We bought a used car recently, a six-cylinder Dodge Intrepid to replace an old eight-cylinder Crown Vic. We had hoped the old Ford would last another couple of years, but gas prices and a balky catalytic converter made us decide to upgrade to better mileage, and the sooner, the better. My guys drive to work and school six days a week. We don’t drive around just for the heck of it. We can’t afford to. I can find everything I need in South Knoxville, and I rarely drive more than fifty miles a week. My gas usage is but a drop in the family fuel budget, which is somewhat strained, these days. Can I get an Amen on that?
Of necessity, I’ve found myself in the County Clerk’s office registering vehicles a couple of times lately, and I observed some things going on there which cause me concern. Allow me to elaborate.
As a properly patriotic and pious American, I am firmly in favor of separation of Church and State, for the protection of both. I don’t want the government messing in my religious practices, and I don’t think it is appropriate for churches to preach politics instead of The Beatitudes and The Golden Rule. I have a hard time believing that God is either a Republican or a Democrat. In fact, I suspect God is non-denominational and apolitical, and She’s very angry with us all, but that’s neither here nor there.
A few months ago, I stood in line at the County Clerk’s office, waiting to register an automobile. I noticed a table in the waiting area. It held a potted plant, local business coupon books, a daily newspaper, a few magazines, and a Bible. That’s right. A Bible in the waiting area of a local government office. Specifically, a King James Version, occupying the spot of honor, up front and center.
Now, we all know that we are not allowed to post the Ten Commandments on public property. Personally, I consider the Ten Commandments good common sense and I think they should be posted everywhere.
Except in government offices.
And in this instance, I don’t see much difference in displaying an excerpt or the complete work. Nor do I understand why someone in the throes of registering a vehicle might suddenly feel the need to consult The Good Book, unless they’ve lied about the purchase price written on the back of the title. If that is the case, they should have wrestled with their consciences before they came to the County Clerk’s office.
I stepped out of line and approached the table. I gently opened the Bible. I always handle Bibles with great respect, no matter where they are. There was a childish scrawl of a name, in pencil, on the presentation page. I looked more closely at the magazines. I realized they were of a religious nature, also, and I picked one up and stepped back in line. I noted that it was locally produced and very badly written. The various contributing writers had been quite careless about things like spelling and grammar. Much of the content appeared to have been lifted from inspirational websites, and passed off as the author’s own thoughts. It took me less than sixty seconds to decide that the magazine’s editor and proofreader were so in name only. Worse, a couple of articles appeared to have been copied, verbatim, from an Adult Sunday School quarterly lesson book. In some circles, that’s called “plagiarism”, and if I’m not mistaken, it falls under the “Thou shalt not steal” category.
When my turn came to pay a lot of tax on an old vehicle that’s changed hands several times, I displayed the magazine and asked the clerk who had left it in the waiting area. She looked me right in the eye and said, “I have no idea. I’ve never seen that magazine before.”
I persisted, saying, “Well, it was up there on the front table, and there are some others just like it there, too.” She shrugged and said, “People leave all kinds of stuff here. That’ll be two hundred and thirty nine dollars.” I bent to my checkbook, and glancing up at her, was surprised to note that she was glaring at me as if I had just done something nasty on her desk. I smiled that little smile of mine, for which my father has a special name. Unfortunately, his term of endearment cannot be repeated here.
I carried the magazine home with me, and after a short perusal and a snort of derision, I decided it wasn’t worth reading. I noted the advertisers in the magazine. Many of them were used car dealers (widely known for their honesty and fair business practices), several Realtors, and surprisingly, a few restaurants which serve beer and/or mixed drinks. I remembered the old joke about money coming from God, even though it might be delivered by the devil.
Recently, I was at the County Clerk’s office again to register the Dodge, my son being unable to be in two places at once that day. He had taken my Chrysler to work, because his new pre-owned car was unregistered, uninsured, and needed new tires before we would allow him to drive it. I looked, and sure enough, there was a fresh stack of the same publication on the same table in the same County Clerk’s office. Right next to the Bible. I picked up that month’s issue, and waited my turn, approached the desk again, and asked if I might take the magazine home to read. The same clerk remembered me and apparently hated me for some reason, or maybe she’s just in a permanent bad mood, but she said, “Sure. You can have it. That’ll be a hundred and ninety two dollars and seventy cents.”
I walked out, considering the astronomical amounts of money one used car can generate for the state, county, and municipality over a period of years. I was also starting to think, “Dang. These free magazines are pretty expensive.” I sat in the parking lot for a minute and studied the latest issue. It hadn’t improved any. In fact, it was worse than the previous one, although there were some pretty interesting coupons for a local chain eatery that serves alcohol, a personal shopping service advertisement, martial arts classes, rare and exotic horses for sale, and Christian counseling classes. A little bit of something for everyone.
I idly flipped to the last page, where I promptly flipped my lid. There it was, the tackiest thing I’ve ever seen. A half-page advertisement for the church that puts out this publication, offering their sanctuary for rent for weddings for only two hundred and fifty dollars! Or, you can have your wedding beside their flowing creek for the same price! I was floored, and I hadn’t yet stepped on the gas pedal.
