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FAITH

By Michael Kerins
Contact the author via Chris Johnstone by e-mail at christopher.johnstone@ntlworld.com

The community was one of a few hundred people. It was called a town because it had a telegraph office, a Barber's shop, a Saloon with six bedrooms, a Bunkhouse and a Bank. It looked like others had seen no improvements or remodelling for over 100 years. That was probably true. But for the past three or four years, it was also a place of great hardship.

Drought.

There had been no rain for a long time. A preacher man, a charlatan dressed in black with a white collar at his neck, came into town. He had a sad old horse and an equally down at heel open sided wagon. A trailer of sorts. He parked this trailer by the side of a barn and unshackled his steed. Once settled he then stood on his wagon and called the people to him. Urging them to pray. Pray for faith. Have faith. Have trust. Have knowledge that God is good and beautiful and that heaven is full of rain and he will give it to you if you ask. Pray Sister. Pray Brother. Pray.

The crowds prayed. Sacrifice Sister. Sacrifice Brother. Sacrifice and the rain will come. The crowds sacrificed.

He opened a battered carpetbag and brought out a collection bowl. Give Sister. Give Brother. Give and the rains will come. They had very little to give, but they gave.

Come back tomorrow and we will share this bounty. The crowds came back the next day. There had been no rain. Again he stood on the back of his wagon in full shade of the wall of the barn. The congregation in direct sunlight stood bleached.

"There was no rain," a man said, "No rain, and I prayed" The preacher not wanting to lose them asked, "Did you Sacrifice Brother? Yesterday I asked you all for sacrifice" The collection was trivial, a pittance. An insult to the Lord.

"Today, I ask you for more money, no token gestures, I ask you to pray and to plan. Pray for rain. Plan for tomorrow. Then I want each family to give until it hurts. A Dollar. Sacrifice, Faith, Prayer and the rain will surely come. Pray here Brothers, Pray here Sisters…"

And they prayed. The congregation knelt down in the sandy alley. And there in full bleaching sunshine. They prayed.

In a gigantic gesture of falseness, he opened the carpetbag, removed the collection bowl and shouted skywards. "No Lord, I ain't gonna ask for money today" With a theatrical sweep he put his money bowl back in the oversized bag, "Ain't no point, they need to learn to sacrifice" His preaching was powerful, his sense of faith massive. The people believed. They fell for it hook, line and sinker.

After the service had broken up, he heard them plan to find a Dollar. They did not know where they would get this dollar. But they looked forward to giving it to sacrifice to receive the rain.

With the cattle dead or dying from the drought. The cowhands had no work and no wages. The saloon had no takings. Meagre amounts of money meant all the businesses in the town were strapped for cash.

They pulled together, building a love and trust for their future. Babette La Rue, dancer in the Golden Star saloon had four silver quarters. And she gave, she had no real need for church going, but she wanted to believe. Babette kept her money, what little money she had in a cigar box under a loose floorboard in room four of the Golden Star Saloon. She got the money and touched it with fondness.

God knows how she got the money but hey, God loves as all, every single sinner. So he must love her.

She laid them on the table, silver coloured, 25 cents and traced the numbers 1904, 1892, 1902 and a shiny brand new, hardly used 1928. She didn't read much, but she did know her numbers. "I'll give, I'll sacrifice for rain." She murmured, "I need them cowboys earning," she said to herself, as she applied a little more rouge.

Herb Hamilton should have been a millionaire. He was perhaps the only man in town with ready money. He owned the Saloon, the store and had a big share in the newspaper. But Herb Hamilton was not a giving man. He gave nothing away; not even a smile. He cajoled folks and had badgered them because they were down at heel.

There was with him a sense of isolation, a lack of trust and an air of contempt for the poor and that included himself. He needed to be loved and when the preacher told him God loved him, Herb Hamilton believed. "I'll give my money for the rain"

The next day when the preacher called them all to pray, he had moved his wagon on to the main street, outside the telegraph office, diagonally opposite the barber's shop. He was a master of theatricality, pompous and passionate. Splendid in his language, he called them all to pray and to give.

They prayed, they gave.

And he said "Have faith and the rains will come." He took the money, a substantial windfall by any calculation. But by the drought-ridden standards of the hard times, when city slickers were made bankrupt overnight, these good folks needed rain.

But the rain didn't come.

The preacher was adamant. "You need three things to get gifts and bounty from the Lord. Prayer"- the people shouted an interruption,"We Prayed."

"Suffering"- and the people shouted an interruption,"We suffered, we gave our last."

And hastily, he told them they needed "faith". Again they shouted,"We have faith, we believe."

"Do you now?" he strutted across the top of his wagon, the horse was saddled up ready for a quick escape,"Do you really have faith? From up here, I see loving people, I see giving people. But do I see believing people? - No, do you really have faith?"

Then he picked up a child from the congregation. The waistband of her second-hand dress was torn, separated from the rest of the garment. It hung asymmetrically; she was barefoot, poor and skinny.

He lifted her easily by the wrist and she hung limp.

"Here is faith", he said, "Recognise faith. Do you see it? Do you see faith?!!"

"What do you mean Pastor?" called David Boy Junior, the eldest Kincaid son, "Why is she an example, a living example?" he emphasised the word living, "of faith?"

He stretched his arm and held her higher.

"Look" he said, "it's plain to see she has faith in God's bounty cos she the only one among you who is carrying an umbrella."

© Michael Kerins Big Pants Ltd 2005

Other hoolet online articles by Michael Kerins can be found at:
hoolet edition 47 - Faith

hoolet is the magazine of RCGP Scotland. It is supported intellectually, financially and emotionally by RCGP Scotland.

This issue maintained by Robert Hallam.