Two Stories Of Freedom
Stories
Object:
Contents
What's Up This Week
Stories to Live By: "Two Stories of Freedom" by Esther Elizabeth
Shining Moments: "A Narrow Escape" by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
Good Stories: "The Wrong Question"
Scrap Pile: "Enduring Faithfully" by Christine Schrey
What's Up This Week
by John Sumwalt
When I served as a pastor in south central Wisconsin in the early 1980s, a paramilitary group called the Posse Comitatus became active in our community. They distributed racist literature, and called for the banning of certain books from the school library and the firing of teachers they believed were corrupting their children. The chair of our church's administrative board was accused of advocating the use of marijuana, which of course he hadn't done. There was a bitter lawsuit. The town was deeply divided. There was national media coverage. I spoke out for first amendment freedom, for equality, and defended the teachers who were under attack in sermons and letters to the editor. The county sheriff sat beside me at one school board meeting where these issues were being debated. I was a little surprised because, while I knew him, we were not well acquainted. I learned later that he sat beside me because he thought my life might be in danger. An undercover agent who had infiltrated the Posse had learned there was a good possibility of violence at the meeting. I was filled with a kind of fear I had never known before, and I thought of Jesus' words in our Gospel Lesson this week.
Have you ever been persecuted? Arrested? Jailed? Have you had your life threatened because of your faithful witness? Have you ever been brought before a judge or another ruling authority to face charges about something you said or did in relation to your living out of the Gospel? Send us your story -- and check out Esther Elizabeth's Stories to Live By and Christine Schrey's poignant chancel drama in the Scrap Pile.
Stories to Live By
Two Stories of Freedom
by Esther Elizabeth
"But before all this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. This will give you an opportunity to testify. So make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance; for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict."
Luke 21:12-15
I felt free the first time I was arrested. On the campus of Antioch College, in nonviolent direct action, a small group gathered outside a restaurant and a barbershop that refused to serve "people of color." It was a long time ago, and I don't remember all the details or the sequence of events. I do remember the handcuffs and joining several others in the back of a paddywagon. On our way to the county jail, we broke out in a loud, joyful rendition of "We Are Not Afraid." A few blocks later the verse changed to "We are a little bit afraid," and by the time the paddywagon rolled into the jail parking lot, we were whispering still another verse, "We are really afraid." And I was afraid. I had not walked that path before. But even though I wondered what my arrest could mean (loss of my job, time away from my responsibilities and friends, a large fine), I felt freer than ever before because I did what I knew, for me, was the right action. I lived out what I said I believed. I put my life where my mouth was. Freedom, for me, comes when I'm about right action.
I also feel freedom when I speak the truth as I understand it. Once, in a secular group, I stood up and said, "I think we should follow the path and teachings of Jesus." And before I could explain what "follow Jesus" meant to me in this particular situation, boos and hisses began. Despite the shouting, I proceeded to invite anyone who might be interested to stay after the meeting and engage in conversation. No one stayed except the janitor. As I gathered up my things and walked out of the room, he said to me, "Honey, don't you feel discouraged. We ain't gonna get nowhere if we don't start speaking what we believe. I was rooting for you. You done a good thing." He spoke truth. I walked out the door feeling the freedom that comes from deep within. Freedom, for me, comes when I speak my truth, even when I know that the truth that sets me free is almost always the truth that I (and possibly others) would rather not hear.
Esther Elizabeth is co-director of "Soul Trust of Journey Into Freedom," a non-profit ecumenical ministry which brings together people who hunger for a deeper relationship with God. This article was printed in the October 2004 Journey Into Freedom newsletter. Journey Into Freedom, 4620 SW Caldew Street #E, Portland, OR 97219-1537; phone: 503-244-4728; fax: 503-977-9612; e-mail: mail@journeyintofreedom.org; website: http://www.journeyintofreedom.org
Shining Moments
A Narrow Escape
by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
Surely God is my salvation; I will trust, and will not be afraid, for the Lord God is my strength and my might; he has become my salvation.
