Authors: Wid Bastian
“A sweet old woman named Eunice Pine left the ministry that land when she died. I remember seeing the deeds. Everything was in the name of the Open Arms Ministries, Inc., our non-profit corporation. The two IRS men said to me ‘no sir,’ and claimed those properties were given to Lawrence T. Coleman, Jr. personally, and were sold by me for five hundred thousand dollars. They said the United States wants its tax money on the sale.
“I laughed at them, I really did. What a joke, I mean me, Larry T., who drives a
1985
Chevy Malibu, lives in a gifted one bedroom flat in the worst part of the District, and takes home a whopping twelve thousand a year in salary is a tax cheat? ‘Come on,’ I said, ‘is this for real?’
“Well, it wasn’t very funny when they pulled out a bunch of documents showing that I had sold the land in my name and pocketed two hundred thousand dollars of the proceeds. They were phonies, all of these papers. I had no idea how they concocted this whole thing until my new lawyer showed up a few days later, a gift from my friends over at Legal Aid.”
“Do I even have to ask?” Peter said, rolling his eyes.
All Gail McCorkle could do was shrug her shoulders and fight the nearly irresistible urge to spill out the details before Larry did.
“You’re right, yes sir, it was Gabriel. Although it had been almost twenty years since I’d last seen him, I recognized him instantly. Hadn’t changed a bit. I guess angels don’t age, do they Panos?”
“No, I guess not Larry.”
“To make the story short from here, he tells me, of course I hadn’t cheated on my taxes, but God needs me to go to prison. He and I discuss my visions of twenty years ago. He says the time has come for me to serve. Everything fits. I say God’s will be done.
“Now, the U.S. Attorney offered me a no jail time plea bargain, but I turned it down. I said I plead guilty, so sentence me. Those guys never wanted to send me to prison, Panos. How could they know they were being used by Him? God set it all up, so here I am.”
Larry then abruptly stopped talking. He looked like a man who had just ran the marathon and was completely spent.
“Well, St. Peter, what do you think?” Gail wondered if Peter found Larry to be as uniquely captivating as she did. “I’ll say this much, things are really getting interesting now.”
“I think God is getting everything ready, Gail,” Peter responded, ignoring the “St. Peter” comment. “And when He acts, we must be prepared. Much will be expected of all of us. I don’t know exactly what’s coming, but if what Larry says is true we are about to be sent out as lambs amidst the wolves.”
Ten
As Peter surveyed the life outside the window of Gail McCorkle’s government issued sedan, he thought about how different it was to see God’s creation through new eyes. Nothing was the same.
Passing by a roadside pecan stand on the way into Charleston, the Spirit moved Peter and led him in unexpected directions. He was reminded of his mom, and how much he used to love the warm nuts she served during the holidays. He remembered her gentle voice and reassuring touch. Peter understood now how seriously Marie Carson took her duties as a mother, and how much effort and care she put into the role. That he hadn’t shown either of his parents the amount of love and respect they deserved before they passed on was shameful, a wasted opportunity that could not be retrieved.
One of my many regrets,
Peter thought to himself.
When he looked back now at the mistakes he’d made during the course of his life, Peter was not depressed. The last time he’d traveled down this highway, going north instead of south, he was trapped in his sin, dying of guilt and shame. Now he knew the truth and his godly sorrow had produced repentance, not despair. This knowledge brought Peter closer to Christ and increased the mercy he felt toward his fellow human beings. Peter Carson had become a man truly thankful for his trials. He understood and appreciated the inestimable value of being chastened by God.
The pecan stand on the road to Charleston was operated by black folks, an extended family by the looks of them. Their old clothes, dilapidated nut cases and racks, and the twenty-year-old Ford parked behind the stand testified to their poverty. Before, Peter never gave a second thought to the fate of the poor, especially poor people of color. Now his heart went out to them and he hoped they knew that God loved them every bit as much as the man in the mansion. Did they know that if they lived lives seeking Him, their poverty in this world would be replaced by riches beyond measure in the one to come? He took a moment to pray for the family, to ask God to send them a reassuring and loving message.
