So Tipton was kind a famous for a spell. Everybody wanted to get a look at him. Women carried him food over to the jail. Men went to talk to him about the meanin’ of life and death, him being so intimate with both. It made him a expert, I suppose. He held the hand of the Reaper and come back to tell about it. He seemed happy and content. And he begun to talk a lot. He said he was lookin’ forward to the next hangin’, wantin’ to get it over with.
“Boys!” I remember him sayin’, “I done what I had to do, ya’ll know I did.” He had the look of a wise man. “And Heaven seen the debt was paid.” He took a deep breath and looked at us with a deepness in his eyes. “What’s right is right. They ain’t none of us can fight it, you know we cain’t.”
It was hard to argue with the boy. He was lucky.
So the clock moved on and it come time for the hangin’. The townspeople marched along beside Tipton as he made his way to the scaffold. They was singin’ hymns and laughin’ and cheerin’. Tipton smiled so sweet you hardly noticed those missin’ teeth a his. He seemed happier than he been his whole life.
Tipton Lange stepped up to the noose and the Sheriff slipped it ‘round his neck.
“We should count it down!” Someone yelled this from the crowd. It may a been Pete Conroy again. Tipton nodded his head, givin’ his approval.
“Five!” screamed the crowd, clappin’ their hands, whistlin’ and shoutin’.
“Four-Three-Two!” they bellowed, a strong wind beginnin’ to rise up and lift their hair from their foreheads. Clouds filled the sky, blottin’ out the sun. A feelin’ of revelation was in the air.
“One!” screamed the crowd, with wild and joyful abandon. Women begun to faint and men stared wild eyed, upward, at Tipton Lange, sweat pourin’ down their faces, as the Sheriff pulled the lever that released the trapdoor.
Tipton fell without a trace a fear on his face and stopped, a course, halfway to the ground. His body twitched a few times, then it begun to spin slowly in a circle. The crowd was shocked quiet. You could hear the wind blowin’ through the town.
He looked like a old broken watch hangin’ from a chain.
The people drifted on home, whisperin’ quietly, walkin’ softly. I helped the Sheriff take the boy down. There was only us two beside the Preacher.
Anyways. ‘Twas my job. Somebody had to lift him into the ground.
THE END
Peace to you.
© LW Publishing 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
Lucky (pt3)
At the trial, that prosecutor said a lot a things like: “The law is the law,” and, “With clear premeditation, Tipton Lange murdered Thomas Bradshaw in cold blood,” and, “The jury must remember that their personal feelings must not get in the way of what they know the truth to be! The jury must remain impartial and remember that a life has been taken against every law known to mankind!”
They knowed Tipton killed Bradshaw anyways. They didn’ need nobody to tell ‘em. And that’s the way it come out in court. Sure, they felt sorry for the boy, but they couldn’ deny Tipton killed Bradshaw.
Tipton’s lawyer was ‘pointed by the court. He didn’ have much to say ‘cause there wasn’ much to say. No one blamed him.
So Tipton had to hang.
They built up the scaffold and sent the preacher in to talk with the boy. Tipton repented of his sins and walked with the Sheriff, quietly, to be “hung by the neck until dead.” But when they tried to hang ‘im, the rope broke, just like I already told you. So the Sheriff sent the deputy to the store to get another’n, and they set the boy up to be hanged all over again.
You wouldn’ believe it, but it’s true: The second rope broke too.
Everybody was stunned into silence for a moment or two. Then somebody shouted out, “It’s a miracle!” The crowd begun to yell and clap their hands. They started chantin’, “Innocent! Innocent! Innocent!” The Sheriff just scratched his head. He was rightly dumbfounded. But he got everybody to quiet down and said he was goin’ to have a talk with the Judge. So everybody went home and Tipton went back to jail, a hero of sorts.
The Sheriff talked it over with the Judge and the lawyers and, from what I heard, the Judge was goin’ to let Tipton off. They sentenced him to hang and they done it. Twice. So he served his sentence. But the prosecutin’ lawyer was proud of his conviction and he pointed out how Tipton was to hang “until dead.” He argued and quoted the laws, left and right, ‘til the Judge went along. I imagine he was tired of listenin’ to the windbag.
But the Judge made that lawyer agree that if somehow Tipton wasn’t killed in the next hangin’, they was to let him go free.
TO BE CONTINUED...
© LW Publishing 2010
They knowed Tipton killed Bradshaw anyways. They didn’ need nobody to tell ‘em. And that’s the way it come out in court. Sure, they felt sorry for the boy, but they couldn’ deny Tipton killed Bradshaw.
