typewriter. He set it on the kitchen table, rolled paper into it, and then sat down. Slowly, picking up speed as old skills came back, he typed a title: "If This Goes On -- the Fall of Judgment."
Where he would publish it, he did not know... he only knew that he must do it.
The time for silence had ended.
Keith Hewitt is the author of three volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, former youth leader and Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He is currently serving as the pastor at Parkview UMC in Turtle Lake, Wisconsin. Keith is married to a teacher, and they have two children and assorted dogs and cats.
The Meanest Man in Patrick County
by Frank Ramirez
Luke 19:1-10
Then Jesus said to him, "Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham.
-- Luke 19:9
The year was 1892 and Patrick County, Virginia, was a place of dirt fields and mud roads. Two preachers, Brother W.A. Eglin the local pastor of the Elamsville church, and Brother J.A. Dove, a traveling evangelist come to preach a revival, were walking through the county.
Brother Dove found it very beautiful. There were the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains, and the music of winding rivers racing over the boulders in their streambeds. There were rich fields of corn, tobacco, and buckwheat, and long grasses that fed cattle, sheep, and horses. There were dairy farms and orchards so plentiful that the smell of the fruit was like the winds of perfume. But here in Elamsville life was difficult. Folks tried hard to make ends meet but for some, things were so desperate they ended up in the poor house.
"Whoa," said Brother W.A. Elgin, as he pulled on the arm of Brother J.A. Dove. "You don't want to go down there if you can help it!"
"Why?" asked Brother Dove, a little puzzled. All he could see was a young man digging a ditch. The man looked strong, very strong, and he was working very hard.
"That's Cain Lackey," Brother Elgin replied. "You have to be very careful around him. He is the meanest man in Patrick County. He's so strong that he can carry around a railroad tie the way most men carry a two by four. He's the roughest and most ignorant mountaineer that ever shouldered an ax. And he can wrestle something fierce. They say even when he was a pup there were big men who could throw him on the ground, but no one could make him stay there."
"Lots of folks wrestle, but that don't make them mean. So why do you say he is the meanest man in the county?" Brother Dove asked.
"Around these parts they still talk about the big fight with the feller they call Champion Ben," Brother Elgin said. "He could lick any man in fighting, fair or dirty. So when he come through here a couple of years ago, no one would take him on. Then in walks Cain Lackey. The place got real quiet. Cain said he'd meet Champion Ben over by the river, unless he was scared."
"What happened?"
"What happened was he laid that Champion Ben low with a single blow. And if Champion Ben got up then Cain hit him again. So those thirteen companions of Champion Ben tried to pull Cain away. It was no good. He beat them up too. Finally they took some mule spurs, you know, those sharp spurs you wear on your boots to make a mule mind, and it takes a lot to make a mule mind, and they hacked Cain with them, until finally he stepped back. And then they all ran away, clear out of the county, they was so cared by Cain. He's still got the scars, Cain does, but it hasn't tamed him. Everyone's scared of him. I'm scared of him."
Cain Lackey had stopped working and had shouldered his shovel. He stood nearly knee deep in the trench he had dug and was looking up at the two ministers. Brother Dove hefted his heavy Bible. His mouth was suddenly dry. Was he afraid too, he wondered? Maybe he was.
"Well, he certainly looks like the strongest man in the county," Brother Dove said, watching the way Cain Lackey thrust his shovel into the swamp, and sent great clouds of mud into the air behind him. "A man like that must have had a tough childhood," he said.
"Yep," Brother Elgin agreed. "I blame his father. By the age of ten he worked the plow same as any man. His pap made him sleep in the open sky during the summer so he could get right to work when the sun come up. He wake up with his clothes soaked with dew, but work more than any ten grown men. His upbringing was so very hard. When he was just a boy his daddy made him build a mill all by himself. That's man's work, but Cain did it. All the cutting and the sawing and the planning and the hammering. He built himself a mill that runs today, by the river, and just a boy of ten."
