“Coming
events cast their shadows before them.” ~ Doris Lessing,
Zimbabwean-British novelist, poet, playwright, librettist, biographer and short
story writer (b 1919)
The
Twin Engine DC-3 had flown into position over the fire zone. Making a final
cursory check of my gear, I was suited up and ready to go. We moved swiftly
toward the open door of the plane. At the call from the Spotter out we leapt
into oblivion. Then, it was my turn. “READY?” yelled the Spotter. I nodded my
understanding. “JUMP!!!” he commanded. Out the door I went. “Smoke jumpers
away!”
I
sailed through the air for only a moment; then landed safely on the soft green
grass of my grandparents’ side lawn. My “gear” was my football helmet and an
old knapsack stuffed with cleaning rags served as my parachute. The plane from
which I had jumped was not a DC-3 or a Twin Otter, but one of my grandparents’
apple trees.
The
“Wonderful World of Disney” had run a special segment on “Smoke Jumpers” the
previous Sunday night. The very next day I had started to train for my “new
career” by jumping out of apple trees. From the start, my grandmother had
issued stern warnings about the possible outcome of my latest obsession.
“Jimmie, you are going to hurt yourself,” she cautioned.
But, having been blessed with
more imagination than common sense, I had persisted over her repeated warnings.
In point of fact, I had escalated, seeking out ever-higher perches from which
to launch myself.
Smoke jumpers trained by jumping off a high
platform. The trainer, in the documentary, had stated, “Smokejumpers must learn
to land with the correct degree of relaxation and perform a proper landing fall
to insure a maximum distribution of shock over their entire body upon contact
with the ground.” So I had been practicing “distributing the shock.”
Today I was trying out a new
point of launch from a larger apple tree. This one had a wide ‘V’ notch, 6 to 8
feet off the ground. The ascending branches provided perfect handholds for me
to launch myself into space. I was still trying to perfect the landing to
lessen the impact of the fall. Perfecting the final roll would be the focus of
today’s training.
I began a preparatory rocking
motion. “One, two, three!” Using both hands, I launched myself into space.
Immediately, I knew I had done something wrong. So, focused on the roll, I
started the rotation in mid-air. An instant later I hit the ground, hard,
landing flat on my back. The impact knocked all the air out of me and for a
moment I panicked, unable to breath.
Slowly, air returned to my body
and I started to breath normally. It was only then I realized someone was
standing next to me. I turned my head to the right, focusing on the face. It
was my grandmother. “Are you alright?” she asked. I nodded affirmation that I
was.
“I told you you were going to
hurt yourself,” she scolded. “Now stop this foolishness, come inside and clean
up for lunch.” I dutifully followed her to the house, hoping she wouldn’t
realize my pretend parachute was stuffed with her favorite cleaning rags.
In every sense of the word my
grandmother was a prophet. She had no mystic ability to predict the future, no
crystal ball with which to view future events; instead she approached life with
a kind of common wisdom, seeming to know instinctively when others were doomed,
undoubtedly repeating history, and knowing that insanity was doing the same
things while expecting different results.
Though my boyish enthusiasm and
misguided optimism blinded me to the truth, Grandma knew that jumping out of
trees was not a good idea and would eventually lead to a bad result.
Fortunately for me, I was more scared than hurt, and it had happened sooner
rather than later.
The prophets of the Old
Testament were not much different from my grandmother (though they were all
men). They were not so much predictors as they were commentators. Their message
was pretty much the same as my grandmother’s: “If you keep doing what you are
doing, someone is going to get hurt.” Initially, those who “got hurt” were the
poor, the weak and the marginalized; but the ultimate result was the loss of
power, prestige and wealth – and subsequent exile - of an entire nation.
If Isaiah, Amos, Ezekiel or
Micah were “prophesying” to the leaders of the world today, what might they be
saying? Would they tell us that last night 30,000 children died of starvation
or malnutrition-related diseases? Would they remind us that 80% of the world
doesn’t have decent drinking water? Would they ask why 16% of the world’s
population consumes 85% of the world’s resources? Or might they inform us that
65 billion bottles and cans have been used in the first six months of the year which
have not been recycled.
Prophets are not fortune
tellers, but people who have a gift for stating the obvious, when no one wants
to hear the obvious. The prophets of the Old Testament didn’t predict the
future; rather they bore witness to the presence of God in their history. A history
the world is in danger of repeating.
Dear God: Give me the gift of
prophesy so I might avoid repeating my mistakes of the past.
“Atheism is a non-prophet
organization.” ~George Carlin, American stand-up comedian, actor and author
(1937- 2008)
©2012
James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes
harsh world. This reflection is written by Deacon James E. Carper of Simi Valley, California.
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