Tipton’s lawyer was ‘pointed by the court. He didn’ have much to say ‘cause there wasn’ much to say. No one blamed him.
So Tipton had to hang.
They built up the scaffold and sent the preacher in to talk with the boy. Tipton repented of his sins and walked with the Sheriff, quietly, to be “hung by the neck until dead.” But when they tried to hang ‘im, the rope broke, just like I already told you. So the Sheriff sent the deputy to the store to get another’n, and they set the boy up to be hanged all over again.
You wouldn’ believe it, but it’s true: The second rope broke too.
Everybody was stunned into silence for a moment or two. Then somebody shouted out, “It’s a miracle!” The crowd begun to yell and clap their hands. They started chantin’, “Innocent! Innocent! Innocent!” The Sheriff just scratched his head. He was rightly dumbfounded. But he got everybody to quiet down and said he was goin’ to have a talk with the Judge. So everybody went home and Tipton went back to jail, a hero of sorts.
The Sheriff talked it over with the Judge and the lawyers and, from what I heard, the Judge was goin’ to let Tipton off. They sentenced him to hang and they done it. Twice. So he served his sentence. But the prosecutin’ lawyer was proud of his conviction and he pointed out how Tipton was to hang “until dead.” He argued and quoted the laws, left and right, ‘til the Judge went along. I imagine he was tired of listenin’ to the windbag.
But the Judge made that lawyer agree that if somehow Tipton wasn’t killed in the next hangin’, they was to let him go free.
TO BE CONTINUED...
© LW Publishing 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Lucky (pt2)
See, Bradshaw killed Tipton Lange’s daddy. We all knowed he done it. And he didn’ mind us knowin’. But there was no way to prove it ‘cause he was too smart to do it in front of any witnesses. He wanted Tipton’s daddy dead, and Mr. Bradshaw always seem to get what he wanted.
Daddy Lange had got a loan from Bradshaw. It was pure foolishness, but there you go. And, odd thing was, nobody knowed what the old man did with the money. Some say he gambled it away but, whatever he done, when it come time to pay Bradshaw back he didn’ have it. It was like he wanted to die.
Bradshaw warned Tipton’s daddy to pay up or else. It was a matter a pride. He threatened him right in front of Tipton. But nobody else was there. And when
Daddy Lange was found dead, shot four times in the chest, Bradshaw had a air-tight alibi. Three men, all cronies of Bradshaw, said he was with them the night of the murder. So nobody could prove he done it, even though we all knowed he did.
You’d think Tom Bradshaw woulda rather had the old man alive so’s he might get his money back. But most of us figured he must a just killed him for the fun of it. To show he could. To warn the rest of us. And I could believe that of Bradshaw. There was just somethin’ bad about him, underneath all that charm, and nobody could give a reason for it if they tried.
Well. Two days after his daddy was buried, Tipton rode up on his horse to the middle of town, in front of God and everybody. He slid down off his horse and, before Bradshaw could say a prayer, the boy pulled out a gun and shot the man dead.
Four bullets in the chest.
Everybody seen him do it. The boy was dumb about the whole thing. The only way he pulled it off is Bradshaw never figured him to do it. He thought him a coward. Maybe he was.
The Sheriff come out and put his hand on Tipton’s shoulder. Tipton already dropped the gun in the dirt. Tears were crawlin’ down his face. He looked tired.
The Sheriff moved him, gentle like. He walked behind him all the way to the jail house. Tipton never said a word. He went real quiet.
TO BE CONTINUED...
© LW Publishing 2010
Daddy Lange had got a loan from Bradshaw. It was pure foolishness, but there you go. And, odd thing was, nobody knowed what the old man did with the money. Some say he gambled it away but, whatever he done, when it come time to pay Bradshaw back he didn’ have it. It was like he wanted to die.
Bradshaw warned Tipton’s daddy to pay up or else. It was a matter a pride. He threatened him right in front of Tipton. But nobody else was there. And when
Daddy Lange was found dead, shot four times in the chest, Bradshaw had a air-tight alibi. Three men, all cronies of Bradshaw, said he was with them the night of the murder. So nobody could prove he done it, even though we all knowed he did.
You’d think Tom Bradshaw woulda rather had the old man alive so’s he might get his money back. But most of us figured he must a just killed him for the fun of it. To show he could. To warn the rest of us. And I could believe that of Bradshaw. There was just somethin’ bad about him, underneath all that charm, and nobody could give a reason for it if they tried.
