A Sign From God
A SIGN FROM GOD.
(based on a dream)
by
Clem Mason
(age-11-16)
(wc-1360)
Tommy Myers, team captain, quarterback and star of the eight man team football program at Logan High, suffered a broken leg in the contest against the Panthers and they lost the game to their arch rival. He would be out for the season with little hope of the team winning another game in this tiny, mid-western town.
Tommy’s father, the Reverend Paul Myers had not wanted his son to participate in any sport from the start. In fact, he had preached many sermons on the subject of aggression and dangers of contact sports, However, few parishioners shared his views. But as sermons go, very few listen to the message anyway and even fewer take heed.
The recent injury to his son prompted another sermon on the subject the very next Sunday.
“As you can see in the bulletin, ‘team sports; are they safe’ is the topic of todays message.”
There was a collective groan from the few in the sanctuary. “Yes! We are going to talk again about the dangers of organized football. As you all know, my son suffered a broken leg in our last game Friday night and will be out for the rest of the season. To that I say hooray. Not for the pain and suffering Tommy has endured, but for the fact that I won’t be wondering if my son is going to come home paralyzed for the rest of his life by some freak accident suffered in a violent sport.”
“That’s because you’re selfish,” someone in the rear said aloud.
“Shhh!” Somebody tried to keep the man quiet.
Reverend Paul squinted against the light shining through the stained glass window. “Ah, it seems our brother Daniel Fisher has a question he would like to ask.”
Dan stood up. His wife Phylis, was pulling on his arm. He pulled free of her grip but not without giving her the look. She drooped her head in shame. Dan reached to loosen his tie.
“Paul, I am real sorry about Tommy, but this is really gonna hurt our chances of having a good season. You know that!”
Reverend Paul was silent a moment. “I’m not sure what the question is, Dan.”
Dan cleared his throat. “Well, you know Tommy is our best player and you should be real proud.”
Reverend Paul raised his hand to stop him but then thought better of it.
Dan went on. “With him gone, we don’t stand a chance of going to state.”
“Is going to state that important, Dan?” Paul asked.
Dan looked surprised by the question. “Are you kidding me? Hell…”
Dan grimaced. “Sorry, Paul.” He cleared his throat again. “Nobody likes to lose. You know that. Those boys work hard. The coach teaches them team concept and they learn discipline. When they lose, the whole town loses.
“True, Dan. Now I shouldn’t call…a football fan a war monger, but team sports are a form of aggression,” Reverend Paul said with a smirk.
Dan’s face grew crimson. “Hell, Rev. Why don’t you look in the Bible. Everybody is killing somebody else. Them Hebrews was fightin’ and killin’ all the time; front to back.”
Paul smiled. “Dan, I am real pleased to know you’re reading the Bible.”
There was a smattering of laughter.
Dan shrugged. “Even the apostles were team players.”
“You are right. God did help the nation Israel to fight against their enemies. But we’re not talking about a war here; or the defense of a nation; or a people; or a way of life. We’re talking about a senseless confrontation between young boys who are trained by their coaches to beat the boys on the opposing team. If they injure one of them, then they are praised for defending their goal, The injured player? It’s deemed a stroke of bad luck!” Paul shook his head. “No! I just don’t see any sense in it.”
“As I said, the coaches are teaching that not one player can win. But if they play as a team…”
Paul held up his hand. He shifted uneasily, not enjoying the discussion. This was his church. Why was he being questioned about his sermon? “Dan! What if your son Jake is injured? Will your views change then?” His voice raised. “Yes, I believe they would. When I saw Tommy laying motionless out there on the field, I died a little inside. I prayed for his deliverance. When I witnessed him crying when they put him in the ambulance, I was filled with anger.” He pounded his fist on the pulpit. “I don’t think this is the place to argue our differences, Dan.”
Dan snickered. “Hell, Paul. It was your sermon.” He looked around for comrades among the parishioners and found few. “Why should we have to sit here and listen to yours views and not be given the opportunity to convey ours? I just think you just don’t like being critiqued.”
Paul’s face reddened. His fists clenched. It that moment, he wished he could punch Dan in the face. Then he realized where he was and forced the thought from his mind as best he could, but the resentment still lingered. He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Dan! Please let me continue with my message and I will be glad to discuss our differences after church.”
Dan snorted. “I don’t think so Paul. I’m not going to sit here and listen to your personal views veiled as a message from God. Nobody should.” He turned and walked out.
There were several gasps of disbelief. Then everyone sat in stunned silence.
Hesitantly, Phyliss rose to her feet. She walked to the rear and turned slowly, standing in the open door. All eyes were on her. “I have to respect my husband,” she said softly. She pushed the door closed quietly. The click of the latch echoed in the silent sanctuary. A moment later, several others quietly exited the church; their heads hanging. Reverend Paul ended the service by begging God to give they a sign of unity.
The event more than split the church. It fairly well split the town. A menacing silence filled the streets. The coffee shop where most of the town frequented, remained deserted. The few fans that filled the stadium in the next game, sat on either side of opposition in the same bleachers. The tension was heavy. Neighbors shunned neighbors. There was little cheering from any of them. Of course, their team lost and that didn’t help matters at all. Especially since another player was injured.
They also lost the next game. And they lost another team member due to injury. Reverend Paul’s voice grew stronger: “Show us a sign oh Lord,” he cried.
On the last game of the season, all the town gathered, each sitting on their side of the bleachers according to their convictions. The stands filled equally.
Dark ominous clouds hovered low over the stadium. They stretched as far as the eye could see, creating a silent, gloomy ambience. Even the public address system was noticeably quieter as the Reverend Paul gave his usual opening prayer.
“Dear Lord, we gather to witness this, our last football game of the season. Help us to conduct ourselves in a wholesome, sportsmanlike manner. Watch over and protect and guide those that participate in this game. Please Lord, if you do not approve of this form of competition, let not another injury to one of our boys be Your sign. Amen.”
As the teams lined up for the ensuing kickoff, the clouds began to cover and significantly dim the stadium lights. Thick, dense, rolling clouds of silent protest. Nonetheless, the referee blew his whistle and the kicker approached the ball and sent it straight up into the ominous cloud. Every eye watched it disappear. Then, every eye shifted to watch the ball reappear and descend to the waiting team on the opposite field. They waited…
THE END.
If you liked this story and you feel the poor, old author deserves compensation in his retirement for this creation, please feel free to send $1.00 to Clem Mason, c/o Backwater Publishing. 66021-0213.
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