Isaiah 12:2
I was savoring one of those rare winter weekends when I am able to get away, on my own, to our little farm in southwest Wisconsin. I had spent three relaxing days working on odd jobs, shopping for supplies and furnishings, and watching movies with only our dog, Eli, for company. Weekends like these are special to me, not only for the freedom and solitude, but also for how happy I am to be back together with the rest of the family when they are over. Absence does, indeed, make the heart grow fonder.
The final part of my weekend was to be a 40-mile trip to visit my parents and go to worship services with my mom on Sunday morning. It was beginning to snow when I woke up and got ready to go, but I called ahead and told Mom I would pick her up in time for church.
Our farm is located in the valley, surrounded by hills. The shortest route to my parents' was over the hills to the highway, so I started out in plenty of time to travel slowly and safely. The car climbed the first ridge, past sandstone bluffs on the right and a 40-foot unguarded dropoff on the left. I always drive that stretch of road carefully, but even with the front wheel drive on our new car, it was obvious that I couldn't make the trip over any more of the several ridges and valleys safely in that snow. I thought of the dog, alone at the farm with no one to take care of him if I should make it to my parents' and be unable to get back, and I turned the car around in the driveway of the farm at the top of the hill and started back down.
The first thing I remember is being aware that the road was much more slippery going down than coming up. The second is that I was acutely aware that there was no guardrail along the side of the road with the 40-foot drop into a ravine. The snow was several inches deep by that time, and no snowplows had been through on an early Sunday morning. I instinctively began to pump my brakes to slow my speed on that steep, unguarded part of the hill. But the more I pumped, the more the car slid to the right, closer and closer to the embankment, until the front end was pointing directly toward the edge, and I knew that if I didn't stop, I would sail right over the edge and dive nose first into the ravine.
I had been talking to God since I started out, as I often do when I'm alone, relaying my plans to take it slow and easy, worrying about the conditions, deciding to turn around, and praying to make it safely down the hill. As my car slid nose first toward that embankment (with no adjustment in the steering making any difference) and I felt the right front tire go off the pavement onto the gravel shoulder, my plea was, "Oh, God! No! No!" and as I said it, my right foot did what I knew not to do: pressed hard on the brake, and my left foot joined it, and the steering wheel responded under my hands, and I was able to steer the car away from the edge, back onto the road.
I stopped there in the middle of the road, with my heart pounding and my ears ringing, for at least a minute before I was able to stop shaking enough to go on. In my mind, I realized that I had finally done what was necessary. Our new car had anti-lock brakes, which are not intended to be pumped but to be stepped on firmly. Never having used them before, I had forgotten that detail. But my heart knew that when I was in danger I had called out to God, and God answered my prayer. It wasn't my mind that made me step on the brakes with both feet when I had been taught never to do that. I thanked God all the way back to the farm, and for hours afterward as I sat in the living room, snuggled in blankets, cuddling with the dog, safe!
Good Stories
The Wrong Question
They asked him, "Teacher, when will this be, and what will be the sign that this is about to take place?"
Luke 21:7
There is a story told about the monk who once approached Buddha and asked, "Do the souls of the righteous survive death?" The Buddha characteristically gave him no reply. But the monk persisted. Each day he would repeat the question and each day he would get silence for an answer, till he could take it no longer. He threatened to abandon the path to enlightenment unless this crucial question was answered, for to what purpose, he wanted to know, was he sacrificing everything to live in the monastery if the souls of the righteous perished with their bodies?
Then Buddha, in his compassion, spoke. You are like a man, he said, who was dying from a poisoned arrow. His relatives rushed a doctor to his side, but the man refused to have the arrow pulled out unless three vital questions were first answered.
First, the man who shot him -- was he a white man or black? Second, was he a tall man or a short man? And third, was he a Brahmin or an outcast?
Scrap Pile
Enduring Faithfully
by Christine Schrey
"But before all this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name.... You will be hated by all because of my name. But not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls."
