The Weber City Auction

The first auction I remember attending was when I was a little boy. It was in Weber City, Virginia and the building is still there almost fifty years later; in fact, I drove by there earlier today. When I go toward Gate City I almost always take mental note of the old auction house, but I never notice it on the way back.

The auctioneer blaring his voice into a microphone that he seemed to have swallowed, there were escalating bids here, there and everywhere for whatever it was he was selling. Going once, going twice…Sold! Then it all would start over again with the next item. Quite the entertainment to a small boy who lived by the river on a rural road; attending the Weber City auction was better than going to town on Saturday morning.

The only rule dad imposed on me was to not scratch my nose or ear or anything else while inside the auction house. He didn’t want to have to pay for whatever I might have bid on by scratching something. He and Mom bought a piece or two of furniture during one of our few visits there, but mostly we went to have something to do.

The best day was when Dad bought for me a medium sized cardboard box full of cast off toys, including a mechanical robot man with gears and gears and gears of different colors behind a clear plastic exterior. That was a great day. But it only lasted a little while, that best day.

The worst day was about a week later when I didn’t stop playing with the noisy mechanical robot toy after Dad’s third or fourth warning and in a quick moment he picked up the amazing robot man thing and threw it with some force into the cardboard box and busted it. It landed with a ringing clatter and never worked again. Right away he was sorry; but he could never apologize for anything so he let me feel like it was me that broke it—my fault. Of course, I should have stopped playing with it when he told me to stop. But I was a kid with a new toy, after all.

Anytime I remember the Weber City auction, I recall that mechanical robot toy and dad breaking it in the cardboard box as I sat on the floor in the doorway of the hall closet.

If there is a lesson here it might be this: all dads need to remember that their kids may very well remember things long after they’re gone. If dads mess up and in an angry fit break their kid’s amazing mechanical robot toy that came in a cardboard box of junk, they should apologize for losing control and doing something they really shouldn’t have—a little like the excited, engrossed kid who wouldn’t stop playing with the mechanical robotic toy thing when he should have.

Dads are sometimes overgrown, misbehaving boys. Take a breath and think. Your kids are watching all the time. And sometimes the woman who gave them birth is watching, too; it never hurts to impress her any time you can. –TSA

Right Verse, Wrong Chapter

Long ago in a county not far away a Baptist church sprang up. Anyone could tell it was a growing concern from all the cigarette butts on the ground near the back door. Between Sunday School and the worship service, a cloud of white smoke would rise as the saints lit-up all at once.

One family of five attended and seemed very happy to be part of the church. Of the three children, the youngest was a boy about ten. He was constantly misbehaving, often sticking his face in the midst of various women’s chests and hugging them, and the parents routinely did nothing to teach him better. After many incidents of such totally unacceptable behavior, his parents were taken aside by the pastor and one of the leading men and asked to do their duty as parents and regain control of their son. The parents reacted badly, at least as badly as their son.

The boy’s father was startled that anyone would be so bold as to point out the elephant in the room, but the wife was enraged out of her mind. Her claws shot out and she gave the men a good cussing and told them that her precious little son’s behavior was none of their **** business. The men insisted that the boy’s behavior must be reined in and corrected if the family intended to continue attending the services. It was their duty to discipline their son and their duty to seek the good of the church. She told the men to go somewhere besides heaven and that her family would come to church as they pleased and that nobody had better say a word to their son. Ah, yes; life among the saints!

Right away the church acted to apply basic church discipline to this situation. Mama changed everybody’s mind and they never attended again. The man did like many men do. He stood with his hands in his pockets and every now and then said, “That’s right” and “You tell ‘em, Honey,” as his wife ran her filthy mouth. They did send the church a silly letter threatening legal action and made a few unfriendly phone calls to the pastor and a few others. Needless to say, the man and woman refused to submit to any sort of church discipline; and that was that.

