Friday, March 11, 2005

Where Are The Heroes

War at its very best is brutally evil. Though there are some good men in wars, there are times when the good men do terrible things. There are other times, of course, when war gives good men opportunities to do great things. One example of the greatness of good men happened during World War II.

In 1943, Americans were sending thousands of men, and hundreds of shiploads of war materials to England, for transfer to the front. On one particular crossing, the troopship Dorchester was on its way to Greenland, where the United States had a base. Sometime, shortly after midnight on February 3, the Dorchester was torpedoed. Many were wounded, several killed and the ship was sinking. Confusion that led to panic was everywhere. Men were screaming in pain, others were moaning their last breath, while leaders were shouting orders, trying to organize an abandonment of the ship.

On board the Dorchester were four chaplains, each from different religions. There was a Jewish Rabbi named Alexander Goode, two Protestants, Clark Poling and George Fox, and a Catholic Priest, John Washington. These four men stumbled and groped in the darkness going from man to man, helping people to abandon the ship. They worked hard, assisting men with their life jackets, and carrying some to the lifeboats, or helping others get over the side, before the ship went under. The time came when there were no more life jackets. Each of the chaplains knew that without a life jacket there was little chance of survival in the fridgid waters, yet none of the four hesitated. When the jackets were gone and still men were without them, they gave up their own, helped put them on others, and went back to their business of comforting and consoling those who would not make it.

As the ship slipped beneath the surface, the four chaplains were praying with, and holding onto the wounded. They were sacrificing themselves to save others, and comfort those beyond saving.

I don't know how I would act in similar circumstances, but I do know I want to be like those men. We need more men and women like John Washington, Alexander Goode, George Fox and Clark Poling. We need to find that spirit of self-sacrifice, and get rid of the "me and me alone attitude." America used to be great, but she isn't any more. We have macho policemen beating helpless victims, who are supposed to be in their custody. We have rebellious citizens burning and looting whole cities. There are teenage Satan worshippers who, in some sort of sadistic ritual, kill little children, in brutal, ungodly ways. We have wealthy men and women cheating in the stock markets, taking more and more from those who are honestly seeking to make a living. And we have a congress that is afraid to make any laws that will do anything except get them re-elected.

Who cares about America any more? We've taken prayer out of our schools, any mention of God from our textbooks, preach and teach evolution, humanism, and situation values and ethics, then wring our hands, as we sit and wonder why our children are becoming more and more like the Devil. Anything that has value, absolute truth, calls for sacrifice and self-discipline, like God's word, the Bible, we jump on it with both feet and scream "FIRST AMENDMENT! FIRST AMENDMENT! SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE!" There may have been a time when it was necessary to worry about the government making laws instituting a national religion, to which everyone had to belong, but those days are gone. The only religion congress has established is the religion of re-election and the worshipping of the pacmen, making sure one pays special honor to the priests in charge of the pacmen's coffers.

The blind have led the blind for long enough. Let's wake up America. Let's get back to where we went off the road of greatness. It's time to look for heroes somewhere besides the sports arena. Before it's too late, let's look at men like the four chaplains on the troopship Dorchester. These are men who are worthy of honor. Not because they scored 50 points in a "game," or were re-elected 10 times, but because they sacrificed themselves to help others live, and help those who were dying to know they were not dying alone, but were with someone who cared. These men were worthy, not only of the Purple Heart and Distinguished Service Medal each was posthumously awarded, but they are worthy of emulation.

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Arthur Ashe

Do you remember Arthur Ashe or have you heard about him? He was a black tennis star. Quite good and popular. On February 6, 1993, at approximately 3:13 p.m. Arthur Ashe died by homocide. It was death by lethal injection. The fatal dose was "innocently" administered by a health care professional. Though it was given ten years earlier, and thus was a slow acting poison, it was just as deadly as 10 cc's of Cobra venom. Don't you think it a bit strange that if he had been injected with Cobra venom we would all be up in arms, screaming for his killer to be brought to justice? Because he was killed by the AIDS virus, however, we sew his killer's name into a quilt, honor him, and tell him, our children, and the rest of the world, "it's all right." Don't you think that's odd?

It's amazing to me that we have groups like Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD) fighting to send drunks who kill, with motor vehicles, to jail. These people are angry, and they should be. They are doing all they can to keep those killers off the roads. They have forced goverment to respond with tougher laws, and stiffer sentences for those who break the law. At the same time, we have "superstars" holding benefits to raise money to fight a disease that is TOTALLY preventable, and COMPLETELY the fault of the one struck with it (with the exception of those who received it accidently, such as by blood transfusion, as did Arthur Ashe, or from dental equipment that was not properly cleaned, or those who were born with it because their mother had it). And those same "superstars" honor the one's struck with the disease, in spite of the fact that they have it because of their lust and immorality. In addition, many of those who have AIDS pass it on to others, condemning them to an agonizing death. And how does the world react? We give five minute standing ovations! We applaud and cheer. We buy their books, and pay them money to come and tell us all about it.

