In late spring, the Reverend Tommy Mitchell’s only son turned eighteen.
Shawn’s church youth group put on a party for him, even though Shawn was two years older than anyone else in the group. He tried to enjoy himself, but was aware that the other boys wanted to get away to a baseball game, and the girls just giggled among themselves about their boyfriends. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted out of his eighteenth birthday, but he knew he wasn’t getting it.
During the weeks that followed, Shawn busied himself with school so his final grades, just before graduation, would be as high as possible. He continued to visit at least one other church each week by pretending to take a long walk on the way home from his family’s regular church. He didn’t like telling a lie, but neither did he feel the strength to openly defy his father. Not yet.
He did, however, enjoy his graduation ceremonies. He had worked hard, and had good grades to show for it. He even surprised himself by managing to have fun at the graduation dance that evening.
Two days later, Shawn was sitting in the living room of his family’s spacious suburban home on the west side of town when his father, with obvious purpose, sat down beside him.
“Well, son, perhaps it’s time to make some plans for the future. Have you had a chance to look at the literature about our seminary?”
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“Yes, father, I’ve read it. It sounds like a very good seminary.”
“They’re reserving a space for you, but they won’t be able to hold it forever.
They’ll be getting lots of applications now that school is out.”
I wonder why they’re reserving a space for me? Shawn asked himself, even though he already knew the answer. “I’m not sure that’s the right place for me, father. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to consider some other options.”
The reverend took a moment to recover. “Well, um . . . there are some other good seminaries in the country, I guess. Um . . . I could get their literature for you.”
“Thank you, father. That would be great.”
A few days later, Shawn had packets containing the literature of five other seminaries around the country, all identical to the one operated by his family’s church, at least as far as religious doctrine was concerned. He read the information out of respect for whomever had mailed the packets. As much as he dreaded the thought of defying his father, he also knew that somewhere inside himself was a line he couldn’t cross.
That line, and its exact location somewhere between his own will, and his father’s, had often occupied Shawn’s thoughts during the last couple of years.
That line had been coming into clearer focus in recent months, and now Shawn seemed to be face to face with it. Signing up for a multi-year course of study, one he knew wasn’t right for him, was somewhere on the other side of that line.
A few days after the packets arrived, his father must have decided that Shawn had had enough time to read them, as he again joined his son on the couch.
The reverend went through the brochures and letters on the coffee table, organizing them to his preference. “As I understand it, these three are the best, but this place has a fairly good reputation also.”
“Yes, father, they all sound like good places where I could learn a lot about the Good Book.”
“So, which one do you prefer? Remember that our church’s seminary might still be an option if we act quickly.”
Shawn swallowed once. “Actually, father, I’m not sure a seminary is the
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best place for me right now. I think it might be an important part of my education someday, but I think there are many other things I need to learn first.”
“Um . . . well, perhaps some courses at the local college would be a good idea. Or . . . did you have another good college in mind?”
“To tell you the truth, father, I’ve already found a place where I think I can learn some things that are interesting to me, even some things about the Good Book.”
“Where’s that, son?” the reverend said in a dry, suspicious tone.
Shawn steeled himself. “It’s an international service organization called Lyceum. Maybe you’ve heard of it . . .”
“YES I’ve heard of it!” the Reverend Tommy Mitchell stood up and immediately began yelling. “And it will be a cold day in HELL before any son of MINE goes to that place to learn about the GOOD BOOK and the Lord’s teachings! That place is doing NOTHING but the Devil’s work, and has NO
place in the education of any true minister of God!”
The angry man stood in the middle of the living room, glaring at his son and waving his hands. Shawn just sat on the couch looking at him, his heart in his throat.
The reverend had always been good at improvised speeches, and today was no exception. “. . . and if YOU think that I paid for all those church CAMPS, all those RETREATS, and that tour of the HOLY LAND just so YOU could tell me you’re going off to some place that has NOTHING to do with OUR church, you are DEAD WRONG!”
Shawn held onto the line deep inside himself. It was the most painful hour of his life, but he knew there was no way to avoid it. As he listened to his father go on and on, he knew there was nothing he could say now. The corner had been turned. He was no longer a child, and he had decided what he was going to do. But he also knew he had to respectfully hear his father out, if for no other reason than because his father had paid for all those things.
“. . . and starting right now, TODAY, you are forbidden to have ANY
contact with Lyceum or ANY other place where the Devil’s work is done! And you shall have NO further access to the resources of this family until you get your VALUES and your PRIORITIES straight!”