As part of the church’s attempt to deal with the matter biblically, Jesus’ words in Matthew 18:15-20 were followed to the best of the church’s ability. This Scripture reference was recorded in the Minutes of the congregational meeting. But it was recorded incorrectly; an innocent mistake. The right verse was referenced but from the wrong chapter. So instead of Matthew 18 the church record referred to Matthew 17:15-ff, which begins, “Lord, have mercy on my son, for he is a lunatic…” Everyone had to suppress themselves. Some of us ‘lost it.’

It might not have been the spiritual thing to do, finding humor in such a mistake, but it was hard not to at least smile.

As fitting as that Scripture might have been, it was not actually used to justify the church discipline. After all, it was not the boy’s fault that he had ungodly parents that refused to obey the truth and to teach him well. Almost needless to say, that whole family reaped the fruit of rebellion against God’s truth. No one was happy to see things happen as they did, yet no one was terribly surprised when all three of their children soon rebelled beyond all control. Another family ruined through pure folly. –TSA

Deception Hurts Worse

They say the truth hurts; sometimes it hurts a lot. Ah, but deceptions hurt so much worse. Falsehood impersonates truth and some heart is misled and carries on with confidence in something untrue or, at least, not to be depended on.

Surely, we do ourselves a great favor to remember often that this is indeed a fallen world. Adam’s Fall in Eden (and our Fall with him) followed closely upon the serpentine utterance of deceptive words and lying promises. And ever since, “the wicked…go astray from birth, speaking lies” (Psalm 58:3). Truth has become a casualty in this world, suffering daily a thousand wounds at the hands of smiling ‘friends.’

“Remove far from me falsehood and lying” (Proverbs 30:8a ESV). These words are from the only prayer recorded in the Book of Proverbs. This is the first of two things asked for; the second request is for material adequacy in life, as he asks God to sufficiently supply enough of life’s good things, but not too much—and there is such a thing as too much (see Proverbs 30:8b-9).

The first desire of that wise man was that God would not permit him to traffic in falsehood (outright untruth or truth set forth in untrue colors) or lying (willing deception by false words or unfaithful dealing). He would not become a liar by any definition. Having prayed for virtue, he also asks for Heaven’s protection from those who might victimize him by deception or lying. And this request was put ahead of his asking for food, clothing, housing, health, riches or any other earthly prosperity. First and above all he wishes to be preserved from deception and lies, even from their near vicinity—he wants those things to be far away from him and no part of his life.

Almost always after deception, sooner or later, the truth becomes evident; the deceived person cannot help feeling that he played the fool or was played for one. Sometimes the fault is ours for being foolishly unsuspecting; we rightly blame ourselves for being insufficiently wary in this fallen world.

Then we may misjudge people at times, believing them trustworthy when they are not. Often we trust too quickly, too much, too unreservedly. Some twice-burned children still play with fire. As hurtful as ‘getting burned’ can be, it seems too cynical and hopeless a way to live to never trust anyone for anything. But it truly is a fallen world and it is a long way down from the high-wire on which we stand when we trust. It is a high-wire act of sorts, how to navigate whether and just how much we may safely trust even the people we should be able to trust implicitly. Beneath the high-wire, is there a net? I don’t see one. The more we trust, the higher the wire and the farther we may fall. Broken trust, broken bones, broken hopes, broken hearts.

Unkindness and Deception are partners. Unkindness gives aid to Deception, as a strong breeze lifts the sails and drives a ship forward. Deception declares that Unkindness is never unkind. Unkindness says Deception is very often misquoted and more often misunderstood. These two always travel together with Unkindness leading the way.

For citizens of the heavenly Jerusalem, love for truth in word and deed is the Shibboleth—and we can pronounce it correctly. There is no place for Unkindness and Deception in our tents or in our streets; let them be slaughtered at the fords of the Jordan. If we let these enemies live, then no one will be safe, “but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live” (Romans 8:13 ESV).

“Speaking the truth in love” is and always will be the hallmark of a citizen of Zion. Surely deceptions and lies burn like acid on a true saint’s tongue. In this way let us live, “…having put away falsehood, let each one of you speak the truth with his neighbor, for we are members one of another” (Ephesians 4:25 ESV). “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:32). And so we pray with him who prayed before us, “Keep deception and lies far from me” (Proverbs 30:8a NASB). –TSA