Luke 12:12, 17-19
"Did you hear the gunfire late last night?" Jack asked Linda as they took a break from raking leaves in their neighboring backyards. "It kept me awake."
"I didn't hear anything about it on the news this morning. Maybe there weren't any deaths this time," Linda offered.
"I think it's time to move out. Let the thugs have it." Jack gave a disgusted swipe of his rake.
"Oh, Jack, don't give up yet. You've lived here too long," Linda begged.
"I'll have to do it soon, before I can't get anything for this house," Jack said. He went back to raking. Linda was worried that a lot of the neighbors felt like Jack.
It was dusk when Linda looked out her living room window. There they were again -- two young men sitting in their car. It was much too expensive a car for such young fellows, she thought. Then, as she had witnessed every day for the last several weeks, a car stopped in the middle of the street, next to the parked car. The driver reached out, handed something to the passenger in the parked car, who then handed something back. The second car drove off.
"That's it," Linda said to herself. "I'm not letting them take over the neighborhood." She marched out the front door and right up to the passenger side of the car. "I want you to get out of my neighborhood," Linda announced through the open window.
"Buzz off, lady," the passenger replied.
Linda bent over and looked in the window resolutely. "I know what you're up to, and I'm not going to let you ruin my neighborhood."
That night she was awakened by the sound of breaking glass. A brick had been thrown through her living room window. She wasn't going to let them win. She called the police. The next night she went out and stood there till they left. That night her garage was set on fire.
The next day Jack and several of the other neighbors came to see her. "Linda," Jack began, then hesitated. "Linda," Maria stepped in, "we don't want the drug dealers here either, but your action threatens all of us."
"How?" Linda asked. "They've just hurt my property."
"That fire could have spread," Maria went on. "To my house," Jack chimed in. Linda looked at their faces -- longtime neighbors like Jack and recent comers like Maria. "I can't let this neighborhood be destroyed. It's been my home most of my life," Linda responded.
"It's our home too, but we can't fight this enemy. It's too big," Maria replied. "We're scared."
"Well, I'm going to continue to fight," Linda said firmly. "You can join me or not."
The others shook their heads and left. Linda realized how alone she was. Again that evening, the young thugs were out there. She watched three drug deals take place. When she could stand it no more, she put on her jacket, marched out of the house, went right up to the car, opened the back door on the passenger side, and got in.
"What are you doin', lady?" screeched the driver.
"I want to tell you what you're doing to this neighborhood. You're making people afraid to go about their lives, to take care of their houses, to send their kids to school, to shop, to visit their neighbors," Linda said.
"We got business to do," the young man in the passenger seat said.
"And that business hurts people," Linda said.
"Hey, they want what we've got. If we don't sell it to them, they'll buy it elsewhere," the passenger said.
"Well, let them do that. At least you'll know you're doing the right thing," Linda said. Both of them laughed at her. The driver turned to look at Linda. "Your do-goody time is over here. Now get out of the car."
Linda got out of the car. "I won't leave you alone" were her parting words aimed at the closed passenger window.
Nothing happened that night. The next day as she walked to the store, someone ran up behind her, shoved her down, and grabbed her purse. She thought she recognized the driver's voice say, "Take that," but by the time she looked up he was gone.
A store clerk saw it happen and called an ambulance. Linda was taken to the emergency room, where her broken wrist was set, and then she went home. That night she watched drug deals from her window but didn't go out. She was beginning to think this was too big a fight for her.
The morning brought a more hopeful outlook on the problem. She knew she couldn't give up, but she wasn't sure what to do. Her house and her life had been threatened, but she wasn't about to hide in fear.
The next night she went out to the car, got in the back seat, and said to the driver, "I want to talk to your boss." Both men just laughed. "I'm not getting out of the car until you take me to see him," Linda went on coolly.
"Lady, you're nuts."
"I want to talk to your boss," Linda repeated. The two men looked at each other.
