A.E.

I strode up to the man not knowing what I'd say. There were many things I intended to say. But each idea was vying to be first in line. Even more complicated, each of the ideas were interconnected- yet, also capable of standing by themselves. My mind was whirlwind.

Typically, my mind worked in words. Thoughts and ideas came as a manuscript. But this session had a profound impact on me: interspersed amongst the typical words and phrases were pictures. Pictures that would later haunt my sleep. The child's face was smashed- that much was clear. My automatic assumption was that car accident had occurred. As *Joan, told me her story, I realized that something much worse caused this destruction to her son's face: a father's ferocious fist.

Interestingly, I wasn't perturbed with the father. In fact, I'd seen this coming weeks ago. My case notes wouldn't reflect this but I'd been encouraging Joan to take the children and leave for months. The classic signs were all there- the kids showed up wearing long sleeved shirts in 85 degree summer weather, they layered clothes, they were wetting the bed again...and the wildly outrageous explanations I heard. It's never fair to expect children to lie to cover up their abuse- but if you're going to do it, at least give the kid a believable story.

Now, at last, Joan had gone through with it! She left the bastard. But she still couldn't feel safe, and I couldn't savor the moral victory. What she told me next shook me in a big way. And, in a flash, it was clear what I needed to do: it was time for a house call.


*************************************************************************************

I walked past a huge crucifix as I crossed the threshold into the church. I grabbed a crown of thorns from atop the cross.

I heard a voice from across the atrium. "Can I help you, son?"

This was the moment I'd been waiting for. Words, pictures, and feelings scratched to come out first. It was an internal melee the likes of which I'd never experienced. All at once there was an endless possibility of things to say and no tongue to say them with. I struggled for words as I covered the distance between us.

"Son?"

And then I reacted. In a blur, I put the crown of thorns on his head with one hand and hammered down a fist with the other. The thorns jabbed deep into my hand and deep into his brow. He let out a scream as he fell back to the ground.

"Yeah, you can help me. The next time you tell a member of this congregation that it is a sin for her to leave her husband, I want you to remember something: you are not God. It is not your job to pass judgment on anyone. From here on out, that job will be up to me. I will be the judge."

Having said what I needed to say, I turned and left.