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Shawn realized that his father had just saved him the trouble of working up the courage to leave home. If he had no further access to the resources of the family, then he had better not be taking up a bedroom and eating the family’s food. He had never dreamed it could be so easy.
“. . . and NOW I want you to go to your ROOM so that you can think about what I’ve SAID to you, and get all this NONSENSE out of your head!”
The silence was deafening. Shawn waited a few seconds as his father continued to glare at him with wide eyes. Finally, when he felt sure the lecture had ended, he whispered, “Yes, father,” and dashed for his room.
After Shawn stepped into his bedroom, he closed the door ever so softly, sat down on his bed, and listened to his heart pounding in his chest. His father’s words still echoed in his mind, but their literal meaning no longer mattered, as they all boiled down to one simple message. Shawn was legally an adult now, and yet, in his father’s eyes, he did not have the right to make any decisions about his life.
As Shawn began to cool off, he became aware of the clock on his desk. It was almost four o’clock. His mother would serve dinner at five. If he was no longer entitled to use family resources, he should be gone by then.
He moved around his room, tossing things he wanted onto his bed. Shirts, a sweater, a jacket, and a duffel bag. From his desk came his wallet, journal, and a Lyceum booklet. As he zipped his duffle bag closed, another problem dawned on him. He was ready to walk down the street to whatever awaited him, but he wasn’t sure how to get to that street.
After a minute of thought, he looked out his window into the back yard.
The screen wasn’t hard to unlatch, and his duffel bag hardly made a sound as it landed behind a bush.
Ever so slowly, he opened his bedroom door, to discover by listening that his mother had returned from the grocery store and was making dinner, and his father was taking a shower. He stepped out into the hallway, closed his door without a sound, and crept toward the back door, his heart again pounding in his chest.
“Shawn, Honey, we’re having baked cod for dinner,” his mother’s voice said, causing him to freeze as he neared the back door. She walked right past
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him and turned into the pantry.
“Uh . . . g . . . great, Mom. Um . . . I’ll be in the . . . the back yard.”
“Okay,
Honey.”
Soon he found himself outside, with only a lawn between himself and the freedom of the alley. He collected his duffel bag, walked to the back gate, and slipped through, all without daring to look back. Then he froze and listened.
Nothing.
He began to walk down the alley, and as he did so, the throbbing of his heart slowly began to relax. After he had gone past a few back yards, all well-fenced so that no one could see his passing, he dared to glance behind him.
Still
nothing.
His long legs put several more blocks of the alley behind him. He began to swing his duffel bag as he walked along, and his footsteps lightened until he was almost skipping.
As he moved toward the center of town, the houses along the alley became poorer, and he began to see children playing in the yards. A little colored girl looked up from her toys in a yard without grass, and waved shyly. Shawn waved back. An ancient man with white hair tending a tiny garden peered up at him. Shawn smiled and waved.
He began to feel a sense of purpose as he walked along, a sense of being guided by unseen forces to exactly where he needed to be, in order to learn and do . . . whatever it was God wanted him to learn and do. And he wondered why it had taken him so long to get out into the world and see what it was like.
Shawn Mitchell spent the first few nights of his adult life under a loading ramp in the railroad yard, and the days in between in the park, a working-class diner near the train station, or the library. He learned many lessons about taking care of himself, and the money in his bank account allowed him to get clothing and equipment better suited to the task, including a small backpack and a light sleeping bag.
Eventually he was drawn to the rescue mission, also near the railroad yard, for a hot shower, companionship, and perhaps some clues about his path in
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life. It felt safe because he knew it was run by a church his father didn’t like.
The man at the front desk advised Shawn to keep his belongings with him at all times.
Shawn didn’t realize how literally he should take that warning. He found the bunk room and selected a free bed. While he took a lukewarm shower in the slimy shower stall, his water bottle disappeared. While he was at dinner, reminding himself that he should be thankful for even instant mashed potatoes, his jacket walked away. That was all it took. His pack came with him to the church service, and he noticed that the other men had their belongings with them also.
The service, to Shawn’s surprise, was a one-man show. Reverend Walker preached, prayed, and sang. Shawn added his voice when he knew the hymns, to the obvious delight of the preacher.
When Reverend Walker asked for all those who had accepted the Lord into their lives to come up, Shawn did not hesitate. One old man joined them.