The church, this holy sanctuary, dedicated to the Glory of God- was FOR RENT! I wondered if they charge the same for funerals? I considered calling them and asking them if they’d let me set up a popcorn and Snow-cone concession in the vestibule, but I’ll bet they’d want a percentage of the take.
I looked at another advertisement for the church and learned that one can get free pony rides at church, on the fourteen-acre horse farm behind the church. I guess I know where those exotic horses are, as the name of the dealer in the ad for the horses seems to be the same as the pastor’s name. Disgusted, I tossed the magazine in the back seat, being unwilling to litter the parking lot with it.
I drove to my insurance agent’s office, where I sat down, produced documentation, and proceeded to wade through the necessary pile of paperwork generated when one insures an automobile. There were three clerks in the office, one woman and two men. I was the only client for a few minutes, until a young man came limping in to make a payment. He seemed to be known in that office, as the female clerk inquired about his health. Was he feeling any better?
I turned to look at him, and he didn’t appear to feel well at all. He said he’d been in the hospital, and upon being discharged, found it necessary to go back to the emergency room, as he was still very weak and nauseous. He reported that his doctor had said he’d probably have to be admitted to the hospital again, if he didn’t improve soon. The woman behind the desk smiled sympathetically, and said, “Oh, that’s just too bad. That can be so dangerous, you know. I hope you get better soon.” Apparently she knew about his troubles.
My curiosity overcame me, and I smiled at him and asked, “What happened? I see that you’ve hurt your knee.”
“I was bitten by a brown recluse spider last week,” he explained. “It bit me on my left knee, and it’s unbelievably painful. I can hardly stand the touch of fabric on it, and I’ve been feeling pretty sick. The doctor said its real bad poison, and they may have to operate to remove infected tissue in my knee. Want to see?”
Well, yes, I did want to see it. I had heard that brown recluse bites caused severe infection and tissue necrosis and I’d never seen a brown recluse bite before. Like I said, I’m curious.
I approached the chair where he sat, and noted his greenish pallor as he gingerly pulled up his left pants leg, exposing his knee, which was truly a horrible sight. It was red, swollen, and there was an egg-sized lump where the arachnid had chomped on him. He said the tendons and cartilage in his knee were inflamed, and it hurt like crazy. He said he was pretty frightened and he thought it would take a miracle from God for his knee to get better. I nodded in agreement and bent to examine his knee and sucked in a shocked breath.
I exclaimed, “Oh, boy! That looks awful!” I encouraged him further by pointing out that he could have systemic poisoning, and he admitted that he did have blood poisoning and the IV antibiotics hadn’t helped much.
“Well”, I said, “If you’ll accept the prayers of an old sinner, I’ll pray that you get better soon.” He said he’d be real glad if I’d pray for him. I returned to my clerk, who had a pile of papers ready for me to sign. I completed my business, said, “Thank you”, and rose to leave.
As I walked past the young man, he extended a hand to me and said, “You said you’d pray for me.” Yes, I agreed; I certainly would pray for him. He beseeched me, “Well, pray right now, please. I need it.” Slightly startled, I glanced at the three clerks in the insurance office. The woman was already holding his other hand, and the two male clerks stood a few feet away, heads politely bowed. I lifted my brows and inquired silently of the woman and she met my eyes, nodded solemnly, and bowed her head, too.
Well, okay. I was going to pray and I was going to do it right now, apparently. I’m never ashamed to talk to God, but I don’t often do it in public.
I took his hand and closed my eyes. Faltering only slightly, I softly addressed our Lord and Savior. “Dear Father, we bring this young man to You. He is Your dear child and You created him in Your image. He needs Your help. We pray for strength and peace and grace and mercy for him, and we ask that You would help us to remember that by Your stripes we are healed. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.”
The other people in the office said a heartfelt “Amen”, and we were done praying. The young man squeezed my hand and said, “Thank you. That was a nice prayer. Please don’t forget me.”
I went home, applied the new tag to the Dodge, and drove carefully to the tire store, where I sat waiting for Michelins to be applied, and mused about the oddities of my day. I offered up another (silent) prayer for the young man, as the guys in the tire shop didn’t seem inclined to pray. I reflected that it was okay to offer a prayer in public if everyone present agrees to it, but it’s best to keep your religion to yourself unless someone asks you to share it with them.
I can think of several Knox County citizens who wouldn’t agree with, or appreciate, open proselytizing in a public taxpayer-supported office. I’m one of them. The County Clerk’s office is not the place to display religious printed material. It’s against the law, and even more offensive if it’s of poor quality.
However, I feel pretty good about what happened in the insurance office that day. I haven’t forgotten you, Randy. I hope you feel better, and there’s no permanent damage to your knee. I’m still praying for you.
I’m also praying that I don’t have to go to the County Clerk’s office again soon. I don’t think I can deal with it.
