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Three white doves reminiscent of the Whittling Breath fly over a clear blue sky. They pierce the air as they sing to each other the Berry Gordy hit, “I’ll Be There”. In the distance below, choirs from various churches from Apollo and Greens burgh Pennsylvania to Washington D.C. sing the chorus in counterpoint, I’ll be There.
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As the birds look down, they see Liberty Avenue in Pittsburgh. They next see the slums of Pennsylvania and passing through West Virginia onto Virginia. Next, they see the opulence of Bethesda and Silver Springs, Maryland. They also see the slums of inner city Washington D.C. Lastly, the birds fly to the Lincoln Memorial. Each time as the female voice sings, you can here the churches below as they sing with her, “Just call my name, and I’ll be there.”
Two men, Brother Lee Stone and I, stand at the Lincoln Memorial. Brother Lee Stone, an older man, wears a clerical collar. He reads a quote from Isaiah, “Here I am, send me.” I read the “Gettysburg Address” as the sun rises a quarter of the way through its arch. The area is filled with Aspens and Oaks as it is cherry blossom time. One of the birds, the male, lands on Brother Lee Stone. The second lands on Abraham Lincoln. The third lands on me. While we are there, Brother Lee Stone says, “Half way across the country there is another Lincoln where some very tragic and strange things happened.”
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We walk across the Potomac River on Highway 1 and down Boundary Channel Drive. It has rained those heavy Virginia rains over the past three days, making the Potomac swell and rage, giving it a troubled look. On the other hand, it is rather sunny today. In the background is the song, “Bridge Over Troubled Water”. Brother Lee Stone leans over the railing on the bridge and remembers the events of that day as they unfold, again, as if for the first time, before his eyes. Soldiers from the School of the Americas command their ten gnarling German Shepherd dogs to herd Brother Delvery and two Muslims, (all three are naked), a block west on Ninth Street and next for an hour down Capital Parkway. They herd them for another half an hour down South Cod Avenue. As they walk through the streets of Lincoln, they find a man of color named Lee Stone, and they make him carry a large iron beam in the form of a cross. As they cross over the Salt River Bridge, Brother Delvery sings “Bridge Over Troubled Water” by Paul Simon.
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Leaving Cod Avenue they turn right and onto West Van Don Street. They are forced to march for yet another half an hour. They turn right and march the length and breadth of the prison compound which they see on their left. On the right-hand side of the road is a blond haired and blue-eyed rancher walking his Suffolk sheep with the help of his Border Collies. One of Brother Delvery’s guards makes a note. A German shepherd takes his sheep to slaughter on the right-hand side of the road with the help of Border Collies. Here we are taking prisoners to slaughter with the help of German Shepherds. Look, with his untanned body, yet heavily tanned face, as well as beard and mustache, the religious one even looks like one of those Suffolk Sheep.
Brother Lee Stone shakes his head as his thoughts turn again to the present. He turns and looks at me from that bridge on the Potomac. As he does, he looks west and sees the first evening star. It looks like a cross. A jet plane flies overhead. The song, “Bridge Troubled Water” slowly comes to an end as Paul Simon sings, “Sail on Silver bird, sail on by.”
Brother Lee Stone says, “Let’s role, Time to go see the President’s grave.” An hour later we stand at an eternal flame. It is that of the last great President of the United States, John F. Kennedy. As we sit there, we meditate on the similarities between Presidents Lincoln and Kennedy. We do this as I look across the river and see the Lincoln Memorial. We meditate upon the reading from I Corinthians.
I pass this to you as a matter of first importance. This is what God has given to me. The Anointed One died for our mistakes in accordance with the Dedicated Writings. He was buried and he rose again on the third day. This is also in accord with the Dedicated Writings.
The sun moves another inch higher in its arch and we find ourselves staring at an empty tomb at a crypt in a mausoleum. This is at Columbia Gardens Cemetery in Arlington, Virginia. About a dozen people stand around holding roses. Near the tomb, drawn on a white stone, is a hangman’s noose and gallows. Lee Stone says, “It is like the “L” shape of the gallows and it reminds us of life turned upside down.” There is also a red rose and a note that says, “To our Dear Brother Delvery Carpenter, wherever you are. We hope to be with you soon.” Lee Stone tells me:
I know you have a commission from the twelve to write about Brother Delvery. Remember the outline that has been given to you. It must start with the story of Father Curtis E. John. It must proclaim the tranquility of Brother Delvery. You must write about what he did all over the great land of Nebraska. You must write about how God anointed Brother Delvery with the Whittling Breath and power to go about doing good, healing the sick and helping the oppressed. I do ask that when you write, remember me, and remember Simon Peter. If you want a Bible quote to bring both of us to mind let it be from this liturgical reading. Let it be from the Gospel of St. Luke 5:1-11. Let it be, “When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at the knees of Jesus and said, ‘Depart from me, Master Jesus, for I am a man filled with error.” Remember, to be around real greatness is to realize just how insignificant we really are. We go to the door of the mausoleum. As we arrive, we notice a sign. It reads,
“This is the beginning of the sweet message of Brother Delvery”.
This is the first page of a book: A Midrash on the Gospel of St. Mark. The introduction, presented here, points to the tradition that St. Peter told the Gospel Story to St. Mark who is the first Gospel writer. It is believed that St. Peter told St. Mark the story while they were in Rome, the Capital of Rome, just across the river. As a result, the retelling starts in Washington D.C. across the river, in Arlington.
Please enjoy the story.