XXXVI

THOU THEREFORE ENDURE HARDNESS, AS A GOOD SOLDIER OF JESUS CHRIST

(2 TIMOTHY 2:3)

PASTOR SAMSON AKA CAPTAIN KIRK

“Hi, Captain Crunchy Bunch,” Sevenia sang as she and Branch Cromwell entered my home.

I was glad to see my sweet young friend returning to her joyful, chipper self. Yet I had been over the mountain and through the woods a few times in my eight decades of life. It had only been three days since she was attacked by a young man who had been a close friend of hers. Said friend also ended his life less than an hour after fleeing the crime scene. I could still perceive pain and confusion in her lovely green-grey eyes.

“Hello, Branch,” I said, smiling at Sevenia’s companion. A ruggedly handsome, tall muscular young man who reminded me of another parishioner named Billy Bob Booker.

Billy had at least seven or eight years on Branch, but both were cut from the same mold. Strong, quiet, earnest, and loyal. There was quite an interesting episode with Mr. Booker. The Lord used him to bring a tough dominatrix prostitute to salvation. Johnathan Embers wrote about it in the e-book, Billy Bob Booker and the Hooker.

I lifted my elbow to Branch and he did likewise. We tapped our funny bones in what was apparently the new, modern handshake. I did it to Sevenia also, and of course, my little pistol had to comment.

“Very hip of you, Cappy,” she giggled.

“Yeah, well, don’t be surprised if I get some bling pretty soon, too.”

“Huh?” she frowned.

“You know, bling, jewelry” I replied. “I figure it will give me swag.”

The youngsters laughed. It was the first time I had witnessed Branch exhibit more happiness than just a half smile. This cheered my own heart. I knew Branch had grown up in a dysfunctional, abusive home. Then talking on the phone with Sevenia the previous day, she informed me of another aspect of his family background, including the occult, satanism, and supposed curses.

Branch’s transformation had amazed me, just as Jeremy’s demise had dismayed me. Before Jeremy went off to college, I had noticed rebellion seeping into his soul. I prayed earnestly and tried every counseling approach I could think of to reach him, but to no avail. On his visits home, I noticed his hardening heart had only intensified. However, what transpired with him and Sevenia, I didn’t see coming. Like Jeremiah declared. ‘The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it? (17:9).

On the flip side was Branch. ‘There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repents.’ (Luke 15:10). A pastor notices more than people realize as he or she sermonize. Just as I watched the light leaving Jeremy’s eyes, when Branch began attending, I witnessed his soul become energized by the Holy Spirit. The human experience is baffling. Even after decades of ministry, I frequently scratch head over life on this fallen planet. ‘For now we see through a glass darkly.’ (1 Corinthians 13:12).

“Now, you said you had something exciting to ask me,” I said.

“Actually, it’s Branch,” Sevenia said, looking at her companion.

“Okay, young man, what can I do for you?”

“Yes, sir,” he said uneasily. “Would you baptize me, pastor, sir?”

“I’d be absolutely delighted!”

“Me too,” Sevenia said.

“Huh?” I responded, surprised. “You’ve already been baptized, Dear One.”

“Not here, not by you,” she said as her eyes welled with tears. “I’ve learned so much more truth since coming here two years ago. You’ve taught me so much about how to live spiritually and not for this world.”

I looked at the ruff scallion little lady who was so dear to my heart. Her ruffled red brown hair and sweet innocent eyes that were becoming rapidly wise to the ways of this sin loving world and its diabolical realities. Her extreme faith in rebounding so quickly from something that I know would  haunt her to some degree for the rest of her earthly life inspired me. I almost felt like saying I have need to be baptized of thee.

“Yes, of course I’ll baptize you, Dear One,” I replied dumbly.

“Great!” She said with enthusiasm. “Down at Cotton Creek, at the bend.”

By the bend, she referred to the place that got about four or five feet deep, just past the rippling rocks of the sanctuary spot. The sanctuary spot was what we called a beautiful place we all liked to go to talk with friends, or simply pray and meditate by ourselves. The water rippled soothingly over a hundred rocks and was canopied by whispering pines. In the last two years, I didn’t know anyone who frequented the spot more than Sevenia. It was also the place where she was attacked by a young man who was supposed to be a trusted brother in Christ.

“Absolutely!” I replied, loving her mind set of looking forward rather than back. She always considered me a mentor. Yet this fresh, beautiful soul called Sevenia Sallie taught me how to not look back at all of my numerous failures and mistakes, especially my chaplain years during the Vietnam war and immediately after. All of the men whose mental and spiritual wounds exceeded their physical. All of the men I feel I had failed.

