As We Walk Along The Road: A Series

Some stories lie buried in the ruins of time, waiting again to be found.

Uriah The Hittite

Prologue
Jerusalem (995 B.C) It was in the springtime when kings go off to war with their men, but David remained in Jerusalem. 2 Samuel 11.

One evening David arose from his bed, and walked across the roof of his palace. A faint spring breeze was gently stirring the scent of jasmine and oleander into the air. The fading light cast its blue and orange pastel spells against the mortar buildings. The activity in the markets had quieted, as the dust and conversations had finally settled on the ancient streets of the old Jebusite city that was now called, “The City of David.”

The Kings world seemed very stilled and quiet as he reflected upon the silhouettes of the surrounding mountains. Far away in the distance, smoke from shepherd’s fires would occasionally dance into the evening sky then fade away into the wind. The shepherd king recalled trodding the endless fields of dew by the full moon as a boy, and spotting the first Lily of the Valley or Rose of Sharon at this time of year.

Things were now going very well for David. He had indulged himself with a very satisfying day. Maybe it was the thought of Joab, who was out in the fields with his army that had stirred him from his rest. David should have been with his men.

Then from the roof of his palace he saw her. The King was struck by her beauty. As minutes passed, David gazed breathlessly from atop his perch as she bathed in the twilight.

Chapter 1
(445 B.C.) There were very few of us there to inspect the ruins, though we could all sense the call within our hearts. We knew what we had to do. There were no mounts except for the one Lord Nehemiah rode. Many wept as we struggled through the wreckage, remembering the lament of the Prophet Jeremiah, “How deserted is the city, once so full of people. How like a widow is she, who was once great among the nations. The roads to Zion mourn, for no one comes to her appointed feasts.”

We climbed over rocks and between crevices moving debris along the way, toward the Fountain Gate and the King’s Pool, struggling over short distances. It was said that Nehemiah had to dismount as we continued to inch through the night. I could see the broken and burned wall beside the Pool of Siloam near the Kings Garden. We were at the steps that led down from The City of David, near the tombs of David. We rested for the night at The House of Heroes. I looked around the city that was Jerusalem in the moonlight. I wanted to speak to the rocks and tell them that they would rise again. Zacheriah had said that the Lord Almighty would bring his people back to live here.That the seed would grow well and the vine would again yield its fruit.

My body was tired, but for my heart there was now consolation. More than the fleeting dreams of youth or the promises of man, I sensed the true faithfulness of Yaweh, even among these ruins. I’m just a man of labor. I know who I am. But I also know my salvation. These rocks wanted to tell of things that they had seen.

“Father, what is this House of the Heroes” my older son Simon asked. “Who were they?” I thought for a moment about how our names were being carefully recorded, even as we were now beginning our work together.

“Jehovah knows our name,” I began to explain. “As you walk along the way, you will begin to understand that every task that he empowers you to undertake will never lose its reward. David knew this, and wished to honor the mighty men that stood beside him. Now, look up into the hillside through the moonlight. That is where the palace of the King once stood. Let me tell you the story of David’s Mighty Men. Men of great faithfulness and honor…”
As we settled in for the night, I stared up into the night sky as my breath clouded into the cool air. These dead ruins once had a tale to tell. Aiezer, Beniah, Eliam, Shammah. We had heard of many of their brave deeds. Then there was Uriah. Uriah the Hittite. If he could have told us his story, would it have been one of loyalty or one of betrayal?

Magical Mystery Tour Scene 10

“I been in the right place, but it must have been the wrong time.
I’d have said the right thing, but I must have used the wrong line.
I been in the right trip, but I must have used the wrong car.
My head was in a bad place but I’m wondering what it’s good for.
I been in the right place, but it must have been the wrong time.
My head was in a bad place, but I’m having such a good time.”  Dr. John

One hour before wedding time, two short barefoot men in robes and strings of beads pulled up quickly grinding their hub caps against the curb up on the hill. The Volkswagon bug had four different sized tires on it while middle eastern music blared from the distorting speakers while vibrating some of the cars bent metal body. It was the little priest, who began to hurriedly pull incense and oils from the trunk in the front of the car while another sweaty young man pried an instrument case that was wedged out from between the seats. The priest gathered as many bottles and incense as possible onto the front of his robe that was pulled out in front of him like a tent. Some of the bottles had apparently been broken due to having bounced around in the trunk. The oils were now soaking through the front of his clothing as he made his way down the hill. As he approached us we could smell the fragrance before he greeted us.

“Greetings, I’m Raj”, he said with with a pained expression on his face. “I’m sorry that I am indeed running far behind schedule. We’ve been traveling against the wind and the streams it seems, but there is a reason for everything. He too, is Raj,” pointing at his riding companion.
“Peace” said the other man also named Raj who was carrying what we learned to be a sitar in a case.”I am sad to say that my dear priest, Raj is bearing bad news for you today.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Raj. “It is as Raj says. It is my misfortune to say to you, that I, Raj, am no longer legal in the State of California. The magazine.., they received my money and I have a beautiful certificate in my hallway for three years now! But the State of California sends me a letter saying that they do not recognize the magazine! But this is one thing that I do not understand! Should NOT a state as big as California be familiar with all givers of certificates? Here, now my friends, I give you incense and oils. I am so very sorry. I am very sad today that I will no longer be in the favor of Miss Sheila but these are very very good oils and incense. Please can you forgive me?”

After an awkward silence, there was a meeting of the eyes within our group. Both of the two Raj’s were sweating profusely and we could tell that they felt terribly as they stared at our feet in unison. Dan assured them that everything would work out just as it was supposed to as we walked up the hill toward the quadroplex where Joel and Sheila lived.

“I asked Bobby Dylan. I asked The Beatles. I asked Timothy Leary, but he couldn’t help me either. They  call me the Seeker..
You’re looking at me. I’m looking at you. We’re looking at each other and we don’t know what to do. They call me The Seeker. I’ve been searching low and high” Pete Townshend

Everyone hugged the little priest, who was in tears, affirming him for his love for his friends and his desire to be of service. He sought their forgiveness, and they responded in love and kindness. It was becoming apparent to me that there was a purpose playing out in all of these exchanges. While Raj had indeed made up the story about his dream, he just couldn’t avoid the conviction of avoiding his friends so he had made the journey despite his embarrassment. Sheila explained to Raj that Dan was a minister to Raj’s delight. The next thing I knew Raj and Dan were in the corner of the room laughing about weddings that they had officiated and also some of the ones that Raj had missed. Dan was also explaining to Raj that his conviction to come today, was a prompting from God and an invitation for him to be a part of His purposes today. Though the script kept changing, there was a sense that we were participants in a larger story than we had planned.