"I'm going to invite him to the revival," Brother Dove said suddenly, taking a step down toward Cain Lackey. He could see the big man stiffen, as if he felt threatened.
"He'll never come," Brother Elgin said.
"He'll definitely never come if we don't ask him," Brother Dove replied. "He's the very man I want to see because Christ came to save sinners."
So Brother Elgin watched as the Brethren minister descended into the swamp. Brother Elgin could see Brother Dove step first ankle deep, then knee deep into the swamp, getting mud and gunk all over him. He watched as Brother Dove stuck out his hand to Cain Lackey. After a moment Cain took the hand.
"What he say?" Brother Elgin asked when Brother Dove came back up the hill.
"He said he'd come to the revival," Brother Dove replied. "Is he as good as his word?"
"Yes. If he tells you he'll come he'll be there. He's just that way. He'll do what he tells you. But if he tells you he'll give you a whipping, he'll do that too."
That night at the revival the church was packed. When the singing was over Brother Dove got up to preach. Opening his Bible, Brother Dove began to read and talk. He spoke about the love Jesus has for those who are lost, and about the tax collector who was afraid to raise his eyes when he prayed, and how Jesus said God loved that sinner. And finally Brother Dove talked about the thief who was crucified next to Jesus, who stood up for Jesus when others made fun of him. If Jesus could save the thief on the cross" he said, "then Jesus can save you from your sins as well."
The church was too packed for anyone to come forward, but suddenly, there was Cain Lackey standing on top of a church bench. The meanest man in Patrick County came forward by walking on the top of the church benches, and then knelt down at the front while Brother Dove prayed over him. When he was through praying Brother Dove said, "Today you have seen a miracle of grace," he said. "God has called this man to do great things, just like the apostle Paul. You will be the ones who will see these things. Welcome this man into our church!"
People didn't trust him at first. But Cain Lackey was a changed man. He learned to read and became a preacher, the most famous preacher in Patrick County. He started churches, ran for office so he could stand up for the poor and improved the roads, and refused to use violence again. Once, when challenged to a fight he put up his hands.
"Boys, I surrender. My hands are up. I refuse to fight." And he stared at the ruffian until that man turned around and walked away.
For the rest of his life he bore the scars he had received from the mule spurs in the terrible fight against Champion Ben, but when asked to see them he would remind folks that they were souvenirs from his days of sin and nothing to be proud of.
The churches he founded are still standing. People in Patrick County still remember Cain Lackey as a Miracle of Grace.
Frank Ramirez has served as a pastor for nearly 30 years in Church of the Brethren congregations in Los Angeles, California; Elkhart, Indiana; and Everett, Pennsylvania. A graduate of LaVerne College and Bethany Theological Seminary, Ramirez is the author of numerous books, articles, and short stories. His CSS titles include Partners in Healing, He Took a Towel, The Bee Attitudes, three volumes of Lectionary Worship Aids, and Breakdown on Bethlehem Street.
*****************************************
StoryShare, November 3, 2013, issue.
Copyright 2013 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"If This Goes On..." by Keith Hewitt
"The Meanest Man in Patrick County" by Frank Ramirez
* * * * * * *
If This Goes On...
by Keith Hewitt
Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4
Holt pedaled his bike without thinking, head down, shoulders hunched against the wind -- and the outside world in general. He tried to focus on the narrow cobblestone street, where dry leaves fled before him, skittering between pools of soft yellow cast down by streetlights. At this hour of the morning, there was no one else on the street -- and by the time the residents of this village did begin to stir, the smell of delicious bread would already be wafting from Holt's shop, shaded by the smell of fresh pastries.
Until then, he would be alone with his thoughts. Heinz, his apprentice, was gone -- enlisted before he could be drafted, so he might have a choice of where he did his service. He didn't; Heinz was a foot soldier, now, one of millions of young men caught up in the Wehrmacht. Visions of trenches and clouds of burning gas rolling across men clawing at their throats flashed through his mind, souvenirs of the last war, but he shook them off and pushed them back beneath the surface. A turn in service might do Heinz some good -- the boy needed some discipline, discipline Holt hadn't been able to provide.