"Our boss doesn't want to talk to you," the driver fairly shouted at her. "Now, get out."
"Only if you promise to bring your boss tomorrow night," Linda said.
"All right, all right," said the driver. "Tomorrow night. Now, get out." Linda got out.
The next night she watched for their car. It didn't show up until after 9:00. She went right out to the car and saw a man in the back seat. "You must be the boss," Linda said. She opened the door and said, "Won't you come to my home so we can get acquainted?" He took a long look at her and got out of the car. "Wait here," he said to the other two.
Linda opened her front door. "Please come in. Have a seat. I will fix us some tea." She went to the kitchen and came back with a tray, a pot of tea, and two cups. After she poured him the tea, she said, "What you're doing here is wrong."
"Lady, you've got to stop harassing my friends," he said.
"Please call me Linda."
"If we leave you alone, will you stop?" he asked.
"More tea?" Linda asked.
"No, thank you. What is it with you, lady... Linda?"
"This has been my home most of my life. I want you to see what it's like to live here. There are good people on this block. Your business here is destroying the neighborhood. It's not good for the people you sell to. I want you to stop," Linda said firmly.
He just shook his head. "I can't do that. It's my livelihood. I'll be killed if I don't. Lady -- Linda -- it's a kill-or-be-killed world out here. It's how I survive."
"Well, it's not how I survive. So I expect you to stop," Linda said. There was silence, then Linda said, "I see you're wearing a cross. Why do you wear it?"
"My mother gave it to me," he answered.
"What does it mean to you?" Linda asked again.
"I go to church when I can," he said, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa.
"You didn't answer my question," Linda pressed.
"Lady, I wear it because everybody else does. Isn't that a good enough reason?" he hissed at her.
"I wear one too." Linda showed him the cross around her neck. Quietly she said, "Jesus expects me to love my neighbor. That means loving the people on my block by sticking my neck out for what is right, even when I'm scared to death. And that means loving you enough to want you to stop selling drugs, to do something better with your life."
There was silence as Linda and the drug dealer stared at each other. Linda reached out and put her hand lightly on top of his. She could see his eyes fill with tears.
"I'll find someplace else for my guys to do their work," he said.
"You'll leave the neighborhood?" Linda asked cautiously.
"Yes, yes," he replied.
"But I can't get you to stop selling?" Linda asked.
"No," he said firmly. "I must go."
Linda held out her hand. "Remember what I said."
"About Jesus?" he asked.
"About Jesus," she replied with a slight nod. He stared at her hand, then took it to shake it.
Christine Schrey is pastor of Christ Lutheran Church on the northwest side of Chicago, and is also the director of the Northwest Side Housing Center. She loves to write and teach. You may e-mail her at cschrey@rcn.com.
**********************************************
New Book
The third book in the vision series, Shining Moments: Visions of the Holy in Ordinary Lives (edited by John Sumwalt), is now available from CSS Publishing Company. Among the 60 contributing authors of these Chicken Soup for the Soul-like vignettes are Ralph Milton, Sandra Herrmann, Pamela J. Tinnin, Richard H. Gentzler Jr., David Michael Smith, Jodie Felton, Nancy Nichols, William Lee Rand, Gail Ingle, and Rosmarie Trapp, whose family story was told in the classic movie The Sound of Music. Click on the title above for information about how to order. The stories follow the lectionary for Cycle A, which begins in December.
Other Books by John & Jo Sumwalt
Sharing Visions: Divine Revelations, Angels, and Holy Coincidences
Vision Stories: True Accounts of Visions, Angels, and Healing Miracles
Life Stories: A Study in Christian Decision Making
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle A
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle B
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle C
Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit: 62 Stories for Cycle B
You can order any of our books on the CSS website; they are also available from www.amazon.com and at many Christian bookstores. Or simply e-mail your order to orders@csspub.com or phone 1-800-241-4056. (If you live outside the U.S., phone 419-227-1818.)
**************
StoryShare, November 14, 2004, issue.