What's wrong with us? Where did common sense go? Is there no such thing as right and wrong anymore? If not, who changed the rules? When will we wake up and realize that whether we are considering an individual or a nation it is still true - We reap what we sow. Though we hate to hear God speaking to us, He said something about sowing the wind and reaping the whirlwind. The children of Israel had lapsed into idolatry and forgetfulness of anything righteous. They were condoning sin and enjoying every aspect of it. The wicked were not punished but rewarded, as is happening in the U.S. today. They were sowing the wind and reaping the whirlwind.

Do we honestly believe we can continue in this moral decline and not reap a harvest of destruction for our nation? Look around. It's easy to see that the foundations of our society are crumbling beneath us. Listen. Can you hear it? It sounds like distant thunder. Is that the wind picking up?

Masquerade of Death

Death? Sure, I know you. I've known you for as long as I can remember. I've known you as both dominant and vicious, with volcanic power, vomiting up deceit, war, famine and decimation. With a wonderful ability, you masquerade in innocence until, in a final desperate gasp, your victim reaches out, grasps your costume, and with his final act, strips you to reveal the bleached-white hideousness of your terrible face. Yes. I know you, but I see you much differently today than yesterday. Truth has given me an ability to see you as you truly are. Do you know what you are?

There was a time when you appeared in the mask of a Friday night vampire, and, I must admit, on those windy, full-moon-lit nights when wicked fingers of black and white shadows crept across the wall to attack my shivering little body, you paralyzed me with fear. I would call out to my father to come save me from your dreadful wrath, but somehow you clamped your icy fingers over my mouth and no sound would come out.

As I grew into a teenager, you stalked me. But the masks you were wearing made you difficult to recognize, at least until the stroke of midnight when you were revealed. Mike Voll didn't see you as he worked under his car. How you were able to sneak up on him without kicking a stone or crackling a leaf so as to warn him is a credit to your deceitfulness. (You are good at what you do.) It was only as you knocked the jack out from under the car that he saw you . . . recognized you . . . too late!

Was it before or after that (it is hard to recall) you hid behind the mask of suicide? I remember the fat boy, the one no one liked, played with or even talked to. Only since I've grown have I thought about his feelings. But you thought about them, didn't you? You used him, showed him the rope, the ceiling joist in the basement, the way out of his pain! You neither cared about nor considered his parents or brothers and sisters. What about their agony, the self-doubt, the "oh-if-I'd-have-only . . . " thoughts that tormented them.

Vicious! You were a vicious master. Yes, "were" is the proper word, for I've grown since then. I know you have been defeated. Your defeat angered you and you still try your best to hurt those of us who take advantage of your defeat and have thrown off the marks of your service.

You still torment me. You did so when you put on the mask of terminal illness and carried my mother away. Did you gloat over my agony? My tears, tears that had not fallen since childhood, would not stop their flowing. Their salty taste burned my tongue as they rolled down my cheeks into my wailing mouth. Rearing your ugly head in one swift act of rebellion and brutality, you seized my mother, covering her eyes with your endless mist, before she could discover the truth and cast you off like butterflies do their restrictive cocoons. Vicious, that's your name, and tormenting is your favorite activity.

It is true! You are vicious, but you are not the master any longer, are you. You have met the Master, haven't you? Your eyes are dropping, your shoulders seem bent. Yes! I know you met Him at the cross. You taunted. You laughed. You considered yourself indestructible, and in your bravado you mocked. For parts of three days and three nights you wrestled with Him, weakening with each new hold. Can you deny? I've read the account of it. The end came early on a Sunday morning as you lay bloody, battered, beaten and unable to do more than kneel at the feet of the Master who bested you. And now? Your name has been changed to Defeated, and you are no more than a slave to those who serve the Master. You do our bidding and carry us, as the Master directed, from this world to the world of glory.

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Don't Look At Your Father

Somehow she managed to get out of her seat belt. Opening the door she slipped to the ground. The exertion forced her to sit for a moment and rest, leaning her back against the car. Slowly, shock-numbed, she got to her feet and looked across the front seat at her husband. Though her head was cloudy from being smashed against the windshield a few moments earlier, still she realized there was no room for life between the seat and the steering wheel. Her heart broke at that moment, yet she could not dwell on her monumental loss. Her children, 22 year old Victor, and 20 year old Anne Marie were in the back seat. Dane Tate, one of her many "unofficially" adopted children, was also there, but Sandi (Lynn, her husband of 24 years, always called her Peaches) couldn't see him. Fear gripped her as she looked in the back, for there was no movement and no sound.

