Ten Minutes with Jerry

Oh, do not deliver the life of Your turtledove to the wild beast! Do not forget the life of Your poor forever. Have respect to the covenant; For the dark places of the earth are full of the haunts of cruelty. Oh, do not let the oppressed return ashamed! Let the poor and needy praise Your name. Psalm 74:19-21

He spoke first. “I’d love to do this,” he said, “but I’m on a fixed income.”

Jerry motioned to his wife silently, “You keep walking, I’ll catch up, I’m okay here a few minutes.” These two clearly knew each other very well; her unbroken stride and a quarter nod was her only acknowledgment.

Picking up the conversation I said, “Hey, that’s okay; the best thing you could do for us is pray.”

The us I was referring to was a ministry I used to serve with.

“Oh not me,” He said, “I’m not the guy for that.”

My spiritual ears went up. Getting to talk to lots of people about lots of things was one of the perks of the job and I sensed that I was on the verge of having one of those wonderful discussions. Perceiving that this old man was not a believer, I quickly prayed, “God, help me here please.”

“Why is that; why aren’t you the guy,” I asked. I extended my hand, introduced myself and asked, “What’s your name?”

He told me his name was Jerry and that he was eighty seven years old. “I’ve seen too much,” he said. “It was my job to get our prisoners back from Japan. What they had done to these guys was the worst thing I ever saw.” Then he added, “We were just as bad.”

“So you don’t believe in God?” I asked.

“Oh I used to, but that was before the war,” he said, but added, “There can’t be a God; God wouldn’t let this kind of stuff happen.”

I wanted to share a whole bunch, but I figured he had heard a sermon or two since those World War II days. I weighed in a little bit and apologized at least twice for sounding a little preachy. He assured me it was okay and that I was correct—many pastors and good intended Christians have talked to him through the years regarding his faithlessness.

“I just can’t get past the pain,” he would tell them and, “I just can’t get past the pain,” was what he told me.

Jerry continued, “We would put food out in the open to lure them in and then we would shoot them. We were ordered to shoot them in the belly so they wouldn’t die right away and the others would have to come and help them. Then we would shoot them too. I’m not proud of what I done.”

“Do you think that what you did was unforgivable?” I asked.

Jerry hung his head low and said, “Yes.”

I began to tell him otherwise, but he stopped me in my tracks, “Dave, like I said, I’ve heard this all a hundred times before.”

I tried a different tact. “So what you’re telling me Jerry is that you don’t believe in Heaven or hell; is that right?”

He nodded.

“What do you believe happens when you die,” I asked.

Jerry told me what one would expect to hear: you die, life is over, and your body rots in the ground, to which I replied replied, “Jerry, if you’re right that will be wonderful. If there is no Heaven and no hell, I can’t think of a better conclusion. We’re born, we live, we die, and that’s the end.”

I paused a few seconds waiting for his upper lip to reveal when he was going to speak. When it did I cut in, “But Jerry, what if you’re wrong–what if I’m right and you’re wrong?”

The expression on his face revealed that in all his eighty seven years he never pondered that question. He started to speak, but he had nothing, so I interrupted, “Jerry, by your own account, God has sent at least a hundred people to you with a message—do you think that’s He’s trying to get your attention?”

Jerry nodded.

“Jerry. You’re eighty seven years old. How many more messages do you think you’re going to get before you die?”

Jerry’s countenance changed somewhat. He seemed angered at my remark, but his speech failed him again.

“Jerry, do you want to sit and have a cup of coffee with me?” I asked.

“No, I can’t. The wife’s here, I gotta go,” he said.

“Okay Jerry,” I said, “it was such a pleasure talking to you. But will you please remember those four words I told you?”

He recited them back to me, “What if I’m wrong.”

“That’s right, ‘What if you’re wrong,’” I said.

“How could I forget,” he said and shook my hand.

On the ride home I beat myself pretty good. I could have said things better. I could have been more vigorous in my request to have coffee with him. I acknowledged before the Lord that I ignored His leading at least once during our conversation. Then the Lord reminded me that the encounter wasn’t about me. He assured me that I did my part and that Jerry’s salvation was His responsibility, not mine. I was also reminded that the best thing I could do was pray.

Where had I heard that before?

Oh, do not deliver the life of Your turtledove to the wild beast! Do not forget the life of Your poor forever. Have respect to the covenant; For the dark places of the earth are full of the haunts of cruelty. Oh, do not let the oppressed return ashamed! Let the poor and needy praise Your name. Psalm 74:19-21

Pray for the Jerrys of the world.