The Eleventh Epistle

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Encounter
With a Drug Abuser.

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DATELINE: Sunday, January 14, 2001.
By Rev. James R. Bingham

Special to corndancer.com
Posted from Memphis, Tennessee

The encounter happened some months ago. I relate it now because several issues raised during the encounter have resurfaced, incrementally, to challenge my perspective on what was, what is, and what is to be.

Some of the issues goaded me, a fine minister of the gospel, to analyze predestination. I asked myself, Has God already written, directed, and produced the script for an individual's life? Is He the grand puppeteer? Are we the puppets, dangling at the end of His strings with no true choice of movement?

True, we are His design, but has every movement been choreographed to respond methodically and rhythmically to a score conducted by the skilled hands of a Master Puppeteer? Forbid! Forbid, I say!

Has God strategically positioned the forces of good across a metaphorical table from evil? Has He given each side an eschatological challenge in his ethereal game of chess? Each move is timed to an omniscient clock. The winner takes all souls. Who wins if good prevails in the match? Who wins if evil prevails? Surely God won't lose. It is His grid, His rules, His board, His clock, His Queens, Kings, Rooks, Bishops.... No matter what side of the table. But I get ahead of my tale, perhaps. I was thinking of the drug abuser.

We Were Quite
The Heavenly Band on Earth!

I love Sundays. I recall a particular Sunday now. After worship service, several members of the congregation, my spouse, and myself visited one of the local All-U-Can-Eat places. We were a fine bunch, including one minister who accepted his calling to the ministry under my guidance. His spouse and two little boys accompanied him. Another minister and spouse were there, more little ones, a deacon and his wife: We were quite the heavenly band on earth! We sat and talked about the sermon, chided each other, and allowed a few remarks, close to gossip, to tease our itching ears. It was a Sunday like most every other Sunday, no different from the norm.

As a gospel minister, I have a certain standard of dress to uphold, and on this Sunday, I did it well. I wore a finely tailored brown suit that complemented my slim physique. The brown shoes, shined with paste and spit, felt like cushioned foot covers, warm and supportive. I maintained the stiff, dry-cleaned collar of my white shirt by constantly adjusting my neck in a way as to suggest I was a humble, yet majestic representative of the royal court. The collar gave way to a paisley green silk necktie that accented the suit's color. I looked like a well-groomed giant, a gentleman and a scholar, a connoisseur of fine haberdashery, quite articulate, with a breeding of high intellect, sitting up in an All-U-Can-Eat place.

I noticed different individuals looking in the direction of our table. Quite vainly, I ignored their stares, but acknowledged them by remaining proper and "in character." I enjoyed the dinner. In fact, I felt good!

As I said, this was just a regular, ordinary Sunday. I mean, every day is a day that the Lord has made. We should be glad and rejoice in it. In doing just that, everyone relaxed in their conversation and ate like they were storing food for the winter.

Someone Caught My Arm
And Pulled Me Back Inside.

We finished our dinner. We men relaxed and loosened our belts. We had stored enough food to sustain us through a long winter. Then, as if we all knew that the next step would be embarrassment from frequent trips to the rest rooms, we all decided that it was time to go home. As I went out the door of the restaurant, someone caught my arm and pulled me back inside. I heard him say, "Revr'nd."

As I turned around, I caught glimpse of my family and friends continuing to the parking lot. Then I faced the person who was holding my arm. He was a young man, about twentyish, short and stocky. He had a light-complexioned, determined looking face with evasive eyes that pleaded at each moment of contact. I leaned my head forward and over to see his face and his eyes, but he kept avoiding my direct vision. His mouth seemed to hardly move when he spoke.

"Revr'nd?" the man said as he slowly released my arm. I responded in an embarrassingly indignant manner, slightly shrugging my arm.

"Yes, Sir?"

He apologized in a hurried voice, "I'm sorry for grabbing you like that. I want to talk to you." He seemed almost desperate.

"Of course," I replied, lifting the sides of my suit coat and placing my hands in my pants' pocket. I inadvertently jingled the keys in my pocket and said, "What's your name?"