“Did you ever get the feeling that the story’s too damn real, and in the present tense?
Or that everybody’s on the stage, and it seems like you’re the only person left, sitting in the audience?”  Ian Anderson

Magical History Tour Scene 12

“To everything, There is a season. And a time to every purpose under heaven.
A time to be born, a time to die. A time to plant, a time to reap.
A time to kill, a time to heal. A time to laugh, a time to weep.”  Pete Seeger quoting King Solomon

Many things had dramatically changed in Biloxi Mississippi in between Hurricanes Camille and Katrina, but some things had still remained the same. Whenever my face turned once again to face the stifling heat of summers on the coast, scenes from my childhood would flood my memory as if I were watching an old Super 8 film. Yes, casino’s and new industry had moved in, but the dream of my father had still survived all of the transitions. We often view our past through either rose colored glasses or a magnifying glass. It might not be as good or as bad as we have imagined it to be. But things do change. Over time we may come to realize that we are only sojourners, people without citizenship papers, though we may stay here for a long time, we’re really just passing through.

Dan had now been the senior pastor at Mission for a little over three years. Underneath, in what was the backside of the grandstand at the old Yankee football stadium had now been covered and converted into a mission center where the church would meet and also team up with other churches in the area, as well as those that would come from across the country to help families rebuild and repair homes after Katrina. The facility could accomodate 250 volunteers at a time with beds, showers, common areas for planning, as well as any power tool or hand tool that you could think of. Local volunteers utilized the old concession stand areas in the back for kitchens to feed the various groups. It was here, where the seeds of my dad’s prayers finally began to come into their season.

Charles Lewis was now the pastor of Grace Apostolic Church. He still used the basketball courts for good, intentionally combining blacks and whites together on teams to create friendships that would often grow to become mission teams around the town and surrounding area. Grace Apostolic and Mission Church shared and both worked out of the facility as if they were one. Charles was a gifted organizer and his personality worked perfectly with Joel who was in charge of overseeing all the various projects. Joel’s laid back personality, along with his humor and laughter always had a way of easing any tensions. Joel, in a sense was a gold miner, always looking and finding the gold in everyone else and digging it out.
The experiences and conversations that Dan and I had back in California had kept a generational vision alive. I had not realized that we were indeed carrying a prayer and a promise with us in my Galaxy 500 as we were traveling from Costa Mesa to San Francisco. No, this wasn’t Pirate’s Cove, it was Biloxi Mississippi. This wasn’t Highway 101 Pacific Coast Highway, but here Highway 90 had now been renamed, The Milton Graves Memorial Highway. History was groaning to complete a scene that had been left unresolved. That probably happens quite often over generations through the layers of mistakes and lessons within the scenes that we live out. What happens when prayers are inserted and minutes grow into years? Does the process of time then pause to invite a new end?

There is no blood in the white beach sand across from the Biloxi Lighthouse. That sand had long been washed away in the tides of time. Just a memory remains. A memory that lurked like a shadow over the few that still knew. They have known for years that they had missed a critical time and an important opportunity. Sometimes in the course of our life, it seems that God will bring familiar things back into our path, though they may be uncomfortable. Perhaps these are the chances he provides to allow us to readdress mistakes and start anew. To heal an old wound.Prayer seems to provide those insertions in time. My fathers generation may have failed to effectively hand the baton off to the next generation, but the prayers of a few during that time were not ignored.

Charles Lewis motioned for Dan to sit down at a table with a couple of chairs outside a feeding station that was formerly a concession stand. “It took a long time, didn’t it?  Years and years. You know what I’m talking about. It’s taken us a long time just to feel comfortable, hasn’t it? For it to feel natural.”

“Well, it is the deep south” Dan replied. “Traditions die hard, even when they need to die. Charles, have you noticed people’s reactions when we all show up together. After the initial look of surprise, you can catch folks just gazing over at our groups. You can almost see a longing in them to let go of the way that they were raised or taught. That’s what makes it so easy for me to say, “Hey, why don’t you come and join us?” They actually want to, and are just waiting to be asked. It’s calling them out into a new place. It’s something that’s always been in the heart of God. We just missed it. But we’re all ready now. We just weren’t there for some reason during Pastor Easton’s and Pastor Grave’s day. Maybe all the changes in the world went down too fast for folks here in Mississippi. I don’t know. But now, it’s time. It is time”

Magical History Tour Scene 9

“Well then, what’s to be the reason for becoming man and wife?
Is it love that brings you here or is it love that brings you life?
For if loving is the reason, then who’s the giving for?
Do you believe in something that you’ve never seen before?” Paul Stookey

There was another classic California sunrise as we started to organize the decorating at the park pavilion that stood in the middle of the massive green lawn. Joel and Sheila wanted their friends to feel that they could all participate with their own personal momento’s of expression. So they did. Two hours into our efforts a very eclectic style of decor was emerging.. Probably the strangest contribution was the knight of armour that their friend Mick brought. It was made of crafted metal and stood about five feet tall. The metal knight was offering a “bong” between his hands that had once yielded a shield and a hatchet. Mick said that he had kept it in his closet for years and it had become a tradition to “hit the bong” before Friday night festivities. Thus the name, “Friday Knight”..
“Yeah, he’s been here for all of us. And he’s never one to miss a party!” Mick said.