And if it seemed the fools in Berlin were bent on using the burgeoning army, so be it -- no doubt whatever war they stumbled into would be brief. Four years of carnage in the Great War would guarantee that, at least; if the war had done no other good, it at least taught everyone that modern warfare was too brutally thorough to be tolerated for more than a short time.
Still, he worried. He could not put a finger on it, but for months now it had seemed as if the world around him was developing fissures -- cracks that threatened to burst at any moment. There was the constant drum beat of international tension, of course, but also a hundred other things. He listened to the radio, read the papers, even went to the cinema now and then, and the pictures they painted were always different from the pictures he saw. Radio, newspapers, and movies all painted a picture of a glorious march forward, a tide of progress that would lift them to ever greater heights.
But the people seemed different.
Conversations, loud debates that used to be recreation in the beer halls were gone... or carried on in hushed tones. As the years had gone on -- and he couldn't put a finger on when it happened, it was one of those moments of insight -- the editorials questioning government policy had dried up, almost vanished entirely, and those that remained were critical in fawningly subservient ways.
Some newspapers and magazines had gone away without warning, vanished into the ether along with their dissent.
And there were the stories, trickling in from other villages. Did you hear about the Goldbergs, in Friedenstadt? They went away suddenly -- they were here yesterday, and today they're gone. Fantastic stories about trucks in the night and arrests of whole families; railcars full of people vanishing to... somewhere.
Lies, probably -- stories made up to scare the easily frightened, or to explain why the vicissitudes of life might suddenly cause someone to leave town; they surely were more compelling than a simple family tragedy or loss of a job. Such mysterious disappearances at the hands of dark forces would make no sense, in a modern nation -- this was not the time of witch hunts and persecution.
But they persisted, nonetheless.
But then there was the odd thing Reverend Koenig had said... about being muzzled. The instructions that had been passed down to them, not to say disloyal things that might encourage overreaction by the authorities because they misconstrued the church's loyalty. If Koenig, himself, had not gone away suddenly, Holt might not have even remembered him saying that. And there never had been a satisfactory explanation of why he left...
Such was his focus on the way his world was starting to twist, that he didn't hear the truck approaching. It was on him, then, and the horn blared to blast him out of his thinking. He raised his head in time to see the headlights, slammed on his brakes, and swerved onto the curb to avoid getting hit by a drab colored truck. For a moment, his attention was focused on not falling -- a feat he later looked back upon and could not understand.
But a moment later he looked up -- in time to see the tail end of the truck passing around the corner. And in the soft yellow light of the corner streetlight, he saw the dark canvas flap above the tailgate lift... raised by tiny hands. A boy, six or seven years old, peered out at him with owl-like eyes -- and then an invisible man shouted, and a woman's arm snaked around the boy and pulled him back, let the flap drop.
The Krause boy, he thought, and felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind.
He was still trying to make some sense of what he had seen later that morning, when one of his neighbors leaned close to him, over the counter, and half-whispered, "Did you hear about the Krauses? They left in the middle of the night. The landlord didn't want to talk about it -- just said Krause got a job in another town. Another newspaper."
Rolf Krause had been a reporter for the local paper for years -- ever since the war. During the last few years, Holt remembered, Krause had written several editorials about what he saw as the alarming state of affairs in Germany. Then his byline stopped appearing.
And now...
He murmured something noncommittal, and his neighbor just shrugged. Then, as he turned away, the neighbor said softly, "His was a good voice. It's a shame we won't hear it, now."
That parting thought was a refrain in Holt's head for the rest of the day. It made him uncomfortable. It frightened him a bit. It confused him and made him shake his head over the confused muddle of thoughts in his own mind.
Why would a man move in the middle of the night, without saying a word to anyone? He wouldn't.
Why would a family move in an army truck? They wouldn't.