Copyright 2004 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., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
What's Up This Week
Stories to Live By: "Two Stories of Freedom" by Esther Elizabeth
Shining Moments: "A Narrow Escape" by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
Good Stories: "The Wrong Question"
Scrap Pile: "Enduring Faithfully" by Christine Schrey
What's Up This Week
by John Sumwalt
When I served as a pastor in south central Wisconsin in the early 1980s, a paramilitary group called the Posse Comitatus became active in our community. They distributed racist literature, and called for the banning of certain books from the school library and the firing of teachers they believed were corrupting their children. The chair of our church's administrative board was accused of advocating the use of marijuana, which of course he hadn't done. There was a bitter lawsuit. The town was deeply divided. There was national media coverage. I spoke out for first amendment freedom, for equality, and defended the teachers who were under attack in sermons and letters to the editor. The county sheriff sat beside me at one school board meeting where these issues were being debated. I was a little surprised because, while I knew him, we were not well acquainted. I learned later that he sat beside me because he thought my life might be in danger. An undercover agent who had infiltrated the Posse had learned there was a good possibility of violence at the meeting. I was filled with a kind of fear I had never known before, and I thought of Jesus' words in our Gospel Lesson this week.
Have you ever been persecuted? Arrested? Jailed? Have you had your life threatened because of your faithful witness? Have you ever been brought before a judge or another ruling authority to face charges about something you said or did in relation to your living out of the Gospel? Send us your story -- and check out Esther Elizabeth's Stories to Live By and Christine Schrey's poignant chancel drama in the Scrap Pile.
Stories to Live By
Two Stories of Freedom
by Esther Elizabeth
"But before all this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. This will give you an opportunity to testify. So make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance; for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict."
Luke 21:12-15
I felt free the first time I was arrested. On the campus of Antioch College, in nonviolent direct action, a small group gathered outside a restaurant and a barbershop that refused to serve "people of color." It was a long time ago, and I don't remember all the details or the sequence of events. I do remember the handcuffs and joining several others in the back of a paddywagon. On our way to the county jail, we broke out in a loud, joyful rendition of "We Are Not Afraid." A few blocks later the verse changed to "We are a little bit afraid," and by the time the paddywagon rolled into the jail parking lot, we were whispering still another verse, "We are really afraid." And I was afraid. I had not walked that path before. But even though I wondered what my arrest could mean (loss of my job, time away from my responsibilities and friends, a large fine), I felt freer than ever before because I did what I knew, for me, was the right action. I lived out what I said I believed. I put my life where my mouth was. Freedom, for me, comes when I'm about right action.
I also feel freedom when I speak the truth as I understand it. Once, in a secular group, I stood up and said, "I think we should follow the path and teachings of Jesus." And before I could explain what "follow Jesus" meant to me in this particular situation, boos and hisses began. Despite the shouting, I proceeded to invite anyone who might be interested to stay after the meeting and engage in conversation. No one stayed except the janitor. As I gathered up my things and walked out of the room, he said to me, "Honey, don't you feel discouraged. We ain't gonna get nowhere if we don't start speaking what we believe. I was rooting for you. You done a good thing." He spoke truth. I walked out the door feeling the freedom that comes from deep within. Freedom, for me, comes when I speak my truth, even when I know that the truth that sets me free is almost always the truth that I (and possibly others) would rather not hear.
Esther Elizabeth is co-director of "Soul Trust of Journey Into Freedom," a non-profit ecumenical ministry which brings together people who hunger for a deeper relationship with God. This article was printed in the October 2004 Journey Into Freedom newsletter. Journey Into Freedom, 4620 SW Caldew Street #E, Portland, OR 97219-1537; phone: 503-244-4728; fax: 503-977-9612; e-mail: mail@journeyintofreedom.org; website: http://www.journeyintofreedom.org
Shining Moments
A Narrow Escape
by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
Surely God is my salvation; I will trust, and will not be afraid, for the Lord God is my strength and my might; he has become my salvation.
