The congregation I belong to is small and most of its territory is in the rurals. There is one territory in particular that is some distance from the hall and so it does not get worked as often as the closer ones. The people there are physically removed from mainstream and, as a result, have formed their own little culture there.
Now its okay to be poor as long as you do not know that you are. It's only after you find out that it begins to bother you. So poverty's greatest sin is not so much the lack of material things as it is the ignorance that it fosters which imprisons those into which it is born. Up until a few years ago, there were many houses there that did not have electricity or running water. The generation previous to mine had little or no education and the conditions under which the lived was similar to how the poor whites lived immediately before and after the civil war. It was very much, literally a horse and buggy society.
Well now they have come a ways from that but it has been a slow process and they really have not quite caught up with the rest of the general area. Now that general area itself is somewhat behind mainstream America as well so this should give you an inkling of how much fun it is to talk to these people. They say that ignorance is bliss and these people are very happy. I dont mean to be derogatory here but this is the situation. Its still not unheard of to be met at the door with a scowl and told that you will be shot or punched in the face if you do not leave. Granted its not as common a response as it was thirty years ago, but it still happens.
I was my good fortune that day to be working that territory with three other brothers. We pulled up to this ramshackle house that I recognized and my heart sankit was my turn to get the door! The house belonged to one, Henry S. I had been there before with another brother. He had thoroughly tongue lashed the poor fellow whos misfortune it had been to have the honor of giving his presentation.
This man was of the older generation. He had only recently gotten electricity in his house and I think the running water consisted of a faucet at his back porch supplied by a deep well in the back yard. Things were getting better for his wife because he had now bought her a wringer washer and she no longer had to wash their clothes on a rub board after she came back from an eight hour days work at the nursing home. (She also cut the firewood and the grass but he helped by trimming with a weedeater) She still cooked on a wood burning stove but it was much easier now that there was a single, bare light bulb in the kitchen to see by instead of the kerosene lamps. And on those hot, 100 plus degree humid southern nights they now had a portable fan to keep them nice and comfy. So things were looking up for Henry and his wife.
Henry was sort of a paradox. He had a little education but he lived pretty much like his father and mother did. Henry, to my knowledge, never had a steady job in his life. His wife did, but not him. Yet the man was very ingenious and very good with his hands. He could repair almost anything and he built model airplanes from scratch and flew them! He is even reputed to have designed and built an automatic rifle with hand tools. I dont know if its true but its a testament nonetheless as to what others thought of his ingenuity.
I took a long breath and stepped out of the car and, hoping that the man would not be home, I stepped up on the unpainted, creaky porch and knocked on the unpainted, cypress door. My prayer did not work and the man walked up to the door. Our eyes locked and something unexpected happened.
I have made my living for the greater part of my life dealing with the public. I have learned, out of necessity, to read people and their expressions. For me, its instinctive and virtually instantaneous. There was something in his eyes that morning that told me that he was not expecting us this morning and so he had not cocked himself for his usual reply. The look lasted only a fraction of a moment but I saw it and immediately put up my right hand in a defensive gesture and with only the suggestion of a smile on my face I said: "Good morning, Mr. Henry. Weve been here before and I know you know who we are but its my turn and I cant skip any houses." I shut up and watched his expression change from mild surprise to mild amusement. It took him a few seconds to respond. Then he said: "I cant talk to you people, you dont believe in hell"
With that same, semi-smile on my face I responded: "I do." There was a puzzled look that came over his face. "You believe in hell." It was not quite a question but more like a mild challenge. My instincts were serving me well to this point. I replied: "Sure. The only difference between my hell and yours is the temperature." His eyes softened and Im sure that I am the first witness to ever see that man smile. He came out of the house and pointed to some chairs in the yard that were in the shade of some trees. "Sit down." He said. "Lets talk a while"
I had a great conversation with that much misunderstood and often maligned man. He was extremely intelligent and I have never again been confused about the difference between education and intelligence. They are two separate things all together and each flourishes quite well without the other! We spoke to each other as men, each affording the other the dignity of having his views acknowledged and each presenting his side as his opinion based on things observed and read from Scripture. He invited me to return whenever I was in the area. Another first!
Neither of us changed the others view that warm, Saturday morning but we each came away with a different view of each other. I learned something that morning, not about hellfire, but about how to talk to people and I never again went out in field service with my old attitude. I learned to genuinely listen to what others say and I learned that by honestly doing so they would return the favor by listening to me.
Somehow I never again spoke to Mr. Henry. Like I mentioned at the beginning, the territory is out of the way and we rotate it so no one person or group has to make that long trip. He died a couple of years ago. The old house is gone and his widow has a nice, new, modern, air-conditioned trailer in its place now. I know she is much more comfortable in there but I wonder how much of the old house she misses. I wonder if Mr. Henry ever thought about me after that. I know that I will always remember him.
Edited by - Frenchy on 8 July 2002 8:29:54