The Murder of Jerry Cisco

He was bigger and stronger than Jerry Cisco and he beat Jerry Cisco to death.  He beat him with his fists in what had been, up ’til the end, a fair fight.  He beat him so hard that Jerry Cisco was lying there on the ground semiconscious.

He found a plank, picked it up, and swung it harder than I'd ever seen anybody swing anything, unless maybe it was a batter trying to hit a ball.  With that one swing, he killed Jerry Cisco.  Cisco was a no-account; an outlaw who'd picked the wrong fight.  Up ’til then, everybody knew you didn't mess with Jerry Cisco. Now he's dead, and these nine-year-old eyes saw it happen.  Me and a lot of other boys witnessed a murder that Saturday afternoon.

It's Sunday morning and I'm at church with my mother, father, grandmother, and grandfather.  On Sundays we always go to church.  Our preacher is Brother Akers and every Sunday he's mad about something.  I'm sitting in my Sunday school class with the other boys my age and we're listening to our teacher tell us that we need to pray for the Cisco family; that Jerry Cisco doesn't need us to pray for him because he's in heaven.   But Jerry Cisco is in hell and we all know it; every single boy in my class knows it.  If outlaws can get to heaven, the pressure's off the rest of us.

Sunday school's over and I dutifully trudge to the auditorium where I sit with my family.  In a few years they've promised that I can sit towards the back with my friends and not with the family.  The hymns are over and Brother Akers is striding toward the pulpit.   He's angry again.  The carnival has come to town and it always brings its special sins, a few of which Brother Akers has chosen for his weekly tirade.  I secretly think that he's glad when the carnival comes; it gives him an opportunity to exercise his righteous indignation. The carnival fuels his anger.  We all know he's going to beat us up this morning, like always.

We'd been taught from the cradle that the way you made it to heaven was by believing in Jesus and trying to follow His example in living a clean and moral life.  It was a simple message, one that we heard preached from the pulpit every Sunday morning and every Sunday night; and every revival preacher who passed through Black Oak repeated the message loud and clear.  We heard it at SS, at Wednesday night prayer service, and at VBS. It was in our music, our devotionals, our literature.  It was straightforward, unwavering, and without loopholes, compromise, or wiggle room.

And anyone who did not accept Jesus and live a Christian life simply went to hell.  That's where Jerry Cisco was, along with the devil and Judas Iscariot.  Brother Akers shows no signs of stopping soon; I lay my head in my mother's lap and go to sleep.  She wakes me up when the service is over and we shake hands at the back door with Brother Akers as we leave.*

Eight years have passed and I'm sitting away from the family now, just like they promised.  I'm also sitting a good number of pews away from Brother Akers who hasn't changed a bit except that his sin lists keep growing.  We still get our verbal beatings every week, but here we are all sitting clothed and in our right minds, enduring it one more of the many times.  I think that if Brother Akers said those things he's saying to somebody on the street, they'd knock him flat.

As I've grown older, I've wondered about Brother Akers's anger.  I wonder if it's real because, after the sermon, he stands at the back door and kisses babies and shakes everybody's hands as they go by, eager to beat the Methodists to the cafeteria.  One minute, he's yelling at us, the next minute, he's at the back door acting like a normal person.  He's a pulpit Cinderella, except it's noon and not midnight when he changes back to normal.

For my 17th birthday, my father gave me a new leather-bound Bible.  I've never had one of those before. Brother Akers is wound up again today; he's found a new sin at the carnival this fall.  There's something about a new Bible.  It's like my uncle's new car; it's got that aroma to it that says, "I'm new."  It's better than my mother's perfume, which makes me wonder if Brother Akers will one day add perfume to the sin list.

I'm leafing through my Bible, and I'm in the gospel of John where so many of the words are in red.  My father tells me that those are the words of Jesus.  As I rummage through John, I'm thinking of all the Bible stories they've told me here at church.  I see John 3 and there's Nicodemus and in the next chapter is the woman at the well that Jesus met.  I think she'd probably go to the carnival if it came to Samaria.

Brother Akers isn't close to the finish line, so I know that the usual twenty verses of "Just as I Am" are a ways away.  I'm still turning the pages when I come to John 6 and verse 40 catches my eye.  It's in red and it says, "For My Father's will is that everyone who looks to the Son and believes in Him shall have everlasting life, and I will raise him up in the last day."

I've memorized John 3:16 and this verse sounds a lot like it.  I start to think about those two verses.  For some reason, the words really hit me.  Jesus says, "believe."  He says if anyone "believes," they'll "have everlasting life."  Right then.  Everlasting life right then when they believe.  I look at it again and there's no "believe and live a Christian life" in there anywhere.  I recheck John 3:16, and, sure enough, it's not in that verse either.

Then it hits me that there's no "unless" in the verse, like "everyone who believes in Me has everlasting life unless he goes to the carnival," or "unless he lies," or "unless he smokes," or "unless he murders somebody."

Brother Akers is yelling at us now, just like he always does sooner or later.  Somehow, I can't see Jesus yelling the Sermon on the Mount.  The church bought Brother Akers a microphone like he wanted.  My father told me that was a blood-letting business meeting that embarrassed almost everybody who was there when they discussed getting that microphone.  I wonder if our sound system isn't good enough for Brother Akers.

But, no matter that Brother Akers is up there yelling; I'm thinking about what I'm reading.  Something's not adding up with what I've always heard and what Jesus is saying.  I wonder about this and decide that I'm going to read on.

But something's making its way down the pew and coming towards me.  They're passing it from hand to hand.  A piece of paper.  Folded tight.  It's got my name on it.  I open it and see that it's a note from Jenny who's six teens down the row.  I look to my left down the pew and she's smiling at me.  She's always had the bluest eyes.

I close my new Bible and open the note.**

Dr. Mike Halsey, Pastor
County Line Church

 * Adapted from "A Painted House," by John Grisham
** Luke 8:11-12