While Dan and I were trying to make giant artificial sunflower daisies stand up in plaster of Paris paint pots, we noticed Joel sprinting down the hill of the green lawn toward the pavilion in his bare feet, in shorts, with a tee shirt that was inside out and backwards. The normally easy going Joel looked very distressed as he stopped, bent over, holding his knees while catching his breath.
“That little son of a bitch is a no show!” he said.
“Who? What are you talking about?” asked Dan. I thought to myself, “I bet I know who…”  “The little Himalayan Hemp King! The little dip shit is a no show. We talked to him Thursday and he said that everything was cool, if we would just buy incense from him to give out to everyone to cover his cost. Good deal huh?..Well, he saw a vision while in a trance and was told not to come. His belly dancing girlfriend said that he took off for Tijuana in her car to help cure a family that’s all having bad headaches or something. This just isn’t going to go down well is it? I wanted it to be legal and all but it looks like it’s just another party in the park.”
The good natured Joel was on the verge of tears.
“Joel buddy, you don’t need his incense. And you certainly don’t need a man of his small stature here as the big MC,” I said smirking.
“Yeah, well you should tell that to Sheila. She just wanted to do this right, you know..for the kids, and for her mom and dad too. It really means a lot to her.”
Dan put his hand on Joel’s shoulder and said, “Hey, lets take a walk back to your place and talk about this for awhile and see if we can’t come up with some kind of plan that we can count on.” I thought that I might know exactly where Dan was going with this.

“Swaying daisies sing a lazy song beneath the sun.” Paul McCartney

“You mean that YOU can do this? You’re legal and willing?”Sheila asked, beginning to smile. “So you’re like a shaman or like a priest?”
“Certified pastor and totally legal in the great state of California and at your service”, Dan replied, while attempting to bow gracefully. “We can do the ceremony today and then follow up with the paperwork and legalities. I just need Jesus as a witness, and I know that he will be here. Is that okay with you two?”
“Jesus is very cool” Joel replied. “Hair, beard, robe, love, and sandals too!
“This is like divine design,” said Sheila, hugging Dan. “You know what’s kind of freaking me out?…I mean, in a good way though. I used to have these dreams. Dreams about talking to Jesus. I was a little girl in the dreams, and Jesus was so cool. The thing is that I kept asking Jesus is if he’ll marry me. And he says that he will, and we laugh and we dance, and now this..”

Just three hours later, friends were gathering on the grass of the green space with blankets and folding chairs as The Six Man Acoustical Band played in the background. The violin player, who went by the name of Wolfgang Mozart said they needed the exposure so they were cheaper than free.
There was a breeze blowing so a dozen colorful kites made a welcoming sight darting across the sky. Many of the friends that I had met ran up to greet me again as if we were old friends. We were all in this together. That is one thing that I did appreciate about the scene out there. They did let you in on their lives.
Dan said, “Let’s just start to look around now and catch Him in action. It’s always good to be living in the middle of someone’s prayers..”

About that time we heard a familiar voice shouting, “Hey, I hope you guys have a permit for these shananigans!”
It was Tazz who had made his way from Berkley. He and Dan gave each other bear hugs, and called each other “old scoundrels” and laughed like old times.
“Man, I meant to be here earlier, but there was some trouble back at the Plaza. Some of our guys busted up this poor old preacher guy pretty bad last week. I had to testify in front of the University council. Mike, you remember Dave don’t you? Well. he and some others lost their cool, and  they went off on this old guy, Hubert Lindsey. They call him Holy Hubert. He points his finger. But that’s what WE do! Anyway, they hurt him pretty bad..knock out some teeth, busted his head up, broke some ribs. I visited him at the hospital. He doesn’t want to press charges or cause a stir though like the Chancellor feared. He just wants to be able to keep preaching. You know, sometimes I want to make a protest sign that says, “I am part of the problem! “It’s ironic, we’re supposed to be the free speech advocates, and now I’m in the middle of a mess. That old guy has my respect. Oh well… Hey, I bet your Himalayan Hemp King will be a no show today!” Dan and I exchanged glances as Tazz knowingly nodded and grinned.

Hubert Lindsey at Sproul Plaza 1969

A Shepherds Staff

See the mountains, etched in time that silhouette themselves in the light of the starry skies.
Feel the cool mist in the midnight air, your breath clouds, its haunting dance surrounds you there.
Youth is gone, your dreams are torn, you count your days and your footsteps on the ground.
Calloused hands, a shepherds staff, like fleeting hopes they pick you up, they let you down.
You walk the endless fields, trod the morning dew, feel your heartbeat, the only hope that carries you…To that star in Bethlehem.

But will he come to the lonely and poor, will the hungry find him locked in the palace wall?
Will the wise and the rich man rule by might, will he ever hear a widows call?
I have come with my heart in my hand, I know who I am, but I’ll know my salvation.
When I’m tired I can rest my bones, but for my heart there is no consolation.
Will he come for the broken and torn, those yet unborn? Feel their heartbeat. Their hopeless song it leads me on. Towards that star in Bethlehem.

My feet, they fail me in the night, to a shepherds staff…I cling
I fall and tremble at the sight, and I hear angels…singing.
“There is good news for all mankind. On this day in the City of our King, Unto us a child is born,” unto him empty hands we bring.
From dust of a stable to scepter and throne, he’ll lift the meek and lowly, Feel your heart leap! Can’t you feel your heart leap? Beneath that star in Bethlehem.

Magical History Tour (Scene 11)

“Captain Walker didn’t come home, his unborn child will never know him.
He’s believed to be missing with a number of men, don’t expect to see him again.
It’s a boy Mrs. Walker, it’s a boy. It’s a boy, Mrs. Walker, it’s a boy.” -Pete Townshend

Biloxi 2008

Although 201 Mississippi residents had been killed in Hurricane Katrina three years ago, it could have been much worse. For the most part prior to the storm, the locals had evacuated from their homes after boarding them up and fled for places like Jackson, Birmingham or Montgomery. Upon returning, what they had encountered was almost total devastation, but not the lootings, car jackings, or violence that were rampant in the streets of New Orleans. You could still see remnants of clothes and debris impaled high in the wind gnarled Live Oaks as a grim reminder of the sheer force of the storm three years afterwards. In the days just prior to Katrina making landfall, meteorologist had called it The Perfect Storm.

There were many eerie similarities between Katrina and Camille of 40 years ago, as Biloxi was rebuilding once again. But this time there was no White Citizen Council to intimidate and separate the races.

In 2008, the War in Iraq had started to wane down somewhat. That made the death of Abner Hamner even that much more tragic. He was on the verge of building his own family. He and his wife, Kelli had tried for years to have children and were thinking of adopting when they finally heard the good news of Kelli’s pregnancy. Sgt. James Abner Hamner was only forty years old.

