Fishtail Redman, Chapter 26: Revival

  

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-26)

 

After interacting with members of Exiles for the Almighty over several weeks, Parker Redman had become accustomed to sitting with the group during Bible studies and worship services. But eventually, he seemed to have outgrown this limited level of participation. Shepherd Narvel Adkins realized that he was becoming frustrated while trying to figure out the direction that his wandering path would take. So, when a moment arrived when they could both speak privately, in his church office, a bit of divine inspiration seemed to take hold.

 

The two men were dissimilar in almost every way, except for their Christian faith.

 

Narvel had always been something of a university nerd, growing up with librarians, teachers and professors constantly in his personal orbit. He had the quiet manner of a scholar at work. With the look of someone who hoped to remain busy, and anonymous, at the same time. Parker might have ended up with similar characteristics, yet jettisoned those habits to embrace rebellion and an outlaw lifestyle. That choice placed him outside of polite society, and squarely in the midst of chaos and dissent. He could never be clean again, at least in the terms set by mainstream religious pundits who shunned him as outlier. But at the core of his being, a spark of belief still flickered.

 

While sorting through postal mail on his desk, the spiritual leader paused to ponder an announcement of a revival meeting to be held at the beginning of spring.

 

“This notice interests me, friend. Does it also appeal to you? It is something sponsored by an ecumenical council here in Morgantown. We have been invited to attend, for the very first time. I dare say that our little collective has rarely been noticed by any of the other gospel affiliates in this area. We haven’t registered on their radar, until now. I think it would be a great opportunity for us to contribute to the greater conversation. What is your opinion?”

 

Parker scanned the flier while taking a seat across from his counterpart’s workspace.

 

“Would you... would we... be truly welcome? Do you accept this invite as being genuine?”

 

The unconventional clergyman nodded and reclined in his chair.

 

“I have to take it as such, brother. This is an olive branch, extended for us. If we decline, it might signal that we embrace division instead of fellowship. That is not a message I would choose to send. I prefer to view this as an opportunity. For everyone here, but I think especially for you.”

 

His prodigal protégé frowned and sputtered.

 

“For me? How is that?”

 

Narvel sighed heavily before folding his hands.

 

“We need someone to address this meeting who has a bigger perspective than mine. I’ve spent a lifetime here in the shadow of WVU, with the same institutions, the same bloodlines, the same biases and prejudices. I know the terrain very well. But this is a chance to speak courageously on behalf of the Lord. I could give the kind of input they expect. They know me well. Yet from you, the zeal of glory would be unmistakable, and authentic. Like a peal of thunder from the heavens!”

 

The solitary biker reddened with embarrassment.

 

“You’re giving me too much credit, I think. My hands are dirty, and my soul is stained...”

 

His friend with the modified priest’s collar smiled intently.

 

“Yes, that’s it. That is it, right there! That is why I used the word ‘authentic.’ Christ was beloved by tax collectors and prostitutes who received his call to repent, and followed him. While some who thought themselves to be faithful questioned his identity as the Son of God. Do you think that was an accident? People who assume some measure of importance for themselves often think that they are safe from harm. And in no need of change, in no need of a spiritual revelation. But for those on the fringes, those who are not pretty or polished, or looked upon with respect, there is a clearer path to the truth. They have nothing else to get in the way! No self-importance or pretentiousness, or arrogance. Just a naked and bold need for redemption!”

 

Parker felt a chill run over his skin. He had not expected to be given such a challenge.

 

“I feel... unworthy. I am unclean. I am a sinner and a backslider. Surely not someone to preach the holy message, here or anywhere...”

 

Shepherd Narvel took his ally by the shoulders. His tone became dramatic, and stern.

 

“THAT IS THE POINT, MY BROTHER! YOU HAVE HUMBLED YOURSELF! THAT IS THE FIRST STEP TOWARD SALVATION. KEEP GOING NOW, KEEP STRIVING, KEEP FIGHTING, KEEP PRAYING!”

 

The motorcycle drifter lowered his head. His belly ached with uncertainty.

 

“My father used to reflect on a lesson from Evangelist Walter Scott, in the pulpit. The ‘Five Finger Exercise.’ Faith, repentance, baptism, remission of sins, gift of the Holy Spirit. Which some repeat now as faith, repentance, confession, baptism, and living a Christian life. That was a simple method of describing the plan. Even as a child, it struck me with meaning. I did that for a time, was baptized and even spoke on Wednesday nights occasionally. I would give a short, 15-minute sermon as part of our Bible study. But my fingers got broken, in bar fights and riding back roads across the Ohio Valley and beyond. I couldn’t do that thing anymore...”

 

His benefactor shook him as if to awaken some inner spirit that had too long been dormant.

 

“Yes, yes, yes! That’s the message you need to proclaim. That someone who fell far from the tree of life, may still return by grace. Grace is the component there, brother! Not a scorecard filled with points tallied in a game. Not with chips won on a gambling table. Not with silver and gold plundered from the wealthy. Not with riches earned through common labor, or market investments. Grace is the glorious gift! A gift you have received, I think. Maybe not with full understanding at first, but now, that call to duty is being revealed. Hear it and believe! Hear it and respond! This is the will of a loving creator at work!”

 

Parker realized that no one had called him Fishtail in many weeks. That nickname was fading into the past, along with all of his doubt, scorn, and shame. What remained was unfamiliar in the mirror. Yet adorned with a glow of possibilities, and hope.