The town knew George Christian. Most of us grew up with him, enduring the many hours of school and the temporary agonies of our teenage years. Those of us who returned to the town after college, found George at work in his father's shop making a living for his new family. A fairly normal story all around. The town took up the work of family starting with enthusiasm right along with George Christian. Oh, wait, George didn't have that name back then. His last name was Smith or Physokely or some such. The reason, or at least the starter, for George becoming a Christian arrived in town a few years later.
The local church took in a new pastor, and a particularly effective one he turned out to be too. George was not the only one to become a Christian, many of us had that same experience. Families accustomed to the football game at 11:00 on a Sunday now sat in church. We learned and grew. The effective pastor in time turned to what he called 'meat' in his sermons. We thought the preaching just as good as before. For some reason though, we turned to George Christian and took a good look at him. I don't know what started it; perhaps it was that George didn't look back at us in the same way.
You see, George did not give up some of his old habits. He smoked, and everyone knew that was bad for the body. George had a few other unsavory habits of old that we decided to catalog and address at a meeting. Not a formal meeting mind you, just a sort of gathering to discuss for their benefit anyone not present in our little group. As George worked long hours in his shop, the father having passed away and left the shop to George, a once quite common tradition that had somehow been lost over the years, we usually found the gathering discussing that man. We had, it seemed, become The Meeting of the Board of Directors For the Benefit of George Christian. At once we voted 6-0 for the abstaining of smoking. No one worth the name of Christian should be caught in such a terrible habit. Besides, wasn't it illegal in most places now? His wife was just a darling, if perhaps too busy to join us in our meeting what with home schooling George's kids and all, but weren't they just such polite young children? We voted 0-6 to leave the wife and kids out of the discussion from now on. George also had a bit of a persistent cough, and his weight could use a bit of work. We voted 6-1 to address these awful things as soon as possible, perhaps in a passing conversation whenever the next one of us visited his shop, or maybe the tried and true grapevine we used to get messages around the town. Wait, where did that one vote come from?
We looked around the room, but only the usual six, our mixed bag of men and women of the old school, looked back at each other. We laughed at the audacity of someone sneaking in a vote to our little group, and took a good look at George's house and car. Suddenly, a man appeared in the room with us, almost causing Margaret to spill her tea on that new dress. The man introduced himself as Nathan and said that he joined the meeting as owner's representative. We looked around at each other. Owner? Owner of what? George, of course, he said as though we should know that without him telling us. Wait, how could anyone own a George? George, he explained, made a contract years ago that included all of him. The owner did not like judgments made against his property without representation, and he certainly couldn't recall appointing a board of directors, informal or otherwise. The owner did, however, have a gift for each of us. The man, Nathan, handed out small squares of glass that he said would help us to see.
I was completely baffled, I can tell you. Mine showed a sort of wood grain across the middle. I could just see a little bit of clear space at the very top and bottom. I couldn't tell what the others could see, for now I couldn't seem to see past that little mirror. I asked Nathan if the owner could help me with this one, for I didn't seem to be able to see anything. Sure, was the cheerful reply as the man tapped my mirror. Oh, the horror of Dr. Frankenstein as he beheld the man made in his own image. Halloween come early, an image shrouded in darkness but all too clear in its evil intent. How could I, a pauper in the presence of my Savior, judge others for simple bad habits or earthly appearance? Who was I to judge the works of the Owner, even that One who also owned me?
Nathan had one final message for us, one which we could hardly bear: George had been called home as we met. The dust from his grindstone had finally overcome his body. A fine, small group Nathan called us, one that could do much to ease the suffering of a certain widow and her two home schooled children. Yes, we could do that. No vote needed.
God bless you on this fine day, Bucky
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