Whenever I looked at Joel, I could not help but to occasionally think back to the good natured hippie that I had seen way back on my trip to Haight Ashbury. Now my childhood buddy was sixty years old. He still had a short, grey ponytail, and his tatoo on his arm that said “To Haight is to Love” his last statements of defiance. He and Sheila now seemed to naturally show others the love and acceptance that they had longed for back then.

The night before the funeral, we went through hundreds of yellowing photos, some of them of their wedding that I had taken with a Poleroid. There they were standing with a short monk, while they each had a papoose and a child on their back while a man playing a sitar sat beside them on a huge pillow, while Dan was grinning with a Bible in hand. It was good to hear them laugh. We found other pictures too. Some with Dan, Tazz and me. The night before their wedding the three of us had stayed up the whole night talking while Joel and Sheila smoked pot and laughed at our stories. “Look at my eyes in that picture! I was so stoned!” Sheila laughed, but the smile quickly ran away from her face as she said,” Here we all are again, on the night before.”

The big news around Biloxi, along with the death of Abner was the news of Jackie Henderson being named Chief of staff to the new President Elect. Upon graduation from Berkeley, Tazz received a Masters Degree from Cal St. Fullerton in speech and communication. His career began with the organizing of various consumer rights organizations. He would later discover that his real gift was that of a fundraiser for many political candidates around the country. He then left politics for years to accept a well paid position in investment banking where he made many valuable contacts.

He was then called upon to work closely with the Clemens administration as a strategist, pushing unsuccessfully for universal healthcare. His proudest moment came when he organized and choreographed the meeting and handshake between Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin and Palestinian leader Yassar Arafat.

Tazz had taken his oath in Congress in 2003 to serve in California’s 9th District. After his second term he served on the House Ways and Means Committee, which oversees tax, trade, Social security and Medicare issues.

He had also been named Chairman of the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee. Under his leadership the DCC expanded the party’s reach in every region of the country and gained 30 seats in the House. In January of 2007, the new majority elected Tazz to serve as Democratic Caucus Chair, the fourth highest ranking member of the House democratic leadership. In the first 100 days he had led a charge that expanded stem cell research and ended subsidies for oil companies.

Tazz would be making his first trip home in a couple of years. “What a very sad waste of a  life”, he sighed to his mother on the phone.

There was a casket draped with a flag, and many colorful pictures. Sprays of flowers abounded and scented the hall, as the Army Honor Guard stood by. But there was no body for closure. It would come back one piece at a time after samples confirmed the identity.

Outside the funeral home, a so called Christian group from Arkansas protested the military’s acceptance of gay soldiers, holding up signs and shouting for the attention of the news cameras. They had brought a group of about forty to heckle the happenings and to be seen on the news as they always tried to do. A long haired leather clad motorcycle gang of Vietnam vets had also come bearing American flags while joining hands and daring the protesters to come any closer to the family.

As Tazz made his way through the parking lot a reporter asked him, “Does the scene out here kind of remind you of the Berkeley days?” Tazz stared at the lady and slowly replied, ” Look, this week a brave young man gave his life for the cause of freedom. I really don’t want to make any public comments right now. If you don’t mind, I’ve come here to honor him, and the friendship of his parents today. Thank you. for respecting that.”

Abner’s wife Kelli sat quietly on the front row as people glanced her way, wondering how she might hold up. She was now seven months pregnant. Joel and Sheila held hands sitting next to Amber and her husband.

I looked over the large, diverse crowd that had gathered as I thought about the old White Citizens Council. Seeing this patchwork quilt of people and their bond would have been their worst nightmare. I wish my dad could have lived to see this. A diverse community of friends had come to weep with us. Dan looked at me. I nodded back to Dan. He winked at me, then began, as we all celebrated the life and commitment of the little boy that was pictured in that papoose on the back of his daddy. He would grow up to be a fine, brave man. Sergeant James Abner Hamner.

Magical History Tour (Scene 8)

“Won’t you look down upon me Jesus, you’ve got to help me make a stand.
You’ve just got to see me through another day.
My body’s aching and my time is at hand, and I won’t make it any other way.
Oh, I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain. I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end.
I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend. But I always thought that I’d see you again.” – James Taylor

Dan and I changed the oil in my Ford Galaxy 500 and headed back toward Frisco with the windows down shouting across the seat catching up the way old friends do.

The conversations from the night before still had me thinking. As he had introduced me to some of his friends there in Costa Mesa he had also given me little insights into some of their history. Most had come from bad home situations, many coming from either heavy drug dependency, prostitution, violence, or crime. So there were reasons for their misfortunes, but they weren’t blaming anyone for anything that had happened to them anymore. I thought of young mothers there that had been abandoned by guys that had left them with so many needs and responsibilities. They had relinquished the bitterness of blame even though they had been wronged. Don’t get me wrong, they still wanted help but they didn’t use their situation as a reason to live the lives of a victim or to hate a perpetrator. There was a gentle spirit and a maturity among these people that was very impressionable.

“I was raised by a toothless bearded hag. I was schooled with a strap across my back.
But it’s all right now, in fact it’s a gas.” Jagger/ Richards

“Yeah, it’s Jesus” Dan shouted, smiling. “No, seriously, it is. Forget what you’ve heard in church, Mike. He isn’t a program, or a formula. He loves us and there’s really nothing we can do about it”, he shouted with a smile. “Personally, I’m not into religion at all”, he said chuckling. Just can’t do it! Could you? When you look at Jesus, it’s his creativity, spontaneity, flexibility, and availability that blows me away. He’s still painting with colors you know!  That is what those guys down here have found out. He will stretch us beyond our comfort zones but that causes us to grow. There are just so many things that we just can’t do on our own.. like forgiving others. We need help because it requires love and the only love we seem to know is a self seeking kind of love. Our type of love is born out of need. It’s a selfish kind of love because we’re always usually stuck in survival mode. But we need to live!”