Well. Two days after his daddy was buried, Tipton rode up on his horse to the middle of town, in front of God and everybody. He slid down off his horse and, before Bradshaw could say a prayer, the boy pulled out a gun and shot the man dead.
Four bullets in the chest.
Everybody seen him do it. The boy was dumb about the whole thing. The only way he pulled it off is Bradshaw never figured him to do it. He thought him a coward. Maybe he was.
The Sheriff come out and put his hand on Tipton’s shoulder. Tipton already dropped the gun in the dirt. Tears were crawlin’ down his face. He looked tired.
The Sheriff moved him, gentle like. He walked behind him all the way to the jail house. Tipton never said a word. He went real quiet.
TO BE CONTINUED...
© LW Publishing 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Lucky (pt1)
The religious folk in town figured God had spared him and would continue to do so. A quiet few figured it was the work a the Devil. I just figured he was lucky.
The first time they tried to hang him, there was a loud snappin' sound, like a whip, when the rope broke in two. He went through the door of that scaffold, screamin’ his head off, and he kept on screamin’ after he hit the ground. His eyes was closed tight and it took him a few seconds to realize he wasn’ dead. But he finally stopped his rantin', opened his eyes, and looked at all of us standin’ there, his mouth still hangin’ open like he had somethin’ to say.
He didn’.
The Sheriff pulled his gun, thinkin’ it might be somebody tryin’ to set the boy free. But it was no conspiracy. At least none we could see.
The crowd broke out in a loud rumble of amazed conversation. Tipton Lange – that was the fella they was tryin’ to hang – he begin to laugh like a crazy man. It was one of the strangest things I ever seen. Nobody knowed what to do.
The Sheriff went over to Tipton and picked him up by the arm to get him on his feet. He pulled the noose from 'round his neck and tossed it on the ground.
Someone in the crowd yelled, “God don’t want this man hanged!” I knowed the voice. It was Pete Conroy. Pete testified for Tipton at the trial, but the prosecutin’ attorney shook him up and made him say the wrong things. Pete growed up with Tipton, they been friends since they was too young to remember, so he had a interest. He shouted, “Tom Bradshaw deserved to be killed!” And maybe he did. But the lawyer knowed a lot of big words. He said, “It is for God to determine whether or not Mr. Bradshaw deserved to die. It is only for the jury to decide whether or not Tipton Lange did the killing.”
And everybody knowed Tipton done it. I seen it myself. I was there.
TO BE CONTINUED...
© LW Publishing 2010
The first time they tried to hang him, there was a loud snappin' sound, like a whip, when the rope broke in two. He went through the door of that scaffold, screamin’ his head off, and he kept on screamin’ after he hit the ground. His eyes was closed tight and it took him a few seconds to realize he wasn’ dead. But he finally stopped his rantin', opened his eyes, and looked at all of us standin’ there, his mouth still hangin’ open like he had somethin’ to say.
He didn’.
The Sheriff pulled his gun, thinkin’ it might be somebody tryin’ to set the boy free. But it was no conspiracy. At least none we could see.
The crowd broke out in a loud rumble of amazed conversation. Tipton Lange – that was the fella they was tryin’ to hang – he begin to laugh like a crazy man. It was one of the strangest things I ever seen. Nobody knowed what to do.
The Sheriff went over to Tipton and picked him up by the arm to get him on his feet. He pulled the noose from 'round his neck and tossed it on the ground.
Someone in the crowd yelled, “God don’t want this man hanged!” I knowed the voice. It was Pete Conroy. Pete testified for Tipton at the trial, but the prosecutin’ attorney shook him up and made him say the wrong things. Pete growed up with Tipton, they been friends since they was too young to remember, so he had a interest. He shouted, “Tom Bradshaw deserved to be killed!” And maybe he did. But the lawyer knowed a lot of big words. He said, “It is for God to determine whether or not Mr. Bradshaw deserved to die. It is only for the jury to decide whether or not Tipton Lange did the killing.”
And everybody knowed Tipton done it. I seen it myself. I was there.
TO BE CONTINUED...
© LW Publishing 2010
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Cowards
I recently chaperoned a field trip with my daughter’s second grade class to the Henry Ford Museum. I had four of the kids with me and they were absolutely great. Kids ask a lot of unexpected questions that help you see things in a different light. Kids are good for that. And at one point we were in the civil rights section of the museum, which is now my favorite exhibit. It is way excellent. If you haven’t seen it, you should. Anyway. As we were making our way through, we came across a mannequin with a full Ku Klux Klan outfit on. It was in a large glass booth – the pointed hood, the robe – creepily staring out at us, and one of the kids asked, “What’s that?”