Isaiah 12:2
I was savoring one of those rare winter weekends when I am able to get away, on my own, to our little farm in southwest Wisconsin. I had spent three relaxing days working on odd jobs, shopping for supplies and furnishings, and watching movies with only our dog, Eli, for company. Weekends like these are special to me, not only for the freedom and solitude, but also for how happy I am to be back together with the rest of the family when they are over. Absence does, indeed, make the heart grow fonder.
The final part of my weekend was to be a 40-mile trip to visit my parents and go to worship services with my mom on Sunday morning. It was beginning to snow when I woke up and got ready to go, but I called ahead and told Mom I would pick her up in time for church.
Our farm is located in the valley, surrounded by hills. The shortest route to my parents' was over the hills to the highway, so I started out in plenty of time to travel slowly and safely. The car climbed the first ridge, past sandstone bluffs on the right and a 40-foot unguarded dropoff on the left. I always drive that stretch of road carefully, but even with the front wheel drive on our new car, it was obvious that I couldn't make the trip over any more of the several ridges and valleys safely in that snow. I thought of the dog, alone at the farm with no one to take care of him if I should make it to my parents' and be unable to get back, and I turned the car around in the driveway of the farm at the top of the hill and started back down.
The first thing I remember is being aware that the road was much more slippery going down than coming up. The second is that I was acutely aware that there was no guardrail along the side of the road with the 40-foot drop into a ravine. The snow was several inches deep by that time, and no snowplows had been through on an early Sunday morning. I instinctively began to pump my brakes to slow my speed on that steep, unguarded part of the hill. But the more I pumped, the more the car slid to the right, closer and closer to the embankment, until the front end was pointing directly toward the edge, and I knew that if I didn't stop, I would sail right over the edge and dive nose first into the ravine.
I had been talking to God since I started out, as I often do when I'm alone, relaying my plans to take it slow and easy, worrying about the conditions, deciding to turn around, and praying to make it safely down the hill. As my car slid nose first toward that embankment (with no adjustment in the steering making any difference) and I felt the right front tire go off the pavement onto the gravel shoulder, my plea was, "Oh, God! No! No!" and as I said it, my right foot did what I knew not to do: pressed hard on the brake, and my left foot joined it, and the steering wheel responded under my hands, and I was able to steer the car away from the edge, back onto the road.
I stopped there in the middle of the road, with my heart pounding and my ears ringing, for at least a minute before I was able to stop shaking enough to go on. In my mind, I realized that I had finally done what was necessary. Our new car had anti-lock brakes, which are not intended to be pumped but to be stepped on firmly. Never having used them before, I had forgotten that detail. But my heart knew that when I was in danger I had called out to God, and God answered my prayer. It wasn't my mind that made me step on the brakes with both feet when I had been taught never to do that. I thanked God all the way back to the farm, and for hours afterward as I sat in the living room, snuggled in blankets, cuddling with the dog, safe!
Good Stories
The Wrong Question
They asked him, "Teacher, when will this be, and what will be the sign that this is about to take place?"
Luke 21:7
There is a story told about the monk who once approached Buddha and asked, "Do the souls of the righteous survive death?" The Buddha characteristically gave him no reply. But the monk persisted. Each day he would repeat the question and each day he would get silence for an answer, till he could take it no longer. He threatened to abandon the path to enlightenment unless this crucial question was answered, for to what purpose, he wanted to know, was he sacrificing everything to live in the monastery if the souls of the righteous perished with their bodies?
Then Buddha, in his compassion, spoke. You are like a man, he said, who was dying from a poisoned arrow. His relatives rushed a doctor to his side, but the man refused to have the arrow pulled out unless three vital questions were first answered.
First, the man who shot him -- was he a white man or black? Second, was he a tall man or a short man? And third, was he a Brahmin or an outcast?
Scrap Pile
Enduring Faithfully
by Christine Schrey
"But before all this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name.... You will be hated by all because of my name. But not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls."