"Oh, no Sir, not here. I see you are with your family. But I want to give you my telephone number and my address. My name is James. I need to talk to a preacher. I see you in here quite often and I've seen you on television. I like the things you say. I don't want to hold you up, but I do need to talk to somebody and you seem like you'd listen."

He gave me a piece of paper. I couldn't decipher his handwriting without his clarification. He said, "It's an apartment complex near Crump Boulevard and Third Street." I looked up and said, "I know where this is. What time will you be there?"

"About eight. I've got a couple of things to do, but I'll be there. I promise, I won't waste your time."

I Speculated
They Were Having Marital Problems.

"No problem," I said. He turned and went back into the eating area. I watched briefly to see him return to his seat beside a rather attractive young woman. The young woman looked as if she had been crying. From where I stood, her eyes looked bloodshot. I speculated that the young man and his spouse were having marital problems and needed some counseling.

I rejoined my family and friends. No one mentioned the young man. They were all smiles, bidding adieus. I kept thinking, while getting into the car, about how strange the encounter seemed. Resolving to meet with the young man, I turned the ignition key and drove home.

At home I told my wife I would be back in a short while. She stopped alongside my door and asked, "Is anything wrong? Let me come with you?"

"Remember the guy that stopped me at the restaurant?" I asked.

"What guy? We came straight out. I didn't notice."

"Oh, well, that's okay. Everything is fine. I'll see you in a short while, a couple of hours."

An Angel Is Sent
To Deliver a Message
From the Holy Spirit
To Two Wandering Souls.

I watched her go inside. My mind, however, was troubled over the urgency with which the young man had approached me. I was also a bit concerned that she didn't acknowledge my brief encounter with the young man. God works in mysterious ways. I concluded that I had been positioned as an angel to provide some message from the Holy Spirit to two wandering souls. I'm a preacher of the Gospel; what else could I think?

I drove right up to the apartment. The door was already open. I called out, "Hello!"

"Come in Revr'nd," a voice from inside said, "Have a seat. You are early. I'll be right there."

I stepped in and looked around. It was a small room, dimly lit through a partially curtained window by the light of the descending Sun. There were no pictures on the wall. A small television sat in the corner of the room on a plastic milk crate. There were doors leading to adjoining rooms on either side of that corner. The only other furniture was a card table, two iron folding chairs, and two more milk crates.

I sat in one of the folding chairs. I could see the television. The sun had just about gone down. I could smell the leftover odor of incense. It wasn't a fresh odor. It was more like the burnt smell that remains after the stick of incense had been out for a time.

I placed my elbows on the table and lowered my head into my clasped hands. I began to slowly rub my head, with hands clasped, from the forehead over the top of my head toward the back to the neck.

It Didn't Take Long
Before the Problem Was Identified.

"I'm sorry for taking so long." I heard someone say, pulling back the chair across from me. Quickly, I raised my head. It was James. I didn't see from which room he came. "It's only seven o'clock," he continued. "I thought you would be here later."

"Oh, is it only seven?" I said, "I guess I didn't really gauge the time. And you did say you had a couple of things to do." I reached into my coat pocket, starting to get up. "Here's my card. We can always talk at a time when you are ready. Just call me."

James took the card. "Reverend Bingham," he said, still looking at the card, "there is no time I'm going to be ready. Have a seat. I've got to tell somebody. So, let me start by saying, I smoke drugs." His expression was quizzical. "I don't know. I don't want to do it. I don't get anything out of it. All I do is spend my money and smoke. I get high, but then, that's it."

I sat back down, leaned against the back of the chair, and clasped my hands in my lap. James kept talking. "I hope you are not one of those preachers who just pretend to be a preacher. You know. I'm not trying to disrespect you. But some preachers don't really be preachers. What I mean is, can you deliver people?"

I wasn't quite ready for that question. I hardly had time to allow his words and the evidence of his apartment to connect. I know it's not always the right thing to do, but I took in what I saw and what I heard and made inferences. I couldn't help it. There were no pictures, a tiny TV, no furniture to speak of. I gathered he was trying to tell me that crack cocaine had taken over his life.