And always, skirting at the edge of those thoughts, was a deeper, more troubling one -- Say it is true, that something bad is happening. What can I do?
"I bake bread," he said out loud, after the last customer of the day had left. "I bake bread, and I make pastries, and I am just one man. What can I do?"
Methodically, he washed and cleaned his tools and pans, washed the counter and cleaned the ovens, all the while wondering, what can I do?
The question followed him home, sat on his shoulder through dinner, followed him to the parlor, where he sat beside a table with a lamp, and stared out the window at the shadowy, empty streets. After a time he remembered something Reverend Koenig had told him: "Sometimes, when I'm troubled, I pull out my Bible and just start to look through it. I often find my answer there."
Feeling a little foolish -- and more than a little desperate -- he opened the table drawer and pulled out a much-used, black leather Bible. He cracked it open, let the pages fall open where they might, then looked down at the passage: "Write down the revelation and make it plain on tablets, so that whoever reads it may run with it...
There was more, but he did not read it --
In the spare bedroom he found his typewriter. He set it on the kitchen table, rolled paper into it, and then sat down. Slowly, picking up speed as old skills came back, he typed a title: "If This Goes On -- the Fall of Judgment."
Where he would publish it, he did not know... he only knew that he must do it.
The time for silence had ended.
Keith Hewitt is the author of three volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, former youth leader and Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He is currently serving as the pastor at Parkview UMC in Turtle Lake, Wisconsin. Keith is married to a teacher, and they have two children and assorted dogs and cats.
The Meanest Man in Patrick County
by Frank Ramirez
Luke 19:1-10
Then Jesus said to him, "Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham.
-- Luke 19:9
The year was 1892 and Patrick County, Virginia, was a place of dirt fields and mud roads. Two preachers, Brother W.A. Eglin the local pastor of the Elamsville church, and Brother J.A. Dove, a traveling evangelist come to preach a revival, were walking through the county.
Brother Dove found it very beautiful. There were the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains, and the music of winding rivers racing over the boulders in their streambeds. There were rich fields of corn, tobacco, and buckwheat, and long grasses that fed cattle, sheep, and horses. There were dairy farms and orchards so plentiful that the smell of the fruit was like the winds of perfume. But here in Elamsville life was difficult. Folks tried hard to make ends meet but for some, things were so desperate they ended up in the poor house.
"Whoa," said Brother W.A. Elgin, as he pulled on the arm of Brother J.A. Dove. "You don't want to go down there if you can help it!"
"Why?" asked Brother Dove, a little puzzled. All he could see was a young man digging a ditch. The man looked strong, very strong, and he was working very hard.
"That's Cain Lackey," Brother Elgin replied. "You have to be very careful around him. He is the meanest man in Patrick County. He's so strong that he can carry around a railroad tie the way most men carry a two by four. He's the roughest and most ignorant mountaineer that ever shouldered an ax. And he can wrestle something fierce. They say even when he was a pup there were big men who could throw him on the ground, but no one could make him stay there."
"Lots of folks wrestle, but that don't make them mean. So why do you say he is the meanest man in the county?" Brother Dove asked.
"Around these parts they still talk about the big fight with the feller they call Champion Ben," Brother Elgin said. "He could lick any man in fighting, fair or dirty. So when he come through here a couple of years ago, no one would take him on. Then in walks Cain Lackey. The place got real quiet. Cain said he'd meet Champion Ben over by the river, unless he was scared."
"What happened?"
"What happened was he laid that Champion Ben low with a single blow. And if Champion Ben got up then Cain hit him again. So those thirteen companions of Champion Ben tried to pull Cain away. It was no good. He beat them up too. Finally they took some mule spurs, you know, those sharp spurs you wear on your boots to make a mule mind, and it takes a lot to make a mule mind, and they hacked Cain with them, until finally he stepped back. And then they all ran away, clear out of the county, they was so cared by Cain. He's still got the scars, Cain does, but it hasn't tamed him. Everyone's scared of him. I'm scared of him."