Luke 12:12, 17-19
"Did you hear the gunfire late last night?" Jack asked Linda as they took a break from raking leaves in their neighboring backyards. "It kept me awake."
"I didn't hear anything about it on the news this morning. Maybe there weren't any deaths this time," Linda offered.
"I think it's time to move out. Let the thugs have it." Jack gave a disgusted swipe of his rake.
"Oh, Jack, don't give up yet. You've lived here too long," Linda begged.
"I'll have to do it soon, before I can't get anything for this house," Jack said. He went back to raking. Linda was worried that a lot of the neighbors felt like Jack.
It was dusk when Linda looked out her living room window. There they were again -- two young men sitting in their car. It was much too expensive a car for such young fellows, she thought. Then, as she had witnessed every day for the last several weeks, a car stopped in the middle of the street, next to the parked car. The driver reached out, handed something to the passenger in the parked car, who then handed something back. The second car drove off.
"That's it," Linda said to herself. "I'm not letting them take over the neighborhood." She marched out the front door and right up to the passenger side of the car. "I want you to get out of my neighborhood," Linda announced through the open window.
"Buzz off, lady," the passenger replied.
Linda bent over and looked in the window resolutely. "I know what you're up to, and I'm not going to let you ruin my neighborhood."
That night she was awakened by the sound of breaking glass. A brick had been thrown through her living room window. She wasn't going to let them win. She called the police. The next night she went out and stood there till they left. That night her garage was set on fire.
The next day Jack and several of the other neighbors came to see her. "Linda," Jack began, then hesitated. "Linda," Maria stepped in, "we don't want the drug dealers here either, but your action threatens all of us."
"How?" Linda asked. "They've just hurt my property."
"That fire could have spread," Maria went on. "To my house," Jack chimed in. Linda looked at their faces -- longtime neighbors like Jack and recent comers like Maria. "I can't let this neighborhood be destroyed. It's been my home most of my life," Linda responded.
"It's our home too, but we can't fight this enemy. It's too big," Maria replied. "We're scared."
"Well, I'm going to continue to fight," Linda said firmly. "You can join me or not."
The others shook their heads and left. Linda realized how alone she was. Again that evening, the young thugs were out there. She watched three drug deals take place. When she could stand it no more, she put on her jacket, marched out of the house, went right up to the car, opened the back door on the passenger side, and got in.
"What are you doin', lady?" screeched the driver.
"I want to tell you what you're doing to this neighborhood. You're making people afraid to go about their lives, to take care of their houses, to send their kids to school, to shop, to visit their neighbors," Linda said.
"We got business to do," the young man in the passenger seat said.
"And that business hurts people," Linda said.
"Hey, they want what we've got. If we don't sell it to them, they'll buy it elsewhere," the passenger said.
"Well, let them do that. At least you'll know you're doing the right thing," Linda said. Both of them laughed at her. The driver turned to look at Linda. "Your do-goody time is over here. Now get out of the car."
Linda got out of the car. "I won't leave you alone" were her parting words aimed at the closed passenger window.
Nothing happened that night. The next day as she walked to the store, someone ran up behind her, shoved her down, and grabbed her purse. She thought she recognized the driver's voice say, "Take that," but by the time she looked up he was gone.
A store clerk saw it happen and called an ambulance. Linda was taken to the emergency room, where her broken wrist was set, and then she went home. That night she watched drug deals from her window but didn't go out. She was beginning to think this was too big a fight for her.
The morning brought a more hopeful outlook on the problem. She knew she couldn't give up, but she wasn't sure what to do. Her house and her life had been threatened, but she wasn't about to hide in fear.
The next night she went out to the car, got in the back seat, and said to the driver, "I want to talk to your boss." Both men just laughed. "I'm not getting out of the car until you take me to see him," Linda went on coolly.
"Lady, you're nuts."
"I want to talk to your boss," Linda repeated. The two men looked at each other.
"Our boss doesn't want to talk to you," the driver fairly shouted at her. "Now, get out."