I responded without thinking. It was automatic. I said, “That’s a coward, kids. That’s what a coward wears who wants to do really mean things to people, but he’s too much of a coward to let them know who he is. He hides behind that mask and outfit.”
The kids just nodded, totally getting it. I didn’t have to explain any further.
This got me to thinking about cowards, about how they like to hide behind things. They hide behind flags. They hide behind laws. They hide behind women and children. They hide behind lies and they even hide behind the smiles on their own faces while they twist the knife.
Most dictionaries will tell you that a coward is a person who is afraid to die or afraid of pain. Don’t you believe it. That is a horrible definition. It is a massive over simplification. That’s not being a coward at all. That’s being normal. The desire for life is built into us. Even Jesus didn’t want to die. He didn’t want the pain of the cross. Why? Because, even though he was fully God, he was still fully human. But he was no coward.
A coward is different than that. A coward is a person who lets fear or a lack of character drive them to do something immoral or unkind or ungodly. They lack the courage to do what's right. A coward hides his true intentions. A coward manipulates others. A coward puts you down behind your back. A coward is afraid to do the right thing when it’s not convenient. A coward won’t recognize his or her own children. A coward is afraid to believe the truth because it doesn’t do for them what they want it to do. A coward is brave about all the wrong things. A coward won’t carry a cross, even if it means saving the whole world.
Here’s something I know: I don’t want to be a coward.
When my grandmother died, the funeral was held in Tennessee. We went down for the funeral and while I was at the funeral home I was looking at the flower arrangements. I found that one of the arrangements was sent by the KKK. Why? I have no idea. Family connections? Who knows. What I do know is that my grandmother loathed the Klan. She knew they were evil. She had told me so herself. She didn’t have a bigoted bone in her body. So, in outrage, I told the funeral director to remove the flowers and throw them away. I was astounded that they would put them there in the first place. They had dishonored her with their misguided attempt at civility. It was madness to me that flowers from cowards would adorn the casket of one of the most brave, kind, Christ-like people I had ever met. She had just faced cancer and lost. She had been afraid, but she was no coward.
I’m just saying. For those who hide behind masks to do their evil – for those who abuse and neglect, manipulate, hurt or slander others while hiding behind a smile or a cause or a Bible – be aware: in the book of Revelation, the “cowardly” are listed among those who will be thrown into the Lake of Fire.
Peace to you?
© LW Publishing 2010
I responded without thinking. It was automatic. I said, “That’s a coward, kids. That’s what a coward wears who wants to do really mean things to people, but he’s too much of a coward to let them know who he is. He hides behind that mask and outfit.”
The kids just nodded, totally getting it. I didn’t have to explain any further.
This got me to thinking about cowards, about how they like to hide behind things. They hide behind flags. They hide behind laws. They hide behind women and children. They hide behind lies and they even hide behind the smiles on their own faces while they twist the knife.
Most dictionaries will tell you that a coward is a person who is afraid to die or afraid of pain. Don’t you believe it. That is a horrible definition. It is a massive over simplification. That’s not being a coward at all. That’s being normal. The desire for life is built into us. Even Jesus didn’t want to die. He didn’t want the pain of the cross. Why? Because, even though he was fully God, he was still fully human. But he was no coward.
A coward is different than that. A coward is a person who lets fear or a lack of character drive them to do something immoral or unkind or ungodly. They lack the courage to do what's right. A coward hides his true intentions. A coward manipulates others. A coward puts you down behind your back. A coward is afraid to do the right thing when it’s not convenient. A coward won’t recognize his or her own children. A coward is afraid to believe the truth because it doesn’t do for them what they want it to do. A coward is brave about all the wrong things. A coward won’t carry a cross, even if it means saving the whole world.
Here’s something I know: I don’t want to be a coward.
When my grandmother died, the funeral was held in Tennessee. We went down for the funeral and while I was at the funeral home I was looking at the flower arrangements. I found that one of the arrangements was sent by the KKK. Why? I have no idea. Family connections? Who knows. What I do know is that my grandmother loathed the Klan. She knew they were evil. She had told me so herself. She didn’t have a bigoted bone in her body. So, in outrage, I told the funeral director to remove the flowers and throw them away. I was astounded that they would put them there in the first place. They had dishonored her with their misguided attempt at civility. It was madness to me that flowers from cowards would adorn the casket of one of the most brave, kind, Christ-like people I had ever met. She had just faced cancer and lost. She had been afraid, but she was no coward.