I began to think again about some of the hugging that I had noticed at The Haight and how much of the conversation there was filled with a terminology that I had overlooked at the time. Though there’s certainly nothing wrong with holding someone accountable, a sad, bitter bond had been built there around blaming others for scenerios that had affected them. I have often noticed groups, whether in Berkeley, Haight Ashbury or even back home in Mississippi that people tend to huddle with people much like themselves, and just spin the tread off their tires and stay stuck in the mud. I mentioned this observation to Dan at a café stop half way into our trip.

“Yeah, all we just get stuck, you know. It’s easy to do. We can start to camp around whatever has wounded us in the past and we can navel gaze years away. God not only wants to heal those wounds that can paraylize us for years, but He even wants to go beyond the wounding and rescue the person and the original intent and purpose he had for that person before the wounding took place. We can remain a slave the rest of our lives to whatever has hurt us unless we forgive. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. Sure, I guess that makes sense. So, what about you? How did you get turned onto Jesus? You don’t have a scandalous background unless you’re holding something back..

”Seminary, believe it or not. They say it can’t be done. Ha! A lot of us decided that we didn’t just want to know more ABOUT God. We wanted to get to actually KNOW him. We wanted to experience God. You know, we as humans tend to make gods that looks a lot like us, but that’s not who he is. He’s out with the poor and the weak, and people and things that I’ve always turned a blind eye to. He decides what’s beautiful. That’s where he is though so that’s where I want to go.”

The cafe, called Cloud 9 was a popular hangout and a good place to unwind after a long drive. Its regulars were the beat poets and mouthpieces of the eclectic movements of the time and area. They expressed themselves through an open mic on the small stage in the back room. Young people sat at tables eating lunch or sipping on drinks.  A layer of smoke hung over the room like a slow swirling cloud. A tall, thin fellow with a ponytail and a patchwork beard strolled up to the microphone. He was dressed in a green shirt, green pants, green socks and green tennis shoes with a green hat, and he summed the era up very well. He introduced himself as Mantis then began.

“Sidewalk chalk where children played, fade in the rains of yesterday.
But in the sun and in the wind, the seeds we sow come back again.
Pastors preach to padded pews, to people who prefer the news,
of network anchors and their cues, and breathe the air that’s blown them.

We grip the grime upon the rail, as fleeting dreams of youth will fail,
The blackness underneath your nails, hold to hopes that never helped you.
Debate, debrief, define defeat, collect a cause, condemn and pause,
As worried women watch the war and wonder what we’re fighting for.

Senior cynics sit and snore, and sulk at who they voted for.
So celebrity saviors solve the seas of crisis and uncertainties.
The tapping toe, the tale of time, the ticking truth that will define,
The shifting shadows of our day, when poets pens are put away.

From front row seats we strain to see, the scripts that screams with certainty.
Charades, parades and passersby, we’ll eat and drink and then we’ll die.
From Wall St. winks to ghetto greed, we’ll toil the soil till we succeed.
We’ll sift and sort then someday see, we just leave a life and legacy.”

Magical History Tour (Scene 7)

I don’t know a soul that’s not been battered, I don’t have a friend that feels at ease.
I don’t know a dream that’s not been shattered, or driven to his knees.
But it’s all right, it’s all right, for we lived so well so long.
Still, when I think of the road we’re traveling on, I wonder what went wrong. – Paul Simon

Biloxi, Mississippi.

Gilbert Mason had arrived in Biloxi in 1955. He had been a general practitioner from Jackson Mississippi after completing medical studies at Harvard University and an internship in St. Louis. Many of Biloxi’s white doctors respected Mason. Some even asking him to scrub for surgeries. Gaining full privilages at Biloxi Hospital traditionally took 15 years.

Mason recalled the day back in 1960, when black protesters had split into groups stationed near prominent downtown local spots like the cemetery, lighthouse, and hospital. Mason had shuttled between stations, monitoring proceedings in his vehicle.

Some attendees started swimming. The band of beach goers held nothing but food, footballs, and umbrellas…

“Then they came with all kinds of weapons…chains, tire irons, and baseball bats, he recalled. No one expected the violence that erupted. We weren’t prepared for it. We were overwhelmed by their numbers. They came like flies over the area. I saw Wilbur McDaniel beaten to within an inch of his life. He fell and was hit with chains. The sand was all bloody. His wife was begging them to stop and was shielding his body with hers.

When night fell, riots rose up. White mobs rolled through black neighborhoods, firing guns and shouting threats. I remember so well, being told to go home and shut out the lights, get down on the floor, and stay away from the windows. But John, you know I just couldn’t do that. It was a long night. I went back and started treating the injured and wondering if it was worth all of this. We had just wanted to go to the beach like everyone else. Our only worth seemed to be the taxes that we paid.

I appreciate your dream and vision of doing multi racial baptisms down there on the beach, Johnathan. It would indeed be beautifully symbolic. But we sure could have used the support and symbolism ten years ago. There was just none to be had back then. There are definitive times and that was certainly one of them. But we were alone. We can still move symbolically forward now, but that definitive time was a lonely day for us in Mississippi. That’s something that you too need to understand. It was a very lonely time.”

“I know that it was Gilbert. But there is still an important script that is being played out here. Please understand that my vision here is not a political one at all. I believe that it’s actually a prompting from God. The opportunities that we have missed in the past were paid in the political consequences and strife that comes with that, but the mistakes we made were spiritual mistakes. Politics will probably continue to be a wedge, but freedom will lie elsewhere.”

Milton Graves was the pastor at Grace Apostolic Church and a friend of both Jonathan and Gilbert. He stirred the eggs and pancakes on his plate and looked up over his bifocals. “Lots of baggage to carry, gentlemen. Heavy baggage,” he said slowly. I would really like to meet you in that water., I really would. But it’s not the same water, John. You know that…And I’m not bitter. Please don’t think that I am. Black people being baptized alongside white people would sure make a beautiful painting on a wall, but it’s not going to help us shed any hurt or advance a cause with our community. It will only symbolically say to us that we were right and that they were wrong. We really don’t need to be right. There’s a lot of arrogance that comes with being right. We’re already dealing with a lot of arrogance and bitterness. We now have to relinquish our right to hold on to wrongs done to us. If we could look at the offenses as an opportunity to live out a different future reality in a present age people might see a difference. But the bottom line is, we just need to forgive. Because it sure takes a lot of emotional energy to maintain a grudge. The moment that we start hating anyone, then we have once again become their slave.”