"Only if you promise to bring your boss tomorrow night," Linda said.
"All right, all right," said the driver. "Tomorrow night. Now, get out." Linda got out.
The next night she watched for their car. It didn't show up until after 9:00. She went right out to the car and saw a man in the back seat. "You must be the boss," Linda said. She opened the door and said, "Won't you come to my home so we can get acquainted?" He took a long look at her and got out of the car. "Wait here," he said to the other two.
Linda opened her front door. "Please come in. Have a seat. I will fix us some tea." She went to the kitchen and came back with a tray, a pot of tea, and two cups. After she poured him the tea, she said, "What you're doing here is wrong."
"Lady, you've got to stop harassing my friends," he said.
"Please call me Linda."
"If we leave you alone, will you stop?" he asked.
"More tea?" Linda asked.
"No, thank you. What is it with you, lady... Linda?"
"This has been my home most of my life. I want you to see what it's like to live here. There are good people on this block. Your business here is destroying the neighborhood. It's not good for the people you sell to. I want you to stop," Linda said firmly.
He just shook his head. "I can't do that. It's my livelihood. I'll be killed if I don't. Lady -- Linda -- it's a kill-or-be-killed world out here. It's how I survive."
"Well, it's not how I survive. So I expect you to stop," Linda said. There was silence, then Linda said, "I see you're wearing a cross. Why do you wear it?"
"My mother gave it to me," he answered.
"What does it mean to you?" Linda asked again.
"I go to church when I can," he said, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa.
"You didn't answer my question," Linda pressed.
"Lady, I wear it because everybody else does. Isn't that a good enough reason?" he hissed at her.
"I wear one too." Linda showed him the cross around her neck. Quietly she said, "Jesus expects me to love my neighbor. That means loving the people on my block by sticking my neck out for what is right, even when I'm scared to death. And that means loving you enough to want you to stop selling drugs, to do something better with your life."
There was silence as Linda and the drug dealer stared at each other. Linda reached out and put her hand lightly on top of his. She could see his eyes fill with tears.
"I'll find someplace else for my guys to do their work," he said.
"You'll leave the neighborhood?" Linda asked cautiously.
"Yes, yes," he replied.
"But I can't get you to stop selling?" Linda asked.
"No," he said firmly. "I must go."
Linda held out her hand. "Remember what I said."
"About Jesus?" he asked.
"About Jesus," she replied with a slight nod. He stared at her hand, then took it to shake it.
Christine Schrey is pastor of Christ Lutheran Church on the northwest side of Chicago, and is also the director of the Northwest Side Housing Center. She loves to write and teach. You may e-mail her at cschrey@rcn.com.
**********************************************
New Book
The third book in the vision series, Shining Moments: Visions of the Holy in Ordinary Lives (edited by John Sumwalt), is now available from CSS Publishing Company. Among the 60 contributing authors of these Chicken Soup for the Soul-like vignettes are Ralph Milton, Sandra Herrmann, Pamela J. Tinnin, Richard H. Gentzler Jr., David Michael Smith, Jodie Felton, Nancy Nichols, William Lee Rand, Gail Ingle, and Rosmarie Trapp, whose family story was told in the classic movie The Sound of Music. Click on the title above for information about how to order. The stories follow the lectionary for Cycle A, which begins in December.
Other Books by John & Jo Sumwalt
Sharing Visions: Divine Revelations, Angels, and Holy Coincidences
Vision Stories: True Accounts of Visions, Angels, and Healing Miracles
Life Stories: A Study in Christian Decision Making
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle A
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle B
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle C
Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit: 62 Stories for Cycle B
You can order any of our books on the CSS website; they are also available from www.amazon.com and at many Christian bookstores. Or simply e-mail your order to orders@csspub.com or phone 1-800-241-4056. (If you live outside the U.S., phone 419-227-1818.)
**************
StoryShare, November 14, 2004, issue.
Copyright 2004 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., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