Peter felt in many ways like a child, a newcomer to life for whom the simplest of things were fascinating. No doubt, he thought to himself, some of what he was experiencing was the natural result of going for a long drive after being locked up for two plus years, but only the presence of Christ in his heart could fully explain the difference in his attitude and the changes in his spirit.
“Quiet today, aren’t we, Mr. Carson?” Gail McCorkle had also said little since they left Parkersboro.
“Sorry, I’m not being very good company, I know,” Peter apologized. “I guess I just have a lot on my mind. I think I’d forgotten how nice it is simply to be out amongst the living.”
“You know, Peter, we can just keep on going. Grab Kevin at the courthouse and disappear. Don’t think I wouldn’t do that for you.” Gail constantly reminded Peter how guilty she felt about keeping him in prison, and how anxious she was to change his address.
“Gail, my dear sweet friend, Gail. God bless you honey, but you know we can’t do that. We’re both slaves, remember? Try not to think of Parkersboro as a prison. In our case it’s really more of a sanctuary. God is using our little penal colony as a staging area. Soon enough, I fear we’ll all be moving on, but that’s His call to make, not mine and not yours.”
“Peter?”
“Yes, Gail.”
“Doesn’t all this frighten you? I mean, if I were you I think I’d be scared to death. I’d be afraid of what all the idiots in this world would want to do to me, and I’d be even more worried about not living up to God’s expectations.”
As Gail said this they were entering the outskirts of Mt. Pleasant, a few miles north of Charleston and the freeway connection they needed to catch to drive to Atlanta. They stopped for a red light next to a row of restaurants and shops.
“See that place over there, Baron’s Barbeque and Steak House? That’s where I ate my last meal as a free man, Gail. Good Lord in heaven, that seems like yesterday and a thousand years ago both at the same time.”
Peter was thinking about Gail’s question, he wasn’t trying to dodge it, but the answer was anything but simple.
“I remember sitting in a booth right by that window, thinking about what I’m sure everyone who is about to self-surrender thinks about, should I or shouldn’t I? To tell you the truth, by that point I was so emotionally drained that it really didn’t matter to me one way or another. I probably didn’t have the strength or the courage to be a fugitive.”
Gail brought to mind her first impressions of Peter when she arrived at the camp.
“I thought you were just another sorry a** rich boy mad at the world because you got caught slinging ‘white crack.’ One more log for the pile.”
“What in the heck is ‘white crack?’”
“Haven’t heard that one? I’m surprised Malik never said something about it. ‘White crack’ is non-violent crime; fraud, counterfeiting, and the like. White boys can’t go hustle a kilo of rock on the street to score, so they have to sling ‘white crack.’”
Peter smiled, acknowledging the truth in the analogy. If there was one thing God had taught Peter about crime and punishment, it was that no man’s sin is any worse or better than another’s. Selling a fellow human being poison or stealing from him were equally ungodly.
“You want to know what I’m really afraid of Gail?” Peter asked, still staring out the window engrossed in the passing parade of routine human activity.
“From where I sit, you don’t seem to be afraid of anything.”
“You’re so wrong. What wakes me up at night in a cold sweat isn’t the demons or the idea of dying or pain. I’m scared to death that somehow I might end up like the stupid fool I once was, stuck in the misery of this world.”
“I don’t see how that’s even remotely possible, Peter.”
“Think again. Even Christ had a human side. His flesh didn’t want to go to that cross, but He was also fully God, so He went, joyfully.”
“You mean you still think about all that old junk? What you did and all?”
“Not like that exactly. I have no desire to lie, cheat, and steal. But running away and hiding? Let me put it to you this way; if it were up to me, you and I could just pick up Kevin and keep on going. Every time you say something like that to me, Gail, it hits a nerve. I would like nothing more than to just go somewhere quiet and live in peace, but I know that’s not going to happen.”