“As Christians in the south, it seems to me, that we’ve been put here for seasons of healing and times like this,” said Jonathan Easton.

“After a photograph has been taken, the image can last forever. I’m afraid that we’re just locked in some of our roles now John”, replied Milton Graves. Sometimes the best way to deal with hurt, is to just hurt.”

Gilbert Mason excused himself from the meeting still having to make the early morning appointments that a physicians life demands. The three men embraced as the two pastors sat back down to finish up some final thoughts.

“You think this has only been going on for a little while? Pastor Graves continued. That might be why you’re confused. You see, we weren’t a part of this dream of Main St. in America where store owners in striped shirts and hats sweep the sidewalk of their shops and place the OPEN sign in the front window. Once upon a time we were here to be used, now we are to be hidden. Well, we’ve had no place to go. White pastors and white Christians probably won’t understand that either. Our experiences are very different.”

“Keep talking,” Easton quietly urged.

“We might react like a dog that’s just been kicked. We may run away. We may growl. But if you try to feed us don’t expect us to run right up to the bowl so you can feel good about setting out some food.

I hear that out at Disneyland even the scary rides have a happy ending because that’s what American’s want to see. They won’t ever mention slavery or the Civil War, not even on the Tom Sawyer ride because marketers know that Mousekateers can’t deal with that kind of a reality. It would be wakening the public out of a dream. Disneyland is the attempt to make the perfect American city. But Jonathan, we’re not in it.

“Mother, mother. There’s too many of you crying. Brother, brother, there’s too many of you dyin’
You know we’ve got to find a way, to bring some lovin’ here today.
Picket lines and picket signs. Don’t punish me with brutality. Talk to me so you can see.
Oh, what’s going on.” -Marvin Gaye

“

Magical History Tour (Scene 6)

” Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels. Looking out at the years gone by like so many summer fields. In sixty five I was seventeen, running up 101. I don’t know where I’m running now, I’m just running on.
In sixty nine I was twenty one , I called the road my own. I don’t know when that road turned into the road I’m on.
Looking out at the friends I used to call on to see me through. Looking into their eyes I see they’re running too.” – Jackson Brown

Just four months after Woodstock, The Rolling Stones, Grateful Dead and others had hoped to have the Woodstock of the west in Northern California at Altamont Speedway. 300,000 gathered, but it was not to be the love fest that Woodstock was, as violence, disorder, and murder would lead to headlines. Hell’s Angels were paid in beer to provide security. A decision and a result that was symbolic of the time.

Generations are earmarked throughout history with unique characteristics that set its identity apart from others. This American generation would not be identified by its bravery or sacrifice like its predecessors nor by their ability to adapt and survive tumultuous circumstances. Their innovations and contributions would come later and would be debated as to their importance.

Mine had truly been a generation of self absorbed freedoms and expressions. While we criticized Andy Warhol’s Factory, we had nevertheless bought into his Campbell’s Soup Cans and Brillo Pads whether we liked it or not. Consumers. Every generation is on a search, but this generation was being defined by that search. While we distanced ourselves from embracing The American Dream we lived out The American Expectation and were left disillusioned trying to paint with any new colors within our lines. We said that we were going to be the ones that wouldn’t play all of the games, but we found ourselves like rats in the wheel running faster than our fathers.

We never wanted life to become just a series of deadlines, parking meters, alarm clocks, and just missed opportunities. Just before the time that we learned to microwave last nights coffee and shave or put on makeup on the interstate, we had a dream.

Pirates Cove Costa Mesa California

They seemed to come from everywhere along the California coast. They had come looking for love and freedom. Most of them had carried the fleeting dreams of youth and the broken promises of man like a bad tattoo. They had come by the thousands climbing down gently rolling sandstone rock faces that surrounded Pirate’s Cove. It was a gathering of many kinds of backgrounds, and their stories were as numerous too. These were the Jesus People. They were coming home in a sense, but not to their parents religion. Not to sit in pews for sermons, nor did they want to wear a suit and tie and sing, “When the Role Is Called Up Yonder.” The Jesus People were the prodigals of the era, having experienced every philosophy and movement that the culture could throw at them.

“Dan, I hear that all of the shrinks and the transcendentalist are moving out here to make a living off of confused young people. But you come here to become a pastor. You’re so legitimate…I guess.” I said laughing. We walked down closer to the water.

“This is pretty crazy scene here isn’t it?” Dan said. “We’ve decided to call this a mass burial. I really think that your old man would dig it ! Matter of fact, I can see him out in Biloxi Bay doing the very same thing.”

Pirates Cove was a calm inlet that was ideal for wading around in the water, with plenty of room for a good sized group to huddle on the shoreline. Dan and I sat on a rock as Pastor Mike addressed the crowd there before the baptisms.

“I’m looking for someone. I’m looking for someone in particular.. Oh you’re out there somewhere. I’m sure you are. You know that you hear people say that you can have a revival when everyone is together in one accord. That’s true. But God can also change history with just one person. So, are you out there..?
Young brothers and sisters, the Christian life is absolutely impossible to live, but he has called us all to invade the impossible. He will do the work. Not you! Just follow. Jesus doesn’t want strip your individuality and uniqueness or define your life by a bunch of things that you shouldn’t do. This is a dance. Not a march. You’re free to be! So be creative! Be full of praise! Good things! Look for Jesus in every scene and second of the day. He’s for you, not against you. There’s nothing you can do to make God love you any more, or any less than he does. God is love. But he doesn’t love because he has to. He loves because he chooses to love. His love is not born out of need. He’s not needy. His love is a perfect love. Perfect love casts out all fear. We don’t have to perform anymore. Isn’t it freeing to know that you can just be loved! Your search for significance can end now.”

“It’s so noisy at the fair, but all your friends are there.
The candy floss you had and your mother and your dad.
So you say you’re leaving home ’cause you want to be alone.
Aint it funny how it feels when you’re finding out it’s real.
Oh to live on Sugar Mountain, with the Barker’s and the colored balloons.
You can’t be twenty on Sugar Mountain. Though you’re thinking that you’re leaving there too soon.” – Neil Young

Later, Dan showed me the dorm rooms behind ‘Holy Ground’ Coffee Shop, which joined a café next door. The dorms were located in a large building with an expansive common area. Down the hall there were individual showers and rooms with bunk beds that each housed eight people. The west side was for the men and the east side for the ladies. Everything looked clean and well organized. There were various scriptures painted into the artwork on the walls as well as crosses, fish and other Christian scenes and symbols. I unloaded my necessities into a dresser that had stickers across the front that read, “Fly or Fry, and “Get Right or Get Left.”