Cain Lackey had stopped working and had shouldered his shovel. He stood nearly knee deep in the trench he had dug and was looking up at the two ministers. Brother Dove hefted his heavy Bible. His mouth was suddenly dry. Was he afraid too, he wondered? Maybe he was.
"Well, he certainly looks like the strongest man in the county," Brother Dove said, watching the way Cain Lackey thrust his shovel into the swamp, and sent great clouds of mud into the air behind him. "A man like that must have had a tough childhood," he said.
"Yep," Brother Elgin agreed. "I blame his father. By the age of ten he worked the plow same as any man. His pap made him sleep in the open sky during the summer so he could get right to work when the sun come up. He wake up with his clothes soaked with dew, but work more than any ten grown men. His upbringing was so very hard. When he was just a boy his daddy made him build a mill all by himself. That's man's work, but Cain did it. All the cutting and the sawing and the planning and the hammering. He built himself a mill that runs today, by the river, and just a boy of ten."
"I'm going to invite him to the revival," Brother Dove said suddenly, taking a step down toward Cain Lackey. He could see the big man stiffen, as if he felt threatened.
"He'll never come," Brother Elgin said.
"He'll definitely never come if we don't ask him," Brother Dove replied. "He's the very man I want to see because Christ came to save sinners."
So Brother Elgin watched as the Brethren minister descended into the swamp. Brother Elgin could see Brother Dove step first ankle deep, then knee deep into the swamp, getting mud and gunk all over him. He watched as Brother Dove stuck out his hand to Cain Lackey. After a moment Cain took the hand.
"What he say?" Brother Elgin asked when Brother Dove came back up the hill.
"He said he'd come to the revival," Brother Dove replied. "Is he as good as his word?"
"Yes. If he tells you he'll come he'll be there. He's just that way. He'll do what he tells you. But if he tells you he'll give you a whipping, he'll do that too."
That night at the revival the church was packed. When the singing was over Brother Dove got up to preach. Opening his Bible, Brother Dove began to read and talk. He spoke about the love Jesus has for those who are lost, and about the tax collector who was afraid to raise his eyes when he prayed, and how Jesus said God loved that sinner. And finally Brother Dove talked about the thief who was crucified next to Jesus, who stood up for Jesus when others made fun of him. If Jesus could save the thief on the cross" he said, "then Jesus can save you from your sins as well."
The church was too packed for anyone to come forward, but suddenly, there was Cain Lackey standing on top of a church bench. The meanest man in Patrick County came forward by walking on the top of the church benches, and then knelt down at the front while Brother Dove prayed over him. When he was through praying Brother Dove said, "Today you have seen a miracle of grace," he said. "God has called this man to do great things, just like the apostle Paul. You will be the ones who will see these things. Welcome this man into our church!"
People didn't trust him at first. But Cain Lackey was a changed man. He learned to read and became a preacher, the most famous preacher in Patrick County. He started churches, ran for office so he could stand up for the poor and improved the roads, and refused to use violence again. Once, when challenged to a fight he put up his hands.
"Boys, I surrender. My hands are up. I refuse to fight." And he stared at the ruffian until that man turned around and walked away.
For the rest of his life he bore the scars he had received from the mule spurs in the terrible fight against Champion Ben, but when asked to see them he would remind folks that they were souvenirs from his days of sin and nothing to be proud of.
The churches he founded are still standing. People in Patrick County still remember Cain Lackey as a Miracle of Grace.
Frank Ramirez has served as a pastor for nearly 30 years in Church of the Brethren congregations in Los Angeles, California; Elkhart, Indiana; and Everett, Pennsylvania. A graduate of LaVerne College and Bethany Theological Seminary, Ramirez is the author of numerous books, articles, and short stories. His CSS titles include Partners in Healing, He Took a Towel, The Bee Attitudes, three volumes of Lectionary Worship Aids, and Breakdown on Bethlehem Street.
*****************************************
StoryShare, November 3, 2013, issue.
Copyright 2013 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