Only my dear departed wife knew that I disliked my nickname. I don’t even know who started calling me Captain Kirk forty plus years ago. I only knew it was a play-off of a television show I had never watched.  The name just seemed to make its presence known one day and never left. What I didn’t like was the title of an officer. Yes, I was honorably discharged as a Captain after a decade in the army and did my job to the best of my ability. But there were men I had prayed with, counseled with, that had at various points ended their own lives. In my mind, this rendered me a private no class, not an officer.

I turned my thoughts and our conversation to the best remedy. The only remedy. Jesus Christ the righteous. I asked Branch the questions pertinent to baptism. I wasn’t surprised that he answered well, and from the heart. But on the other hand, we know what the heart is capable of. I knew he was smitten with adorable, wholesome Sevenia. I just needed to be sure that wasn’t his main motive in partaking of the ceremony representing the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus our redeemer.

That little pistol Sevenia liked to throw me curve balls, and I liked to swing at them. But she threw me one, and I just watched it blur by and heard the ump holler “Strike!”

“Hey C.C.B., why exactly don’t you like the book you wrote?” she asked.

“What do you mean by C.C.B.?”

“Captain Crunchy Bunch,” she replied with a shrug.

I couldn’t help laughing. But then felt my gnarly old toes curl at the thought of discussing my book. “We’ve been over that before S.S.”

She frowned and scrunched her cute little nose. “Don’t call me that, it sounds like the Nazi’s.”

“Okay,” I chuckled. “As long as we don’t talk about that old book of mine. That was then, this is now.”

“Well, you see, Branch here has read it, and he said it played a part in him coming to Christ.”

Now I frowned and scrunched my cute big nose. Although I did know of others that claimed the same thing about the book helping them. Brock Storm is probably the best example. It seems like for each one it helped, there are five others that it annoyed, confused, or angered.

The odd thing was at the time I wrote ‘A Star Fell From Heaven,’ I felt led by God. Then in the aftermath of my fifteen minutes of fame, I wondered, and still do, if God was actually displeased with it.

“Please, Pastor,” Sevenia pleaded. That little pistol made her eyes as wide as she possibly could and gave a slight pout to her lower lip. I was gonna have to ask her dad how often he gave in to her.

“What do you want to know?” I sighed.

Sevenia looked at Branch and his look petitioned her to ask. “What led you to write so in depth about the war in heaven and the casting out of Satan and a third of the angels?”

“Actually,” I sighed again. “It was mostly the war on earth. The Vietnam war I experienced. Then after the war, my own spiritual conflicts. I saw how vain and pretentious most of religion was. I ended up truly realizing for the first time, the twisted fact, that when God became a man and walked among humanity, humanity murdered Him. And not just humanity, His own people. His own religion.

Before I decided to leave the army in the mid 70’s, I determined that I would never make a living as a pastor. My time as an army chaplain was the only time I was ever paid to be a minister of the gospel. I reconnected with another army chaplain I went through basic training with not long after I returned from overseas. He was from the Des Moines area. We were both going through the same struggles. We both felt like we had been through hell and didn’t know how to minister to peace time, prosperity people.

We started getting together, sharing and comparing stories of broken bloody heroic men. Men that died in our arms crying for their mothers. We talked about the ones that cursed God as they died. We recalled the men we counseled after the war that were bitter or drug addicted, or both.

I remember telling him the story of one young man I encountered. Whose body was mostly blown apart. He had me write a letter to his brother for his fiancée as he died. He told me to say that the fighting was heavy here. I don’t think I’ll make it back home. Tell Sheryl to move on from me, I know how incredibly loyal she is. Tell her to love again and go on with her life. That nineteen year old man died the next day. Jimmy Roth was his name. I don’t know how many times I saw him in my sleep.”

I had tried to block out so much from the war. I was so overcome with emotion recalling this one tragic episode of many, I came out of my chair and went to a knee, then two. I’m ashamed to say I couldn’t control myself. I started sobbing so heavily, I began to topple over.

“Pastor!” I heard Sevenia holler.

Then I felt Branch’s strong arms go around me, keeping me from falling. It reminded me of my favorite picture in the foyer of our church. It was of Jesus holding up an anguished sinner who held the nails and hammer that crucified him. Was it my time?

Regardless, I uttered the words I always did when I looked at that painting and saw myself in the man Jesus embraced. “Thank you Dear Lord Jesus! I’m undeserving of your love and mercy. It was my sins that you died for.”