The Pastor's Pen
JUAN NINGUNO, and old
preacher-friend of mine from days past, sent me a
letter not long ago.
His letters are always fantastic (in the sense of the
primary meaning of that
word). I never know when I'll hear from Juan. He
moves around a
lot - mostly in almost forgotten places where I myself have
journeyed.
This letter was sent from Nevada. Allow me to share it
with
you:
Dear John,
As you know, we've been
working real hard in our town to get prayer back
in the schools.
Finally, the school board approved a plan of teacher-led
prayer with the
children participating at their own option. Children not
wishing to
participate were to be allowed to stand out in the hallway during
the prayer
time. We hoped someone would sue us so we could go all the
way
to
the Supreme Court and get that old devil-inspired ruling
reversed.
Naturally, we were all excited by the school
board's action. As you
know, our own little Billy (not so little, any
more, though) is now in the
second grade. Of course, Margaret and I
explained to him no matter what the
other kids did, he was going to stay in
the classroom and participate.
After the first day of
school, I asked him, "How did the prayer time
go?"
"Fine."
"Did many kids go out into the
hallway?"
"Two."
"Excellent.
How did you like your teacher's prayer?"
"It was
different, Dad. Real different from the way you
pray."
"Oh? Like how?"
"She said,
'Hail, Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners...'"
The
next day I talked with the principal. I politely explained I
wasn't
prejudice against Catholics but I would appreciate Billy being
transferred
to
a non-Catholic teacher. The principal said it would
be done right away.
At supper that evening I asked Billy
to say the blessings. He slipped
out of his chair, sat cross-legged on
the floor, closed his eyes, raised his
hands palms up and began to
hum.
You'd better believe I was at the principal's office
at eight o'clock
the
next morning. "Look," I said. "I don't
really know much about these
Transcendental Meditationists, but I would feel
a lot more comfortable if
you
could move Billy to a room where the teacher
practices and older, more
established religion.'"
That
afternoon I met Billy as soon as he walked in the door
after
school.
"I don't think your going to like Mrs.
Nakasone's prayer, either, Dad."
"Out with
it."
"She kept calling God 'O Great
Budda...'"
The following morning I was waiting for the
principal in the school
parking lot. "Look, I don't want my son praying
to the Eternal Spirit of
whatever or to Buddha. I want him to have a
teacher that prays in Jesus'
name!"
"What about Bertha
Smith?"
"Excellent."
I could hardly
wait to hear about Mrs. Smith's prayer. I was standing
on
the front
steps of the school when the final bell rang.
"Well?" I
asked Billy as we walked towards the car.
"Okay."
"Okay what?"
"Mrs. Smith
asked God to bless us and ended her prayer in Jesus name,
amen - just like
you."
I breathed a sigh of relief. "Now we're
getting some place."
"She even taught us a verse of
scripture about prayer," said Billy.
I beamed.
"Wonderful. What was the verse?"
"Let's see..." he
mused for a moment. " 'And behold, they began to
pray;
and they did
pray unto Jesus, calling him their Lord and their God.'"
We had reached the car. "Fantastic," I said, reaching for the
door
handle. Then I paused. I couldn't place the scripture.
"Billy, did Mrs.
Smith say what book that verse was
from?"
"Third Nephi, chapter 19, verse
18."
"Third what?"
"Nephi," he said,
"It's in the Book of Mormon."
The school board doesn't
meet for a month. I've given Billy very
definite instructions that at
prayer time each day he's to go out into the
hallway. I plan to be at
that board meeting. If they don't do something
about this situation,
I'll sue. I'll take it all the way to the Supreme
Court if I have
to. I don't need the schools or anybody else teaching my
son
about
religion. We can take care of that ourselves at home and at
church,
thank you very much.
Give my love to Sandi and
the
boys.
Your
buddy,
Juan
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