Shawn genuinely felt for the preacher as he tried to coax others to accept the Lord. One timid hand went up, and then another, out of about thirty men. As they came up to the front, Shawn and the old man made them feel as welcome as they could, but the rest of the audience was getting bored, and the preacher soon had to wrap up the service.
As Shawn thoughtfully headed back toward the bunk room, the old man began to walk along beside him. “You would find your jacket in the short colored man’s bag, and your canteen in the long-haired man’s pack, but I hope you are secure enough in the love of the Lord to let those things go, and know that they will be put to good use.”
Shawn thought for a moment. “Yes, I think they need them more than I do.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But getting them back could get ugly.”
“I see what you mean,” Shawn said.
“I sense that you are not new to the Kingdom, but very new to missions.”
“You’re right. My father’s a preacher.”
“Your faith is not just because of your father,” he said.
“No. In fact I’m going against my father’s wishes right now.”
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“But not against the wishes of your father in Heaven?”
Shawn thought about that question as they entered the bunk room. “I don’t pretend to know much about God’s will for me yet. I seem to be drawn toward a place with lots of religious people, but they are from many different faiths. My father wanted me to go to the seminary run by our church.” Shawn sat down on his bed, and the old man sat on the adjacent one.
“Different faiths? Is there more than one Kingdom of God?”
Shawn thought. “No, I don’t think so. To my father, the place I might go does the Devil’s work.”
“Ah!
The Devil’s Work. Many good things are so labeled. Many bad things go unnoticed. Beware of labels.”
Shawn was thoughtful for a moment. “I’ve . . . seen my father label too many things . . . and too many people.”
The old man fell silent, and soon the mission staff announced quiet time and lights out.
During the following week, Shawn became very comfortable at the rescue mission. He asked for a scrub brush, and made it his personal project to keep the showers clean and tidy. He added his singing voice to the church service every day. By the fourth day, he was helping to serve meals, and by the end of the week, he could stay all day, any time he wanted, to assist the staff with their work. He did so about every other day, but also began to search the library with a wrinkled brow for clues about the direction his life should take.
About two weeks later, Shawn was deep in the library shelves when a large man appeared beside him, pretending to look for a book.
“Your father wants you to come home now, Shawn,” the man said.
Shawn’s face became hot and his heart started to pound. “I’m busy,” he said, and walked away.
As soon as he turned the first corner in the stacks, he sensed that the man was right behind him. Shawn started walking as fast as he could.
Shawn was angry, but didn’t want to cause a scene. He was long-legged and fast, and knew the layout of the library by heart. The large man was still following him, but the distance between them was growing.
Suddenly Shawn realized that two men were after him. Every time Shawn
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turned a corner, one of them would follow him, and the other would go a different way.
A plan popped into Shawn’s mind. He strode toward the reference area with its long row of study tables. He selected a point near the middle where no one was sitting, and skidded to a stop. As soon as the large man turned a corner and saw him standing there, he slowly walked toward Shawn. The other man did the same from the opposite direction. When they were only a few steps away, Shawn dropped to the floor, crawled under the tables, and dashed for the door.
Shawn never knew if the men attempted to crawl under the tables, or went the long way around. He didn’t care. After he ran around a corner, down an alley, across two streets, and onto a weedy bicycle path, no one was following him. He slowed to a walk, and after collecting his thoughts, planned a route back to the mission that no one would guess.
Shawn didn’t encounter any of his father’s messengers for three days after the incident in the library, and he began to relax, thinking his show of resistance had made them stop.
But his spirits were low, as he reluctantly decided that clues about his future were not going to be easy to find, in the library or anywhere else.
He rose early the next morning to help cook and serve breakfast. An unusually large number of mission guests lined up in the dining room, and it was nearly nine o’clock by the time they were all fed. The work had helped Shawn clear his mind, and he wanted to browse in the religious bookstore.
But when he reached the front door, he froze. Outside, standing on the sidewalk talking, he could see three men — the mission’s Reverend Walker, the large man from the library, and Shawn’s father. He veered into the day room, and made his way back to the kitchen.
“Brother Shawn, you look like you seen a ghost!” Charlie the cook said.
“I did. Two of them. Brother Charlie, in about five seconds, I’m going out that back door. You can shut off the power to the alarm system if you want to, or you can just let it ring. Either way, I’m going out.”
“Now hold on, Brother Shawn. That don’t do no good. It got batteries.