Sandi called to her children. Softly, for she had little strength, she whispered their names. I once read a quote that said, "We cough to clear our throats; we sigh to clear our hearts." I can almost hear Sandi's sigh when Anne Marie opened her eyes and looked at her.

Anxiously, Sandi called, "How badly are you hurt? How is Victor? Where is Dane?"

Love is a most powerful source of strength. People often go to great lengths, do heroic deeds, offer great sacrifices all in the name of love. It could be love of country, love of home, or love of family that gives one the power to accomplish. In Sandi's case it was surely the love for her children. For you see, what she was doing, standing there checking on the welfare of her children, was not an ordinary thing. The desire and the attempt would be ordinary, but Sandi did the extraordinary! With a badly broken leg - she should not have been able to stand - a broken arm, internal injuries and a soon to prove fatal head injury, she stood and talked with her children, checking on and comforting them.

"Don't look at your father," Sandi whispered.

The kids couldn't help themselves. Vic, who had come to for a few moments, and Anne Marie both looked. The slant of his head, the crushed, blood-stained face and his death closed eyes told them that their father was gone. Their own pain-induced shock kept them from crying, but they would never forget that moment.

How she did it God knows, but Sandi reached her head into the back seat and prayed with the kids. "Just a jumble of words," they said later, but surely God heard and understood. After the prayer she asked how badly they were hurt -

A fractured tailbone, cracked ribs and some internal injuries for Anne Marie (all diagnosed later, of course, but the pain was described when Sandi asked).

"Vic has a broken leg, and he says his hand hurts," Anne Marie, the most alert, reported.

As she checked Dane, who was had been thrown on the floor between the seats, it was obvious from the queer way his arm was twisted that it was broken. In fact it was so severely broken (crushed is a better word) that the Doctors at the first hospital he was taken to almost amputated it. They didn't, only because they were in too great hurry to get Dane to another hospital where he could have his transplanted kidney checked for any damage. By God's grace, the doctors at the second hospital rebuilt and saved his arm.

Knowing that her children would be all right, Sandi turned her attention back to Lynn.

"I need a blanket to cover my husband," she began telling the Samaritans trying to help. Somehow a blanket found its way into her arms. As she started around the car to her husband's side, she noticed a young man sitting on the ground across the road. He was in shock - shaking terribly. Her special mother's love pushed pain, and even thoughts of her husband out of her mind for the moment. She forced her badly broken body across the road and gently wrapped the blanket around the young man sitting there. He was the passenger and friend of the nineteen year old man who, in an adventurous race with some other friends in their caravan, was passing on a hill and, at the apex, in a flurry of twisted metal and broken glass, hit them head on . . . killing Sandi's husband. If the thought of what these young men had done crossed her mind she never showed it. Her love covered their dreadful carelessness.

After attending to the young man, She walked back across the street. North Flight helicopter and paramedics had arrived and they were trying to put Sandi on a stretcher. She allowed them to lay her down, but would not leave until they covered her husband with a blanket. One of the paramedics took a blanket, covered Lynn, and reported that to her. She looked over at her children and spoke her last words.

"I love you, kids."

Moments later she closed her eyes . . .

Paul records in 1 Corinthians 13: 13, "And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. " From the above we can see a woderful example how true this passage is, "The greatest of these IS love!" With love we can overcome any enemy, any difficulty, any setback, any failure. With love we can move forward, accomplish grand things, live great lives! With love the worst of our enemies, Satan, becomes a mountain cast into the sea. We know this is true because Love incarnate, our Savior Jesus Christ, came as the ultimate manifestation of God's love (1 John 4:9-10), and conquered our worst enemies - Sin, Death and the Devil! ( Isaiah 53:6; Hebrews 2:14-15; 1 Corinthians 15:51-57; 1 John 3:7-8).

While it is true that Satan is still powerful, and alone we cannot, must not face him, we can not only face him, but conquer him if we are in Christ Jesus. And in Christ Jesus every enemy is destroyed, because LOVE did the destroying.

Lynn and Sandi almost always went visiting on Lynn's day off. They would go from friend to friend, stopping for just a few minutes to say "hello." They wanted to cheer up as many people as possible, and they had a gift for doing that. After visiting for a few minutes, however, Lynn would put on his baseball hat, stand up and say, "Let's go, Peaches." Then he would walk out the door. Sandi never argued. She always got up, said they had to go, and with hugs and "good-byes" followed Lynn.

Shortly after the accident, from the other side of death's door, Lynn popped his head back in and said, "let's go, Peaches." From the bed in her darkened room in Munson Medical Center's ICU, Sandi rose, and as she always had, she followed Lynn home. It is faith, hope and love that has united them in eternity.

"And the greatest of these is love."


(This accident happened in 1989, but I was thinking about Lynn today and thought I would share this-JBT)