I struggled for a response. I spoke as I cleared my throat, "Well, James. No man can deliver you. Only God can do that. I'm just..."

I Have Seen the Devil. It's Me!

"Yeah," he interrupted. "I know. That's why I wanted to talk to a preacher. I think God is trying to tell me something." He adjusted the iron chair, leaned forward, and said, "I've done a lot of things in my life. Some bad, but a lot of them good. I used to be in the church. I mean, I used to really be in the church, but, I…. guess…. I got mixed up with the wrong crowd. Now, now, I know how that sounds. It sounds like what they call the proverbial excuse, 'mixed up with the wrong crowd,' but I mean it. Wait! Before you say anything, I want to say something. I have seen the devil. It's me. I see him in the mirror. I think I am possessed."

I tried to think of some scripture to relate to him. That's what we are taught to do. We're taught that every aspect of your life can be directed and enlightened by scripture. The Bible, as some of my zealous cohorts of doctrine have put it, is BIBLICAL INSTRUCTIONS BEFORE LEAVING EARTH.

I carried my Bible with me, but I couldn't find it. Where was it? Then I remembered. It was in my inside coat pocket. It was a small, black, eight-inch, handheld, slender King James Version with very small print. I reached for it and began thumbing through the pages. I couldn't settle on any passage. But one did come to mind. I shouted it: "Be strong in the Lord and in the power of His might!" It was a passage from Ephesians, chapter 6, verse 10.

Years have taught me many things. My own experience with drugs was more of a confirmation that illicit drug use is more damaging to the individual than any of today's political, social, or economic problems. Slavery to drugs affects one's personal politics, one's social standing, and one's economic stability in the most devastating of ways.

I looked into James' eyes. They no longer darted away to avoid mine. He looked directly at me, almost into me. His eyes were big and excited. I was unnerved. It appeared that a scene from one of those Exorcist movies was coming to reality right before my eyes. "Are you high, now?" I asked him.

The Frying, Crackling Sound
Of the Crack Cocaine
Hit Me Like a Fire Alarm.

"Yes!" he laughed. "I'm always high. I was high when I saw you today. Do you want to try it?" He pulled up a glass cylinder with a tar-stained stuffing at one end. He held it to his mouth and lit it with a handheld butane lighter. The frying, crackling sound that roared in response to the flame hit me like a fire alarm.

"Hold it!" I said. "That's not any good." Then I shouted, "Be strong in the Lord and in the power of his might!"

James continued to ramble about some things I couldn't quite understand, "I've seen a lot of things. Beautiful naked women, who wanted to do whatever I wanted them to do, simply for a hit. But, there were times when I wanted to go visit people, or even take care of what I thought was very important business, but I ended up smoking. I've been to Rehab three times, but I always start again. What's wrong with me?"

The door to the right of me, just left of the small TV set, started to open. James, looking quickly to his left, then back at me, announced, "That's my wife. I started her to smoking."

She Was Nude!

His wife, the young woman from the restaurant, came from the back room. She was nude! She moved to the edge of the table, leaned forward, and said in a sultry voice, "You can have anything you want, Revr'nd." The stench of incense, perfume, and perspiration that oozed from her irritated my nose. I wanted to sneeze. She reached for the glass cylinder, but James held it back from her.

I began to pray out loudly. "Lord, what have I gotten myself into now? I glorify and magnify your Name. I beg you to help me now. Help me to rebuke this evil spirit and release me from this hold."

"James?" I said, looking as stern as I could while avoiding the presence of the young lady, "This is not what you want. God is trying to tell you something. You've got to listen. This is not about getting high. It's not about spending your money. It's about your faith in deliverance. Didn't you ask for deliverance?"

"Yeah, but it won't help me. Right now, all I want to do is get high. I mean, I don't want to, but I can't stop. I want you or somebody to help me. I want help."

Restore Him
In the Spirit of Meekness.

