Repnt

The pastor's eyes blazed at him. "Did you see the sign?" He shook his head, not knowing what the pastor was talking about, but sure he would soon find out. "Someone changed it. The sign out front, with the letters you put up, it said 'God Bless America' and now it doesn't. You didn't notice when you came in this morning?" He didn't bother to explain to the pastor that his janitor duties at the church and school brought him into work when it was still dark. He just shook his head. "I want that fixed. Right away." He nodded mutely and went outside--then understood why the pastor was upset. The sign now read "GODLESS AMERICA."

Kids, he thought, as he was moving the letters back. Probably some kids from the school playing a prank. Except that the rebellious tone of the message didn't sound like grade school kids. They weren't that bitter yet. So who? He didn't like the thought that someone, some outsider, some adult, was messing with his church. This place, these grounds, were his responsibility. And this was vandalism, really. Even if nothing was damaged, it was still vandalism--and trespassing. Now he was angry too. He went back in to tell the pastor it was fixed.

Weeks passed and there wasn't another sign incident. Until they started a preaching series on the Sermon on the Mount. When he arrived that Sunday morning to unlock the church, the sign no longer read "BLEST ARE THE POOR." Instead, it crudely proclaimed "AREST THE POOR." He was the first one there, so he could change it back before anyone else saw it, but it annoyed him. What was the point of this? Just to make more work for him? What kind of message is "arrest the poor"? He couldn't understand it.

But he did remember it. It came back to him clearly when the sign was transformed again two weeks later: "BLEST ARE THE MEEK" had become "THE MEEK R LAST." Again he was able to fix it before the people arrived for church. But this time it somehow got changed back to "THE MEEK R LAST" almost immediately, and many in the congregation saw it. The pastor was furious.

He was given strict instructions to prevent this from happening again, and the pastor began taking steps to purchase a new, lockable, sign. In the meantime, he was also supposed to try to get evidence against the vandal. But then the sign was not tampered with for over a month.

And during this time he wondered. Why these severe messages? And why was someone working so hard to get the messages seen? This wasn't just a prank. Someone seemed serious about communicating something here. He didn't understand it, but he began to wonder if there might be something in the mysterious messages worth understanding. It was during these thoughts that he remembered two troubling experiences from the previous weeks.

First, when he'd had to bail his sister out of jail. Nothing really bad--she had just been pulled over and happened to have several unpaid tickets outstanding. So she'd been arrested and her car towed and she would have to appear in court in a month. She had looked frightened and miserable when he picked her up. And when he'd asked about the unpaid tickets she'd started crying. She said that single mothers like her had to make certain choices, there just wasn't enough to pay all the bills, and she needed to keep that job even though it was so far away and gas was expensive. So she'd taken the risk. What else could she do? He knew the feeling. Society wasn't very forgiving of those who couldn't afford to play by all the rules.

Second, when his son had come to him about a bully at school. The latest insult had been when the bigger boy asked, in front of everyone, "How long has your dad been a Master of the Custodial Arts?" It had pained him that his son was embarrassed because of him, his job. He'd wanted to smack that smart-mouth kid himself. But he didn't want to teach his son that violence was the way to handle these things--and smacking the kid wouldn't change the reality. He was a janitor. And people didn't respect janitors much. If his son let this go on, though, wouldn't that just make him a bigger target? A more welcoming doormat?

But to say that to his son seemed the same as admitting that the meek are last. Could he bear to teach his children that? For that matter, could he bear to tell them their aunt was put in jail because she was poor? But what could he say instead, except that it was all so wrong?

When he arrived at church that Sunday and saw the sign, he suddenly wondered if that's what the "vandal" was saying. Friday he had dutifully spelled out "BLEST ARE THE PEACEMAKERS." Now the sign read "BLAST THE PEACEMAKERS."

He restored the sign, then did as the pastor had told him. He waited and watched. With a camera ready to catch the culprit in the act. But when she appeared and started rearranging the letters again, he couldn't move--he recognized her. It was his sister. He watched in stunned silence as she calmly reaffirmed that the real message being preached in society was "blast the peacemakers." And how could he resist or deny it? He looked down at the camera. Right there was the means to blast her, and he'd been ready to use it. On his sister. A poor, burdened mother, who yet had the energy and conviction to try to wake people up, to preach in her own way, to tell the hard truth with her own small voice. His sister.

He watched as she marched away without fear, without ever looking over her shoulder. And he knew then that he wasn't going to touch those letters. When the pastor stormed in and asked if he'd seen the sign, he calmly stood up and said yes.