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Pastoral Calls—Part 3 of 3

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Midnight Encounter

He was tall, well-built, and handsome and as far as I could tell,
If it wasn’t for the crystal meth—intelligent as well.
He was in and out of jail and living homeless on the beach.
He was brazen, loud, and earthy and was slightly slurred in speech.

As a pastor in Hawaii I would meet folks who were brash.
They would walk into my office, often hoping for some cash.
I would offer them a prayer and help them out as best I could,
But I rarely felt our time together did them any good.

But this brazen man was different, he appreciated prayer
And he never asked for money, food, or other clothes to wear
After one or two short visits he decided that I was
Someone worthy of his trust, so he’d stop by . . . well . . . just because.

There were times when he would phone me late at night on my home phone,
And I’d meet him at the church where we would be there all alone.
He pretended he was strong, but he was hanging by a thread,
There were times when I believed that by the next day he’d be dead.

Then one night he rang me up and I drove over to the church.
It was foolish that I went, I should have left him in the lurch.
As we talked, he said his father was Apache. “I am proud!”
He declared and started singing some Apache chant out loud.

When the chanting stopped, he cut loose with a whoop, a shriek and shout,
And I figured that the time had come to see the poor man out.
But before I had a chance to stand, his eyes both filled with tears,
And he wept the way a man will weep who’s had too many beers.

When he stood his body blocked the only exit from the place
And I thought I saw a hint of fear or anger cross his face.
From behind his back he pulled a deadly, full-sized Bowie knife,
When I saw its well-honed edge, I started fearing for my life.

When he said, “I love you, man,” he stood well over six feet tall.
There was nowhere I could go, he had me backed against a wall.
So I said a prayer and held my breath and waited there to see
If he planned to use the Bowie knife against himself, or me.

When he raised the knife into the air I felt my mind go numb.
Then he slowly brought it down and sliced the fat part of his thumb.
“What this means is we’re blood brothers, I don’t have to cut your hand,
For my blood will be enough, I hope that you will understand.”

Then he took a tissue from my desk and wiped the knife-blade clean,
Then he pressed it on his thumb—Was it a nightmare or a dream?
Then he reached into his backpack and pulled out a well-worn book.
“It’s my Bible,” he announced. “Here, let me show you, take a look.

“All my IDs, photos, legal stuff are neatly tucked inside.
Keep it safe while I’m away.” “I would be happy to,” I sighed.
As he left, I laid my hands upon his head and said a prayer,
“May the Lord both bless and keep you till we meet again somewhere.”

Though I searched the prison system and the obits, all in vain,
When he stepped into the night, I never saw the man again.

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James A. Tweedie is a retired pastor living in Long Beach, Washington. He has written and published six novels, one collection of short stories, and three collections of poetry including Mostly Sonnets, all with Dunecrest Press. His poems have been published nationally and internationally in The Lyric, Poetry Salzburg (Austria) Review, California Quarterly, Asses of Parnassus, Lighten Up Online, Better than Starbucks, Dwell Time, Light, Deronda Review, The Road Not Taken, Fevers of the Mind, Sparks of Calliope, Dancing Poetry, WestWard Quarterly, Society of Classical Poets, and The Chained Muse. He was honored with being chosen as the winner of the 2021 SCP International Poetry Competition.

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11 Responses

  1. Roy Eugene Peterson

    This is a mesmerizing story wonderfully written. I was tantalized and spellbound as I carefully read every verse. Thank you for sharing real stories of the commitments and duties of a pastor along with the sense of patience and the value of prayer under trying circumstances.

    Reply
  2. Norma Pain

    James, this very sad, true story had me intrigued, scared and finally weeping. Your rhyme and meter are so perfect which I really enjoy. Thank you for sharing parts of your life experiences and for caring so deeply for people.

    Reply
  3. Paul Freeman

    A real ‘stanza-turner’.

    The open ended last couplet is not an anticlimax, but really leaves the reader pondering on what happens to the people who fall out of our lives.

    Thanks for the read, James.

    Reply
  5. Brian A Yapko

    James, this is a beautifully-written, deeply satisfying poem with a strong sense of narrative, of character, of terror and ultimately of pathos. I have met deeply disturbed men like the one you describe. One can do nothing but lift them up in prayer. Personal kudos to you in your ministry for demonstrating the compassion, the courage and the faith to make a difference in this man’s life — and whether it was short-term or long-term only God can say. Regardless, I have great respect for what you did. Thank you for sharing a compelling poem which would also work exceedingly well as a short story.

    Reply
  6. Damian Robin

    Thank you James for sharing this man’s interactions with you that show the hard/soft nature pastors must have. Strength and compassion.

    Also the open-doors/phones policy you adopted. Being vulnerable in more than the usual emotional sense.

    There’s also the ‘real life’ sense of a ‘story’ without a designed conclusion.

    And neatly written without baroque elements in the middle of jeopardy.

    And devoid of preachy aspects — though seeing the potential for such may be my naive expectations of the public life of a pastor. Knowing you a little as a person I would not expect you to try point-scoring with people — in need or not. But having a job of a pastor is beyond my comprehension. I am glad you have written these poems. Thank you.

    Reply
  7. Tonia Kalouria

    James, this is so wonderfully written — spell-binding, touching — and true.
    Wow.

    Reply
  9. James A. Tweedie

    Thank you all for the appreciative comments. Ministry sometimes lead me into unexpected frontline encounters with hard people and hard reality. Poetry offers me a way to recall and share the experience in a way that distills it down to the core. These poems assume the presence of God while my attempts to live out God’s command to love serves as the motivating factor in my being there in the first place. Although unspoken (or under spoken) the love of God and love of neighbor are, in fact, the greater story that gives meaning to all such stories. A genuine love of God must always lead to at least an attempt to love and uplift others. How to do this wisely in a sinful/evil world is the greatest challenge good people face each day, both on the world stage and in the one-on-one situations retold in my Pastoral Call poems.

    Reply
  10. Cynthia Erlandson

    What an amazingly suspenseful story! And you told it like a master storyteller.

    Reply

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