"Then seek it, man. Seek it." I was talking as hurriedly as I could. I wanted him to recognize the need to overcome. I knew how drug rehabilitation had failed so many people. I wanted to scorn and scold him, and recommend that he go back to Rehab, but I remembered a scripture, Galatians 6:1, "Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual, restore such an one in the spirit of meekness; considering thyself, less thou also be tempted."

I began to pray again with my eyes tightly shut. I held my breath at times and breathed sparingly. "Lord, I glorify your name," I said aloud, "you have given many of your servants power to overcome. I'm asking you now to give me strength. This young man and this young woman are gripped by one of Satan's familiar spirits. Free them! Free them!"

I felt the young man had played a trick on me. For some reason, it appeared that the twisted nature of the drug's impact drove him to capture and engage a man of God in smoking drugs. It came very clear in my mind that he wanted to experience a strange victory over my faith in God. A voice in my head confirmed this. It said softly, "There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus..."

I remembered it. It was from the book of Romans. I knew I had the victory. I dared not let a trick of the streets get the better of me. Not this time. So, I calmed myself, relaxed and said, "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do."

I opened my eyes, turned my Bible to Romans 8 and read verses 1 and 2 aloud, "There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus hath made me free from the law of sin and death."

To my surprise, the young woman ran from the room. She said, "I don't feel too good. I'm going to get dressed and lie down."

"James, ...James?" I called out. I looked at him. He didn't move. He had fallen asleep in the chair. Just like that.

The Glass Cylinder
Fell from His Fingers.

Was this a victory? The glass cylinder fell from his fingers to the floor and broke in two. The small TV set fell, with a loud crash, right on top of the glass cylinder, completely smashing it. James woke up, startled, and said, "Thanks, Revr'nd Bingham. I don't know what happened, but I don't think I'll do this again."

I looked at him. Without saying a word, I got up from my chair. I turned for the door. It seemed so far away. I went toward it, but my steps seemed weighted. At last I made it and stumbled over my own clumsy feet to the car. I hadn't noticed when I first arrived, but the grass was almost knee high. The car door was unlocked and partially opened. I was thankful. It meant less time to be there. "Praise the Lord!" I said, "What a Sunday!"

I don't remember the drive home. I just remember lying down on the living room sofa and falling asleep. My wife, shaking my shoulder, awakened me. "Are we going anywhere else, because, if not, I'm going to get undressed. Now take off these shoes."

"What time is it? How long have I been back?" I asked her.

She looked a little puzzled and said, "It's a little after 7 o'clock. We've been back about ten minutes. I thought I'd let you get in a nap. You ate like a pig. Isn't gluttony a sin?"

I felt disoriented. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Was it all just a dream? I don't think so. I say that because of one thing. I could smell a faint odor of incense on my hand.

God Allows
The Expression of Free Will
Amidst the Paradox of Predestination.

It's been several months since that ordeal. I have been blessed and challenged on several occasions since then. I've had experiences in the church, and on the streets, with Christians and non-Christians. I constantly remind myself that God is nurturing and developing me. What rattles me, sometimes, is the knowledge that He is not through with me yet.

My friends, only when you face a challenge do you realize whether or not your faith is real. I believe I summoned the strength to overcome. The right scripture came to mind. God said to one of his prophets that he was not to worry about what to say, that when the time comes he would put the right words in his mouth.

Is it all part of a script? Has it all been choreographed? Is this another move in the big chess game between good and evil? Whatever it may be, I know it is all for God.

I think it's a matter of choice of which side you are on, the good side or the evil side. I think God allows us Free Will amidst the paradox of predestination. Good or evil may triumph in a particular battle, but God always wins the war. His reward, given to those who endure to the end, is fashioned by the life they chose. Evil is rewarded with eternal damnation. Good is rewarded with eternal paradise.

I chose the side of good.

I think the Psalmist said it best, Psalm 37:34: "Wait on the LORD, and keep his way, and he shall exalt thee to inherit the land: when the wicked are cut off, thou shalt see it." Be strong in the Lord and in the power of His might!

Give God Some Praise!!!