But what I can do is hold in this here reset button while you slips out the door,
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nice and quiet like. Anything you want me to tell the ghosts, if they get this far?”
“Tell them . . . tell them, The Lord be with you.”
“Okay, I say that for you. You ready?”
“Yes. Take care, Charlie.”
Shawn slipped out the back door, shut it firmly, and wound his way through alleys and back streets until he came to the railroad yard. He wasn’t sure why he had gone in that direction . . . perhaps just because it was the last place in town his father would ever go. The yard was busy at that hour, so he headed for the little working-class diner, ordered pie, and tried to collect his thoughts.
After two pieces of pie, a glass of milk, and finally a roast beef sandwich, Shawn pushed his plate away and laid his head down on his arms.
I hope to meet you someday, Shawn!
Brother Jacob
He could clearly see in his mind the end of the last letter from his contact person at Lyceum. He suddenly wanted more than anything to talk to someone who had nothing to do with his father or their church.
Standing up, he pulled both money and a Lyceum card from his wallet. He was still shaking as he paid his bill, but made himself breathe as he walked to the public telephone near the restrooms.
A female voice greeted him and identified herself as Sister Larissa.
“Hi, uh . . . I’m Shawn Mitchell. I was wondering if Brother Jacob was anywhere around . . . Yes, he’s been my contact for more than a year now . . .
Teaching a class? Oh, okay . . .”
Larissa could hear the fear in Shawn’s voice, and feel his despair and frustration. She continued listening as she touched several keys on her computer console, and Jacob was there a minute later.
“Shawn, hang on. Brother Jacob just took a break from his class, and he’s here.” She touched a button. “He’s in some kind of trouble, and he’s scared, and doesn’t know what to do.”
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Jacob took the phone. “Hello Shawn! How are you? . . . Uh huh . . . Uh huh . . . And what’s your plan now? . . . Uh huh . . . I sense you’re having some trouble with that . . .”
Soon Jacob knew what Shawn was dealing with. He handed the phone back to Larissa and rolled his chair to another computer. Within moments, he knew that Lyceum had a member about fifteen miles away from Shawn’s location. He touched some keys and picked up a telephone.
“Brother Joseph, this is Brother Jacob! I have a mission for you . . .”
Shawn could hardly believe his luck as he hung up the telephone. He had a ride out of town, and all the way to Lyceum if he wanted, in just twenty minutes. He would soon be gone from this town that had become nothing but a trap. He decided to use those twenty minutes to get some snacks to share with his rescuer.
Nearly prancing with excitement, he entered the little store two blocks away, and headed for the snack aisle. Chips, nuts, and chocolate quickly filled his basket. The moment he stepped out of the snack aisle, he came to a sudden stop almost face to face with the large man from the library.
He dropped the basket, turned, and ran, just as the man recognized him and ran after. Turning and running along the meat counter, Shawn spotted another man ahead of him, so he turned into another aisle.
He got to the end of that aisle and started down another, but skidded to a stop when he saw the large man in front of him. He turned, but the other man blocked his escape. He was trapped, and they were closing in on him.
Suddenly the store manager and two employees entered the aisle, pushed past the men, and surrounded Shawn.
“WHAT is going on here?” the manager demanded. “WHY are you chasing this fellow?”
“He’s a run-away. We’re helping his father find him,” the large man said.
“I’m an ADULT, and I can PROVE it!” Shawn screamed, red faced and out of breath.
The manager thought for a moment. “Are you with the police?” he asked the men.
They said nothing.
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“Do you have any legal authority over this young man?”
Still no answer.
“Okay, kid, you’re out of here.”
Shawn slipped by the large man and dashed for the front of the store.
“Don’t EVER do that in my store again!” the manager warned the two men before they left.
Shawn ran back to the diner as fast as he could. When he arrived, nearly out of breath, a car was stopped in front, motor still running, with a stout man of about forty leaning on it. Shawn ran up to him and saw a small Lyceum symbol on his jacket. “I’m . . . Shawn!” he gasped out.
“I’m Brother Joseph, Shawn. You need a ride?”
Just as Shawn got in and closed the passenger door, the two men ran up and abruptly stopped about ten feet from the car. Brother Joseph looked at them. “It’s a different game now. Good time to call it a day and go home.”
As the car moved onto the street and left the two men standing there, Shawn, listening to his throbbing heart, watched the streets of his home town become green countryside, and wondered what sort of life path he had just stepped onto.