I’m just saying. For those who hide behind masks to do their evil – for those who abuse and neglect, manipulate, hurt or slander others while hiding behind a smile or a cause or a Bible – be aware: in the book of Revelation, the “cowardly” are listed among those who will be thrown into the Lake of Fire.
Peace to you?
© LW Publishing 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Snow Angels
I think I was around 7 or 8 years old. I was playing at my friends house, across the street from where I lived, and it was right after one of the deepest Lower Peninsula Michigan snowfalls I’ve ever seen in my life. We were climbing up onto his garage and jumping off into the snow – poof – and it was no problem, like landing on cotton. It wasn’t really that far of a fall because the snow was so deep.
At one point we decided to make snow angels. We fell back onto the snow, staring up into the cold, gray Michigan sky. The snow was so deep, we were sinking pretty far in as we did this. These angels were deep. And there was something hypnotic about laying there, moving arms and legs, together, apart, together, apart. I drifted off into that place we go when we stare at nothing.
When I came out of my angel shaping reverie, my friend was gone. I wasn’t sure where he went. It was a little confusing. I called his name, wondering if he had somehow gotten buried in the snow. But he didn’t answer. So I went to the back door of his house and knocked. He came to the door, pushed through the door roughly, punched me in the face and went back into his house, closing the door behind him. I tried to ask him why he did it. He wouldn’t answer the door.
This was my first encounter with random violence. I have encountered a lot of it since then. It never gets any easier to deal with.
I went home, crying. My nose was bleeding. Like always, his mom fought with my mom about it and they kept on fighting long after we had made up and were sneaking off to play where they couldn’t see us.
He told me later that I had kicked some snow in his face while I was making my angel. He went into his house to dry off his face and his big brother said something like, “You’re not going to let him get away with doing that to you are you?” So he felt obliged to punch me in the nose. Which is how many people operate well into “adulthood.”
The angels melted. I survived.
Peace to you.
© LW Publishing 2010
At one point we decided to make snow angels. We fell back onto the snow, staring up into the cold, gray Michigan sky. The snow was so deep, we were sinking pretty far in as we did this. These angels were deep. And there was something hypnotic about laying there, moving arms and legs, together, apart, together, apart. I drifted off into that place we go when we stare at nothing.
When I came out of my angel shaping reverie, my friend was gone. I wasn’t sure where he went. It was a little confusing. I called his name, wondering if he had somehow gotten buried in the snow. But he didn’t answer. So I went to the back door of his house and knocked. He came to the door, pushed through the door roughly, punched me in the face and went back into his house, closing the door behind him. I tried to ask him why he did it. He wouldn’t answer the door.
This was my first encounter with random violence. I have encountered a lot of it since then. It never gets any easier to deal with.
I went home, crying. My nose was bleeding. Like always, his mom fought with my mom about it and they kept on fighting long after we had made up and were sneaking off to play where they couldn’t see us.
He told me later that I had kicked some snow in his face while I was making my angel. He went into his house to dry off his face and his big brother said something like, “You’re not going to let him get away with doing that to you are you?” So he felt obliged to punch me in the nose. Which is how many people operate well into “adulthood.”
The angels melted. I survived.
Peace to you.
© LW Publishing 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Easter Song
Some of you know I've been writing songs for churches for many years now. For this holy day weekend, I thought I'd keep it simple and just post the words to one of my Church songs, written for this Holy Day. It's a simple song called...
I WANT TO KNOW YOU
© 1999 DJM MUSIC
You lift me in my weakness
You take these bones and make them live
You place Your hand upon me
You cause my heart to beat again
So I want to know You Jesus
In the power of Your rising
And the fellowship of sharing
in Your sufferings
You lift me to the heavens
Before Your throne I boldly go
You give me life and meaning
And this life will never end
So, I want to know You, Jesus
In the power of Your rising
And the fellowship of sharing
in Your sufferings
Peace to you.
© LW Publishing 2010
I WANT TO KNOW YOU
© 1999 DJM MUSIC
You lift me in my weakness
You take these bones and make them live
You place Your hand upon me
You cause my heart to beat again
So I want to know You Jesus
In the power of Your rising
And the fellowship of sharing
in Your sufferings
You lift me to the heavens
Before Your throne I boldly go
You give me life and meaning
And this life will never end
So, I want to know You, Jesus
In the power of Your rising
And the fellowship of sharing
in Your sufferings
Peace to you.
© LW Publishing 2010
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