It was 1950-something when Grandpa (my grandmother) and I usually went into town on Saturday mornings. I always adored visiting the small Tennessee mountain town where she resided.
Before she bought groceries, we would swing by the local five-and-dime for candy or a small toy. Sometimes, we went to the department store to look at shoes. Grandpa loved shoes as much as I loved candy. But as I look back, we loved each other more than money could buy.
The town square centered around the courthouse where men gathered to whittle and talk about religion, politics, or how the crops fared during the harsh winter. Their pipe smoke filled the air with hazy circles as they tried to solve the world’s problems. And when I was very young, I believed they could.
It wasn’t until the 1950s turned to the early 1960s that I noticed only white folks sitting around the courthouse. In fact, I recall seeing only our race around town.
“Grandpa, why are there only white people here?” I asked her one day as we strolled toward the courthouse.
“Oh, honey, those old men ran anybody that looked or acted differently out of town long ago.” She calmly answered.
“Do you think that it is the right thing to do?” I replied.
Another thing comin’
“Honey, let me tell you something I hope you never forget.”
She continued, “From now until forever, some folks think they are right when they are wrong. It makes ‘um feel better when they believe themselves superior to others. It’s funny that those same old folks head to church on Sunday, study the Bible, and pray for a more righteous world. They often believe their success, power, or even color causes them to rise above others. But honey, they got another thing comin’!”
“What’s coming, Grandpa?”
“Let me tell you a story that will make it clearer.”
“One day, it was burning hot outside. A crowd had gathered to catch the bus. The group included people of all colors and convictions. Some were thieves, many carried weapons, some held handfuls of cash, some were Republicans, and others were Democrats.
The bus was late, and the people grew angry. They began to blame each other for all their problems and woes. They pointed their fingers and began to shout and shove one another. Each person felt their views were correct and thought the other was as evil as the thieves.
Suddenly, a gunshot quieted the group.
What does happen next?
“What happened next?” I asked with my eyes wide open.
Grandpa answered, “Finally, the bus pulled up to the curb. The door opened, and the driver emerged. Without saying a word, the man walked into the throng to find a child lying on the ground. She had been trampled by the enraged crowd and killed by a bullet embedded in her heart. He slowly lifted the little girl into his arms as he studied the eyes of the people around him.
Then he touched the little girl’s chest and healed her, but he didn’t return her to her parents. At that point, the folks recognized the driver as the Lord God himself!”
“Then, The Lord turned to speak to the unruly mob.”
“Didn’t I tell you to put no other Gods before me? Yet, you chose anger, hatred, violence, and politics over me. You selected bias, power, and self-righteousness to be your God. Distrust, doubt, and fear became your armor instead of faith.”
God continued, “This bus goes to Heaven. Do you believe I would only select one race, and only the rich and the influential, to ride in this bus? I was the one who welcomed the lepers and defended the prostitutes. I welcomed all who believed and loved me to my table. Didn’t I ask you not to judge others and do the same?”
He continued, “Do you presume your politics will save your America, or do you believe that following the laws of kindness, inclusion, and compassion is what will make your country shine?”
“You love to hate and feel no guilt by spreading it to others when I commanded you to simply love your neighbor.”
He returned to the bus, closed the doors, and drove away.
“Grandpa, did anybody get on the bus with him?”
“Only the little child.” She softly answered, and I understood.
The 60s are now today. Some things have changed, but what would the Lord say to many who stand in the sun to catch that bus to Heaven? It could be the exact words.
Yet, I know one person who rode with the Lord to Heaven because she lived by her faith. Her name was Grandpa.