“You mean what Larry said about you speaking in that stadium and it being broadcast everywhere?”
“I knew before then, Gail, but yes, I believe Larry,” Peter explained. “What I’m trying to tell you is that flesh is weak, even and especially my own. Don’t ever believe otherwise, sister. Let your guard down for a minute and Saul’s little buddies will be all over you.”
That was something else Gail McCorkle hadn’t really come to grips with yet, the reality of evil being ever present in the world.
“I can remember growing up and going to church and hearing all about the devil,” Gail said, as she turned their vehicle onto the bridge that would connect them to the interstate. “I guess I never knew how real he was. Maybe I didn’t believe, or didn’t want to, I don’t know. But now, seeing what I’ve seen? It’s a wonder we all aren’t trying to kill each other twenty-four seven.”
“What do you think would happen if, even for an instant, God were to lift his hand of protection from our planet, Gail?”
“I never really thought about it like that before, you know, like two forces vying for control. I sure do now.”
“It’s a war, Gail McCorkle, and we are His soldiers. Our enemy may not be flesh and blood, but spiritual evil is very real.”
“I know you’re right, Peter. Still, it’s so hard to believe the unbelievable, to make real the invisible. What we believe, what we know, really makes no sense at all, yet it is the only thing that explains everything.”
“That’s one reason why Christ taught in parables. Not only are human beings by our very nature limited in our ability to understand spiritual truths, we think with what little knowledge we have of God’s ways we can answer all the questions.”
“I’m confused again, but that’s nothing new.”
Peter took a sip of his tea and gathered his thoughts. Despite the challenge that lay ahead at the end of their drive, for now Peter was relaxed and peaceful and wanted to make the most of his time with Gail.
“Christ taught that He was both the creator of the world, and not of this world. What does that mean? It means that physical laws, which He created, have no effect upon Him unless He allows them to.”
“I think I understand. Certainly I’ve seen you do things no scientist could explain.”
“When we get back I’ll point out some Scriptures on this for you; how Christ passed ‘through the midst’ of hostile crowds, walked on water, calmed storms with a simple command.”
“I know where to find those passages.”
“The learned men of this age, all the scientists, mathematicians, and physicists, assume that the universe is one big riddle that can eventually be solved through the application of human reason alone. They are mistaken.”
“What, you’re saying science is a waste of time? That doesn’t sound like you, Peter.”
“Not at all, Gail, not at all. Who gave us our brain, our ability to learn and discover, and make sense of the world? God. God’s gifts aren’t evil, knowledge isn’t evil.
“The problem comes when we take God out of the equation. Modern man has discovered that the parables God used to teach the Jews about His nature, the creation, and flood stories in Genesis immediately come to mind, are not literally true. This really should surprise no one, especially anyone who has a relationship with Christ and knowledge of His ways.”
“I remember you talking about this in a service last month, Peter,” Gail said. “I guess I need to hear it again.”
“All Scripture was written to teach human beings about the nature of God, and to explain what He expects from His people. This has always been so, from the time God called Abraham out of Ur until now. The creation parable teaches us one critically important lesson, that it was God who made the earth and everything on it and we are to worship Him and not His creation.”
“If that’s so, why do so many Christian preachers insist that every word of the Bible must be interpreted literally? Are they blind to the truth?”
“What makes us blind, Gail? Our own flesh, our lusts, our pride. The enemy uses our flesh to keep us from the knowledge of God. Basically, we get in our own way.”
“Those pastors who insist that the Bible, especially the Old Testament, must be interpreted literally, meaning that it does not contain spiritual truths presented as parables, well, they just miss it, they miss God’s message. Christ made the absolutes of the Scriptures very clear; love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, and soul, and love your fellow man as Christ loves you. All Scripture must be interpreted looking through this ‘lens of love’ or we end up confused and off course.”