2 Kings 6:13-17 (ESV)
13 And he (this
being the king of Syria, the enemy of the Jews) said, “Go and see where he (this
being the prophet Elisha, the Man of God) is, that I may send and seize him.”
It was told him, “Behold, he is in Dothan.” 14 So he sent there
horses and chariots and a great army, and they came by night and surrounded the
city.
15 When the
servant of the man of God rose early in the morning and went out, behold, an
army with horses and chariots were all around the city. And the servant said,
“Alas, my master! What shall we do?” 16 He said, “Do not be
afraid, for those who are with us are more than those who are with them.” 17 Then
Elisha prayed and said, “O Lord,
please open his eyes that he may see.” So the Lord
opened the eyes of the young man, and he saw, and behold, the mountain was full
of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha.
1981.
Marsha and I lived in Hialeah, Florida with our baby son. I was the associate
pastor at a church and Marsha was the church secretary. I had just had surgery
on my right wrist for a complicated break. (You will occasionally see me
wearing a wrist and hand brace on that hand. The surgery was a failure and I
still suffer with it.) Life was pretty good. Good friends, good church folks.
Hialeah is just northwest of Miami. You can pass from one city into the next
without knowing it unless you see the signs. Some people would consider it
paradise, but that would just be an opinion. It was, however, a great place to
be living when you were 25.
Our
church needed some legal work done over an issue, so on one really hot September
day I met our five Trustees at the church, got them loaded in the church’s van
and set out for Miami where the lawyer we were using had an office. Arriving in
the city, I drove to his building and pulled up to the front door. I let our
people out and then I started to look for a place to park. As luck had it,
there was a spot open across the road on the curb. I did a hard U-turn and
slid in behind a tall cargo type truck. Immediately the places behind me
started filling up, so I rejoiced that I had gotten such a prime spot. Rather
than sit in the sweltering heat for an hour, I hopped out crossed the street
back to the attorney’s office. I got a cup of coffee and got comfortable in the
waiting room so I could be ready when the Trustees concluded their business.
I
should note that 1981 was a different time than now. Clergy were expected
to wear a three piece suit when conducting church business. Suit jacket,
slacks, vest, tie and shirt. Oh, and shiny shoes. I was in the proper uniform,
except for the suit coat. Because of the surgery the week before my right arm
was encased in a huge cast from the tips of my fingers to my shoulder. Really,
I shouldn’t have been driving, but no one else wanted to drive downtown. Because
of the cast, I could not wear the suit coat. The shoes, pants, shirt, tie and
vest were all in place, so I still maintained proper uniform dress.
I
was struggling to figure out how to hold a magazine and drink coffee when
someone came in and said, “Hey, if anybody here parked on the other side of the
street, the police just towed them all away.” It took a second or two to
register that I had parked on the other side of the street. I jumped up and
rushed outside just in time to see a VW bug being towed off. No one was parked
there any more. From where I stood I could clearly see the NO PARKING THIS SIDE
OF STREET sign right where that tall cargo type truck had been parked. I hadn’t
seen the sign because he had been blocking it. The church van was gone.
This
was not good.
I
ran inside and asked the receptionist where they would have taken the van. She
told me the police impound lot and she told me where it was located. About twenty blocks
away. Quick mental calculations ( I am a mental giant, you know) told me I
could get there, get the van and get back before our people were done conducting
business. I ran out of the building just as the receptionist started to say
something. I ignored her, being a mental giant and all. I was in a hurry.
That
time of the year it is really hot and muggy in Miami. It is hurricane season and
it can become so muggy damp that your clothes become sodden in just a few
steps. I am in the clergy uniform, minus the suit jacket and wearing the shiny
shoes as I ran down the street. In Miami, ten blocks roughly equals a mile, so
I am running in high heat and in a suit and shiny shoes. As I say, mental
giant.
After
ten blocks I was huffing it. But I had also run into a pretty bad part of town.
I slowed to a walk, trying to suck the overheated air into my lungs. Everything
I had on was soaked through and my hair (yes, back then I had a full head of
hair) was plastered on my head and face. My head was pounding and my arm was
just killing me. My feet were screaming at me for trying to run in dress shoes
on steaming concrete.
And
it was then that I realized I was being followed.
Two
young men, a little younger than me, were behind me walking along. They, too,
were wearing uniforms, although quite different from mine. Ratty jeans and
ratty running shoes. Skin tight tank type shirts and do rags on their heads.
The uniform of a Miami street thug in 1981. I was walking in the normal manner
(normal for someone who had just run a mile in shiny shoes), but they were all
swagger. I had turned my head and saw them behind me. When I looked forward there was
another young man on the sidewalk ahead of me a half block, also wearing the
uniform. I looked to either side down the alley next to me and the one across
the street and saw a young man, in uniform, standing in each alley. Larry was
trapped.
Any
time I have ever been in a situation, there is something in my brain that
clicks. I absolutely hate to fight. Will avoid it. Can’t imagine fighting
anything bigger than a puppy now. But my father had taught me to fight. His
lessons had been harsh and he wailed on me pretty good, but I learned to fight.
Not the Marquis of Queensbury rules, either, but fighting to win. In a one on
one with any of those guys, no weapons and me not in a cast, I probably win.
But here, I was going to get hurt. I slowly turned and faced the two behind me.
Smirks were plastered on their faces. They had something in their hands. Almost
like they had practiced it, they each pushed a button and a bladed snicked out.
I heard the same sound all around me. I had heard about switch blades, of course,
but I had never seen one. My first thought was, ‘Hey, those are illegal!’ Just
the thought made me laugh. I looked at the two and said, “OK, let’s do this.”
Real brave stuff. The mental giant speaking. But, like I say, something just
clicks in my mind and I get stupid.
The
two guys moved forward. I remember thinking I was going to swing my cast and
nail someone. After that I would be in real pain from my wrist breaking and the
first knife sinking in. What could these guys possibly want? Probably just
doing it for the fun.
Then,
they stopped. Their eyes were fixed on a point just above my head. Their eyes
widened. The guy behind me gave a gasp and I heard the sound of ratty running
shoes hitting concrete as he ran away. The two to either side turned and ran
down their alleys. The two in front of me let their mouths fall open, then they
turned and ran off, too. They had been looking just above my head, so I looked
up to see what had scared them off. And there……
Was
nothing. A heat-hazy sky. Nothing else. I turned all the way around and still
saw nothing. No one stood there, there was no great eagle circling just above my head and looking mean. There was
nothing except for a quiet that seemed to descend.
I
had to get the van.
I
got to the impound lot and went into the office. A really tall and muscular
Hispanic man was sitting there reading a magazine. He didn’t even look up. “¿Qué pasa?” I barely heard him. I was reading the
sign that said the tow was $100 and then said $100 for each day and then it
said that the day started when the vehicle entered the lot. The mental giant
thing kicked in and I calculated that I needed $200 dollars.
“Ah, yeah, I need to talk to you about
the church van that just came in.” He put down his magazine. “The church van is
yours?” “Well, no, it is the church’s, but I am driving it today.” “Get out and
take it with you!” “Ah, well, OK, but….” “Go, Chico! Now!”
I went. I got in the van and said, “Geez,
what did you do to light his candle?” Mental giants talk to their vehicles.
I got back just in time to pick up the
folks. I never really knew why those guys ran off.
Unless, of course, they all saw a
fiery angel in the sky just above me. Could be. I know most will not believe the tale, but whether you believe it or not does not affect whether or not it is true. And it is true.
Blessings.
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