The Jesus People looked like “normal hippies to me..”, but there was definitely a different vibe here. These guys had a very relaxed, peaceful demeanor that seemed to be a deeply authentic one to me. But I had never seen church stuff done quite like this.

“In a way, the church has needed to leave the building, Mike. You see, anywhere that we decide to get together becomes church. We don’t have to have pews. Beanbags will do. It’s really not a new concept at all. We all simply have to encounter Jesus. We don’t need lectures that empower religion. Some people have been trained to embrace religion just because I guess they think they need to beat themselves up.”

The next morning I awoke to a beautiful sunrise on the California Coast. Dan brought me a cup of coffee out to the deck so we could sit in the warm morning sun and catch up a bit. As we talked about the Ole Miss football season and their Heisman Trophy candidate Archie Manning a small group gathered inside sitting cross legged on the floor along with a couple of accoustic guitars and some bongos as they sang.

“So, what’s the real mission that you are on? “Dan asked.

“Am I on a mission? There’s not a tape recorder that will self destruct in ten seconds around here, is there?”

“No,  Rod Serling’s not about to step out from behind a tree smoking a cigarette with a monotone voice either. But it’s a serious question. You’re on a mission.”

Oh, I’m really just digging seeing some old friends like you and taking in some of this California sunshine and scenery…like the girls. A mission huh?”

“No, it’s much deeper than that. I don’t mean to discount what you said. But Michael, there is much more to this trip, and I believe that you sense it too.”
Ever have one of those scenes come flashing in your life when you ask yourself, who am I, and what am I doing here, and what difference does it make? Even ‘ole Rod would tell you that someday, someone will chisle on our tombstone, BORN on this date, DIED on this date, with only a hyphen between our birth and death. What kind of story will our hyphen tell? Now, let me ask you, how much have you ever thought about prayer..?”

“Prayer? I don’t know. Some. I guess.. Why do you ask?” hoping that he didn’t want for us to have a spontaneous big buddy prayer huddle. Guess I was feeling some dread from the ghost of church pressures past…

“Well, believe it or not, sometimes we’re just walking along then, BAAM, we walk right into the middle of someones prayer. Ever thought about it? It could have been prayed years, even generations ago. Time can’t stop a prayer once it’s been prayed. Could have been a prayer of a  Great Great Grandfather just now coming to fruition but we can become a participant in it. I know that’s what I’ve been praying about. To be a part of answered prayers along the way, because those prayers are out there and they’re active. On this trip, let’s go find out what we’re doing here, right now.”

As we talked, I realized how little I had even thought about spiritual things outside of formality’s and duties. This actually sounded kind of exciting. This trip was only missing one thing, and that was dull moments. Something told me that the trip back to Haight Ashbury was going to be an adventure, unfolding.

“(Dreams)They will vanish away like your dad’s best jeans, denim blue faded up to the sky.
And though you want them to last forever you know the never will. You know they never will…And the patches make the goodbye harder still.
Oh Very Young, what will you leave us this time? – Cat Stevens

Magical History Tour (Scene 5)

“A boy is born in Hardtown Mississippi, surrounded by four walls that ‘aint so pretty. His parents give him love and affection, to keep him strong and moving in the right direction. Living just enough, just enough for the city.
His sisters black , but she is sho’ ’nuff pretty. Her skirt is short, but ‘lawd her legs are sturdy. To get to school, she’s got to get up early. Her clothes are old, but never are they dirty.
Her brother’s smart, he’s got more sense than many. His patience long, but soon he won’t have any. To find a job is like a haystack needle. ‘Cause where he live, they don’t use colored people. Living just enough, just enough for the city.” -Stevie Wonder

`Biloxi
It had now been almost one year since everything had changed in Biloxi Mississippi. On August the 17th, when the nation was riveted to the LaBianca, Tate murders, Camille had come in the blackness of night and dismantled the Gulf Coast, brick by brick with a twenty seven foot storm surge and sustained winds of 200MPH. For a year now, normal society had ceased to function as communication, bridges, airports, and railways had been in a state of ruin. No more classic antebellum mansions lining Highway 90. Families that had crawled out from beneath the wreckage of footings and slabs found that truly, everything had changed. Everything that is, except for The White Citizens Council.

The WCC was still a powerful grassroots political group that had been founded in the Delta way back in 1954. The council was founded by the State Sovereignty Commission or the SSC, through a diversion of public funds. By 1956 they has evolved into the Citizens Council of America, headquartered in Jackson and received funds directly from the State of Mississippi.

Individually, WCC members worked to intimidate anyone who took action at beginning desegregation.  For the few that didn’t accept Mississippi’s version of segregation, the Council used social and economic pressures, even renting newspaper space to publicly list names of individuals.

The State Sovereignty  Commission itself, was another well funded organization with two functions: investigation and public relations. Their investigation policies included developing a network of investigators, spies, and informants to keep the State aware of those the State felt threatened Mississippi’s segregated society.

Under the supervision of ex Governor Ross Barnett the commission investigated any and all civil rights supporting groups or individuals. Anyone with even a hint of aiding was subject to its scrutiny. Later in 1968, under Governor John Bell Williams, former FBI agent Webb Burk was appointed director.

The Commission infiltrated businesses, organizations, and churches. It was a day in Mississippi, where the government ran the equivalent of a secret police force.

What was now happening underneath the gnarled live oaks under the Mission Church tent had become very concerning to the WCC.

