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Pastor’s Weekly Email
November 6, 2008
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mailto:scotpeg1@earthlink.net
SENTENCED TO THE CHAIR
It was a summer day in
Bluefield, West Virginia. I was only about four years old.
My father was raised in Bluefield and spoke fondly of his
years growing up amidst the grassy hills and wooded glens of
the surrounding countryside. His father and mother still
lived there at the time, and so we made a sojourn from
Sanford to this lovely West Virginia community. It was so
much cooler there, I remember thinking, and no mosquitoes.
My father was a high school biology teacher, so this was the
ideal time -- during summer break -- to take a trip to see
all his family in that area.
I don’t recall how it
came about, but at some point during that nice visit at
grandma’s house, where nothing bad should ever happen and
where you should always get your way -- that is the main
point about being a grandparent, is it not -- well, somehow
my grandmother determined that “little” Scotty needed to
have his hair trimmed for church on Sunday. Now, my father
was my barber. He was the only one I had ever trusted to
come at me with those squealing clippers that sound like the
roar of a commercial jet at take-off. He was the only one
that I had allowed to wrap a towel around my neck and pin it
so as not to get itchy hair over my little bared-chest.
Cutting my hair was about a two minute undertaking – five
swaps with the clippers and it was all gone, and in no time
flat I was outside romping with my friends again. After all,
it was the mid 1950’s and the Beatles hadn’t arrived in
America yet. Long hair was in the distance future. Every
boy wore a crew-cut or the more stylish flat-top, which is
just a crew-cut with a few long hairs left in the front to
stick up straight with the aid of some hair wax. Well, at
least that is how my father did a flat top. All boys
basically looked the same in those days, the sun reflecting
off our shaved heads. In the class picture it was hard to
tell one boy from another. It was easy for dads to cut
hair in those days and save the cost of a barber. But on
this particular, fateful visit to grandma’s house, where
nothing bad should ever happen to cute grandchildren, she
decided that I needed to have a haircut before we went to
church on Sunday. Of course, clippers are not something that
a father normally carries in his suitcase on a long trip,
thinking that at some point he is going to have to shave the
head of one of his kids. So, the only recourse was the
barber. My own grandmother had sentenced me to the
“chair.”
I immediately balked
at the idea. I brooded over it the entire walk from my
grandmother’s house, where nothing bad should ever happen to
cute grandchildren, to the barbershop. I felt like a “dead
man walking” or better yet, a “dead kid walking.” And then
we arrived at that place where a twirling red and white pole
indicated that my fate was now sealed. I couldn’t imagine
some stranger coming at me with a pair of scissors in his
hand, but my time had come. It was unbearable, the thought
that I was in an unfamiliar place permeated by the smell of
cigar smoke and sweat, and allowing someone I had never met
before to place me in “the chair” and hold me captive where
there seemed to be no escape. And then it happened; he came
at me with sharp pointed scissors like a surgeon ready to
perform brain surgery. I didn’t want to end up a zombie!!!!
I defended myself – I screamed to the top of my lungs, “I’m
being killed; I’m being killed!” The tears began to flow
like the mighty Jordan and I filled that barbershop with the
torment that only a four-year-old can dish out. My poor
father; he was only doing a favor to his mother who wanted
her grandson to look nice for church. But I was unrelenting
in my wailing and scissor dodging. The poor barber; what a
way to make a living. All he was trying to do was put food
on his table, but I made those moments in that chair “barber
hell.”
Needless to say, I
didn’t get a “store bought” hair cut that day. My father
apologized for my behavior and then took me home to
grandma’s and never took me to a barber again. He cut my
hair until I was a teenager. It was, however, always a day
to look forward to because it was time spent with my dad. As
a matter of fact, my first barber haircut came after the
Beatles arrived in America and I had a job where I could pay
for the cut myself.
It is amazing how that
memory keeps rushing forward every time I need to go for a
haircut. It reminds me of how debilitating fear can be to
life and how it can rob us of some wonderful life
experiences. Fear of the unknown is common in children and
will often produce the results I have shared in this story.
When, however, we as adults face the unknown, fear can be a
paralyzing force that prevents us from taking positive steps
to remedy the situation. Fear of risking ourselves can rob
us of meaningful relationships. Fear of sharing can rob us
of liberation from the shackles of unhealthy emotions and
feelings. Fear of change can rob us of exciting new
possibilities yet to be discovered. Have you ever noticed
how often in the angelic annunciations in the Bible the
angel will begin by saying, “Fear not!” They knew how
destructive fear is and how it robs us of hearing the “good
news” that is being offered about life.
Matthew 14 tells the
story of the disciples in a storm tossed boat on the Sea of
Galilee. They are gripped with fear. Suddenly Jesus, who
had been ashore praying on a mountain and now knowing their
distress, comes walking to them on the water. The scripture
says that the disciples didn’t recognize Jesus and thought
that it was a “ghost.” Matthew says, “They cried out in
fear.” But Jesus spoke to them saying, “Take heart, it is
I. Do not be afraid.”
In the storm tossed,
fear-filled, uncertain seas of our lives, may we hear Jesus
speaking those words, “Take heart, it is I. Do not be
afraid.” May we be reminded that Jesus is present and
loving us and strengthening us so that we can live the
abundant, fearless life that God desires for each one of us.
COMMENTS:
Scotpeg1@earthlink.net
FRIDAY VIDEO SERMON
BLOG:
www.vscottharris.com
IRELAND 2009 -- INFORMATION
MEETING -- Nov. 9th at 2:30pm
Peggy and I will be leading
another educational travel opportunity next year as we take
a group to Ireland from November 2-12. A wonderful way to
learn of Ireland’s importance to faith and civilization is
to read the book, “How the Irish Saved Civilization” by
Patrick Cahill. We will have an informational meeting about
the trip on Sunday, November 9th at 2:30pm in the
Sanctuary.
SERMON FOR SUNDAY:
Firstfruit Giving: Bringing
God Your Very Best
Proverbs 3:9 |
