ARE THOSE LIONS I HEAR?

By Mary V. Kolar

I have always had a firm belief that being martyred was highly over-rated.  It's certainly not a specific goal of mine.  I believe Gods true desire is for us to live a long and bountiful existence before we meet up with Him.

Unfortunately, in this day and age, being the civilized homo sapiens we are, the majority of our lion tamers do not carry stones, whips, or keys to the lions den.   They carry words that tear and rend as readily as the sharp claws and the spiked teeth of the old fashioned martyr-eating lion.

There are those mauled by lions among us who have learned to pop the Bible on tape into their personal cassette player. The lions think they are listening to hip-hop and seek someone else to devour.  However, let us go back to the un-enlightened soul who still reads hard copy bible. Let’s take a look at George.  He’s your basic newborn Christian testing out the uncharted waters of his faith walk.  There he is, slurping his coffee and dripping tuna salad on his tie, taking in a favorite psalm or two, when Mr. lionheart comes along,

"Oh, you are one of them.”

The cafeterias ambience stiffens as conversations muffle slightly, and you can almost visualize the ears physically turning into Georges direction.

“One of what?”  George reddens.

Mr. lionheart snickers and walks off to buy some milk duds sneering as he walks away.  George didn’t exactly offer a loud proclamation of faith.  He looks down into the psalms again, pretending to read, as he berates himself for his lack of stance

He thinks, "I am bold!  I am!  I am!  It was a lion after all!  I faced it down.    Well, I looked at it at least."  He closes the book firmly and makes a mental note to hit the Christian bookstore after work for a tape series.  Why taunt lions after all?

We watch television and are well informed how the early Christians stood brave and tall--unmoving as the lions approach.  The innocent martyrs look heavenward in acceptance and faith.  Let’s think about this for a minute.  Those were actually actors we were watching reading a script.  I’m fairly certain at least one early martyr did not stand waiting destruction, but ran in sheer panic and terror, as the lion bounded.   However, responding to terror did not make him (or her) any less of a martyr.  Dead is dead.  Whether they went out standing without a whimper as the lions devoured them, or screamed and flailed did not make their faith any less real.

Now, back to George.  The next morning he woke up late, enjoying sleeping in on his Saturday.  He trots to the bathroom, past the crucifix on the wall, and grabs his toothbrush. He looks in the mirror resolving that today he would be a victorious lion tamer.  He wasn’t sure in what form that lion would come, but the baldheaded preacher with the baritone voice had pointed out toward the congregation and bellowed, “Lions are among us each and every day.”  George scratched the back of his leg with his left big toenail, and also remembered that the preacher was an ex-biker with the muscled body of superman, and a goatee that made his look slightly malicious, if not down right evil.

He looks back to his warm bed wonders if another hour of sleep might aid him in preparation of the days lion hunt.  He wants to sit home and drink weak coffee and read this Bible that was going to make a new creation out of him.  He scratches his belly, takes a deep breath, and decides to give it another try.

In his lime green Volkswagen, he heads off for a visit with Aunt Betty.  He pops a cassette to listen to kindred voices proclaiming what a mighty God we serve.  He turns down the volume when stopped at a red light where two attractive walk in front of his car.  He turns up the Christian music once they are out of earshot.

He approaches Aunt Betty’s house on track four, right when they were singing, “Be Bold, Be Strong, for the Lord your God is with you.”  George pulls into the driveway thinking about the words.  He was going to make his stand this time and make it count.  Aunt Betty thought all preachers were mobsters with collars, evading tax the legal way.  She had also mentioned numerous times "there weren’t nuthin' more annoyin' in creation then a bible thumpin' Christian.  No wonder they crucified the lot of them.  Just to shut them up."  George figured Aunt Betty could fall under the classification of lion.

He pulls himself up out of the car and steps into a mound of poodle droppings.  Muttering things a brand new Christian shouldn’t be muttering, he scrapes the bottom of his shoe on the sidewalk. He could smell the scones baking.  Aunt Betty made the best scones he ever had.  The door opened, revealing an elderly woman, with hair piled upon her head and held together with dozens of black pins.  A full bright flowered apron covered the front of her housedress, and her glasses fell down upon her nose.

“George, what a good boy to come see your Auntie!”  She always said this and George always cringed.  He was twenty-six and far from being a boy.

“It’s your scones Auntie, if you ever quit making them, you’d never see me again!”

Auntie grabbed him by the arms cackling.    At one point he was sure that high pitched cackle had been more of a laugh but after all those years of smoking it had turned harsh.

“Sit down Georgie,  and I’ll get your coffee.”

“Now, tell your Auntie, what have you been doing with yourself?”

This was it.  He felt his palms sweat.  He remembered yesterday’s failure in the lunchroom when confronted by the lion as he read his Bible.

“Oh, you are one of them” the lion had said.  Well, he was.  He should be able to stand up and admit it without cowering.  He thought of an arena the crowds cheering the lion approaching the Christian.  George was pretty sure he would have been one of those that would have ran shrieking, trying desperately to crawl out of the arena.

Auntie had her back to him bending over into the oven pulling out the fresh scones.

“I’m going to church now, Auntie.”  George braced himself and waited.

A bit of hair had escaped the pins and was hanging into her face as she placed the hot tray onto the stovetop.  She took off the gloves and fussed with her hair.

“Oh, that’s nice Georgie.” And have you found yourself a wife yet?

George sighed.  He knew she hadn’t heard.  He had said it though.  He had made his declaration. The words had come out of his mouth.  He reached over grabbing for a scone and got his hand-slapped.

“Wait, George.  They have to cool.”

She began to fill him in on the local gossip and George realized that his Aunt Betty wasn’t so much a roaring lion as a chattering feline full of gossip and good will toward man--faithfully interested in peace on earth, or at least on her block.  Then she started in again on his needing a wife.

“I’m going to church to find me one Auntie." He had said it without much thinking, more to appease her nagging about finding a wife.

“Church!  Well, they ain’t good for much except finding a decent woman.”  Good for you Georgie.  Don’t be getting to involved there, and for God’s sake,  don’t be giving them your money.  Bunch of gangsters they are.  You find yourself a filly then you get outta there.”

George im agined himself once again in the arena.  A leaping lion with a shrill roar sounding much like Aunt Betty pouncing on him, as he goes belly up yelling in surrender, and the crowd watches and guffaws.

He had made, if not a faith statement, at least a mention of church.  Maybe in a month, or a year or two, he might actually say the word God or peace of Christ to Auntie.  Maybe.  For now, he'd made a start.  It was a small step into the arena, but he knew his journey had begun.  Well, perhaps it was more of a crawl than a step, but one day he knew he would be up and walking.

He turned the stereo volume back up and the next red light he came to, it never occurred to him to turn it down as pedestrians crossed in front of him.  He was busy singing, "Be bold, be strong for the Lord thy God is with you."  And he is, even if you are a timid lion tamer.

Mary began writing seriously since she hit the hallmark age of fifty.  She is meeting with good success as many of her stories have been published. Visit her at www.MaryVKolar.com to learn more about her writing endeavors.  Contact Mary.