Things Aren't Always as They Seem

The year was 1973.  I was a new creation, having professed faith in Christ at the age of nine.  The revival at our church that began a few days after my decision set the stage for memories that will be with me for life.  Freddie Gage... Pulpit in the Shadows Ministries...straight from Houston into small town America and I was all eyes and ears as the revival began.

Sunday morning, I took my place conspicuously on the front row, directly in front of the pulpit.  I now realize this was my parents’ doing because they both sang in the choir.  From that distance, I was still able to receive an effective dose of the ‘look of death’ from the choir loft that would put an end to the inappropriate behavior in which I may have been engaged.  Not that I am confessing…I am just saying I was told to sit on the front row and there were a few times that I got the “head slightly  tilted-lips pursed-barely detectable nod –that screamed “DON’T MAKE ME COME OUT OF THIS CHOIR LOFT”.   Even so, I was there soaking up every word as a new believer. 

I was mesmerized as the evangelist began to talk about a life that was spent ministering to folks that like him had been in the shadows of society.   Stan Redding is quoted in the preface of Freddie’s 1970 book, Pulpit in the Shadows, as having said, 

“Freddie Gage is an ordained minister of the Gospel. But there his link with religious convention is severed. In the legions of the Lord, he is a rebel. In the staid hierarchy of the ministry, he is a non-conformist. In the carefully thought-out, polished oratory of the pulpit, his is the rash and dissident voice.
Before the Bar of Heaven, Freddie Gage is the “mouthpiece” for the hustler, the prostitute, the dope fiend, the hood, the killer, the alcoholic, the scuffler, the restless and the troubled. His story is – of necessity – the story of those who people the shadowy domain which society, properly or improperly, terms the “underworld,” where Freddie Gage has set up his pulpit.”

As he preached, I cannot help but believe my mouth was probably a gape.  He used the “cool” vernacular of the day and was unlike any preacher I had ever heard. 

As the invitation ended with many flooding the aisles, I stood taking it all in.  WOW!  This was like nothing I had seen. And according to Freddie, there was more in store.  It was at the end of that first service that he uttered the words that I knew would somehow change my life.  He laid out the plans for the week and talked about different people from his ministry that would be coming to our church and giving their story of redemption from a life bound by sin.  And then he said it…the highlight of the week…he would be bringing in a young man ‘with a monkey on his back.’

At first, I thought I had heard wrong.  But, as he continued to talk I realized he was talking about MY Church!  He was coming to MY Church!  This was beyond my hopes and dreams.  I had been asking Santa for a monkey for some time.  I dearly loved “Cheetah” on Tarzan and I wanted a chimp of my own! This would be my one chance to get up close and personal with a monkey and I could not contain myself! 

Throughout the week, I daydreamed of this man with a monkey.  How long had it been on his back?  Why was it there?  Why wouldn’t it get off his back?  Although I didn't understand what was so bad about having a monkey on your back, I knew I was really good with animals and I was the one person who could coax that cute, little chimpanzee right off his back and into my arms…it was going to be a great week.

And then the day came.  At the proper time, Freddie introduced a young man that made his way to the pulpit.  He began to talk about a life that had been wrecked with drugs and loss.  He talked of how through the outreach of Pulpit in Shadows, he had come to know the Lord.  I listened intently to what he had to say, all the while straining to get a glimpse of his back.  For a monkey, it sure was quiet.  And then, the young man moved to return to his seat and in full view of everyone…was his back…sans a monkey.

I was so disappointed.  All week long I had dreamed about what it would be to hear from a man ‘with a monkey on his back” and instead, we had heard from a drug addict.  Deflated on the way home, my mom explained that having a ‘monkey on your back’ actually meant you were addicted to drugs.  The man had clearly stated what torment his life had been.

I grew a little that evening.  I learned that things aren’t always what they seem and that God is even bigger than a ‘monkey on someone’s back”.  I also learned that maybe monkeys were not all they were cracked up to be… and just maybe Santa had been wise to overlook that request on my list.