“What we’ve all been through in the last year has been really difficult hasn’t it?” asked Rev. Jonathan Easton, looking out on the congregation. ” But through all of this, we finally learned to share our lives together. We’ve worked together hand in hand. Sometimes it takes a big storm in our life to finally allow God to teach us some basics. We might not have ever walked this road without a detour to lead us. So, did I love my neighbor as myself before my roof was blown away. You know I really don’t think I even know what was required. I had always said to God, “You can come this far, and no further!” You see, sometimes we like trendy religion and Christian magnets on our refrigerator door. That makes us feel good. But in the Book of Acts it says that all believers were together and had everything in common. To put it bluntly, they shared their stuff. Unlike the worlds system, the poor are treated with dignity and respect and the weak are protected, the stranger is welcomed, and the marginalized are included in Jesus Christ. But just look what it took to get us to share..
It’s ironic that now many of our children are willingly sharing these days. They’re getting some things right that we might have missed. Sure, they need to experience the love of God but they’re sensing some things that we should have learned long ago. The fact is that this is a season where many seeds are being sown into this ground in which we’re walking. Some good seeds, some bad. This is a unique time in history. We will realize how high the stakes are when harvest season comes. This next generation will shape history. The day in which their generation leads will be a time that will shake this country.”

It was sermons of this nature that concerned the White Citizens Council.

“Jonathan, we have a few concerns that we’d like to talk to you about if you don’t mind.” Howard Butler was a prominent lawyer in Pass Christian and an elder at Mission.

“Jonathan, if I didn’t know you better I’d think that some of the things that you are talking about lately sounds a little bit like socialism. But I’m sure that I misunderstood you. Why, helping your neighbor out is a good Christian thing to do, but this stuff about sharing all things sounds a little bit like Karl Marx to me, Jonathan. It’s not what this country was founded upon John, and we’re just not comfortable with that kind of talk around here.”

“No Howard, you didn’t misunderstand me, but let me be clear. I’m not advocating socialism or communism or any kind of ism. I’m simply talking about generosity. The great thing about God is that he gives us choices. He’s not going to make us share anything with anybody, but we can if we chose to. It’s a great thing if we can do that out of love for our neighbor. But you know, he’ll let us stack our stuff to the sky if you think that will make us happy and it would better serve humanity. Now if the State forces everyone to share, then yeah, that’s a type of socialism. It’s not love that motivates forced giving. No choices in that type either. Mandatory giving sure takes the life and beauty out of it.

See, I would rather freely act on these things now while we can and do it out of love, than to have them imposed on us later because we missed out on what God was telling us to do right now. Believe me, if we get these things wrong now, then the next generation will impose what you fear upon us.” You see, God loves the poor. Let’s participate with him.

Howard Butler frowned, stopped and turned as he was walking away. ” Listen Jonathan, there’s one more question that some of us would like to ask you and that is, “who is my neighbor?” Now, we have three negro families coming here lately that I know are friends of your wife Ellen’s, and that’s fine, but I heard someone say today that they are planning to bring some more friends. You see, the thing is Jonathan, is that they have their churches too. The other elders agree that this could get a little out of hand. We’ve got nothing against them in particular, we just want to keep the peace and order.”

“Howard, let’s talk plainly here. That is the only real issue here, isn’t it? Listen, we have an obligation and will continue to reach out to these poor black families. They’re having to go to all the way to Pasquagula for work now. They are part of this family. If not, then we might as well be the Rotary Club or Lions Club instead of the Church of Jesus.”

Howard Butler stared hard at Jonathan Easton as he moved closer to him he wagged his finger. “John, this kind of talk flies in the face of me, and what my daddy and his daddy stood for.”

Rev. Easton replied, “With all due respect to them and you, there are certain things that are being asked of us right now that we will give an account for. If we get this wrong, we will not only have to answer to God, but we will also have to answer to our children in a generation. I do not want to look back on this particular time when I am old and say, “Yes Lord, I heard what you were telling us, but that was just a really tough thing for me to do.”

Howard Butler lowered his voice, “Listen Jonathan, if they don’t bother us, then we won’t bother them. Do you understand what we’re saying, John?”

“But Howard, it sounds like they do bother you. so what are you going to do?”

The next week proved to be a shocking one for the 260 members of Missions Church.

On Monday night, the Medlock’s house in Ocean Springs along with two other houses in the congregation had rocks thrown through the windows of their homes. Jed Medlock handed Jonathan Easton the smooth white rock with two eerie eyes painted on it. There had been a note tied to the rock with a rope fashioned after a small tight noose. The note said, “Mississippi is a watchin’ you. You don’t wont no more niggers HANGIN’ around here now do you?” The policemen that were sent to fill out the report didn’t seem to be very concerned at all, even grinning slightly.

Then, the Wednesday Night prayer group back in Biloxi were greeted with the words, “NIGGERS GO HOME” scrolled across the side of the large tent in white paint. Everyone just stood there silently for awhile staring at the words, not knowing exactly what to say or do. One of the congregations black couples, Jesse and Ellie Polk, had come to the meeting on that night. Jesse slowly shook his head, stroked his short greying beard and said, “See, I said, they gonna find out. That’s what I been sayin’. I done told Nellie, I say they don’t care if you black or if you white. See, if we be friends, then to them, you as good as black too. We done brought trouble on this here place.”

Nellie wouldn’t even hold her head up to look at anyone. She just stared at her feet and cried. Ellen Easton and a couple of other ladies came over and put their arms around her.

“Miss Ellen, we better get on now”, Nellie sobbed

Ellen Easton with tears in her eyes said, “Nellie, you can go home tonight if you want to, but I want you to know that if you do, that I’m going to go home with you too. We’ll just walk together. I love you, and I’m not going to live like this.”

After a few seconds, many of the other ladies in the church filed in line behind Nellie and Ellen. Then the men nodded to each other and walked over too. Jesse Polk smiled at Jonathan Easton and said, “You know, you guys is crazy.”

Then, the Wednesday Night prayer group walked down the sidewalks of Biloxi, from Kenmore Avenue past the Coliseum to Beavior Avenue singing, to the middle of the black community to pray in the home of Jesse and Nellie Polk.

1969 had been the year that man finally reached the moon, and the Soviets landed Venera 5 on the surface of Venus. The Beatles gave their last public appearance, and it was the year of the first Led Zeppelin tour. Golda Meir became the first minister of Israel and Yassar Arafat was appointed leader of the Palestinian Liberation Organization.

While Midnight Cowboy and Easy Rider played at the theaters, and as we sat to read the Godfather for the first time, under that same moon, blacks and whites were together walking the streets of Biloxi Mississippi hand in hand in the still of the night.