No more words came to his lips. He rose and continued on.
In the days that followed, the earth all about him and everything in it began to live again. The odors of the growing grasses and the dirt itself beneath his feet rising to his nostrils, the drone of insects flying above the lush growing fields, the cries of crows and songs of sparrows and finches, all entered his senses like a mysterious dance of nature that had truths to speak about their Creator, if only he could lay hold of them. The wind kissed him on the face as he went. The blue of the sky over his head and the white clouds suspended there crowned the earth with a moving and changeable glory which swelled his heart yet found no expression in words. All the world began to minister to him anew, as one who had been through his season of doubt and despair and had now embarked on the road of recovery, healing, and new life.
He continued to haunt the fields, the woodland, the banks of several streams that meandered through the peaceful farmland on their way to the great Ohio, sometimes with a book, often with his pocket New Testament, and occasionally with only his thoughts and prayers to keep him company. Sometimes he walked, sometimes he sat for hours watching the simplest of nature’s displays, or listening to the water burbling beside him, or the wind rustling through the treetops overhead. And ever the prayer he had prayed was before him: Show me your goodness.
As he probed beyond the boundaries of his former belief system, he slowly explored new regions within the Divine Character which his heart and Scripture told him must exist. But as he did he could not prevent the theology of the respected names of evangelicalism—names he had revered, men he had sought to emulate, whose teachings he had diligently studied, rushing back upon him, threatening to snuff out the light of joyful revelation he now felt growing within him. His mind flooded with imaginary reprisals warning him against attributing too much goodness to God. Holiness, omnipotence, justice, wrath, hatred of sin, righteous vengeance . . . none of these, said the theology of his upbringing, must be compromised an inch. The preaching he had so long been familiar with seemed invariably to emphasize the wrath of God over the love of God, even though the Bible was clear that above all things . . . God is love.
The contradictory voices within him were confusing. Ideas he had once taken for granted now rang with dissonance as he read the Gospels. The God of theology began to repel him. What he was reading in Scripture, what Jesus himself said about His Father in heaven, did not square with what he had heard from the pulpit over the years.
He didn’t know if he wanted to believe such things anymore.
Surely the Father of Jesus could not be as they said!
He himself was the final evidence against the dour and judgmental theology that he had once embraced. What had it produced within him but a self-righteous spirit beneath which lurked, not God’s love for the lost, but hatred and vengefulness?
God’s love must be higher. And that love he determined to find . . . or perish.
It would be impossible to follow every avenue his thoughts and prayers took during the two months on his aunt’s farm—the new spiritual vistas, the dead ends, the questions, the hopes, the new insights, the fading of doctrines, the doubts, the fears brought by new ideas, yet the wonder of beginning to behold a smile rather than a scowl on the face of the Father of Jesus Christ.
In the end, his revelations could be summarized by an expanded perspective on what the goodness of God must mean.
The first and most important truth, the very truth of the universe, it seemed to him, had to be simply this: That if a being called God exists, He must be good, nothing but good.
Building upon that, he became convinced that this goodness must be complete, infinite, uncompromising even in the face of sin, and must be a goodness that defines His character above all of His other attributes except love, and indeed is one with His love.
Furthermore, this goodness must seek the best for all its creatures, and must go on seeking that good and best through all eternity.
And finally, the conviction grew upon him that to come to Jesus must mean, not being protected from God’s wrath and anger, but coming to God the Father as He meant us to come to Him, just as Jesus did, by recognizing and trusting His infinite goodness and love.
With the foundation of these insights, his spiritual journey had only begun. But his season in the wilderness of dejection now drew to an end. A light now shone on the path ahead to illuminate whatever doubts and questions still lay ahead—the light of God’s goodness.
He continued to walk, continued to read Scripture, continued to ponder and brood and contemplate and pray.
Answers did not come easily. The old theology was deeply rooted, and the elder traditions difficult to let go of.
A pivotal day came.
He sat down on a low stone wall over a stream. From somewhere faint words rose up to meet the thousand questions in his brain: I am Damon Teague’s Father.
He glanced about, almost wondering if he had heard an audible voice. But he knew the words had come from within his own spirit.
“Did you just speak to me, Lord?” he asked silently.
I am Damon Teague’s Father, came the simple words again, but with growing force.
There could be no mistake—God was trying to tell him something.
I am Damon Teague’s Father, said the inner Voice a third time.
“How can that be, Lord?” said Robert, half to himself and half to God. “Teague is a murderer and reprobate. God cannot be . . . his Father.”
Yet the power of the words could not be dislodged from his brain. To his other prayers he now added perhaps the most profound of all:
God, reveal to me the fullness of who you truly are.
It was the prayer above all prayers, save the prayer of obedience and Christlikeness, that God is waiting for all men and women to pray, that He might abundantly answer it.
With the prayer, and with the increasing sense that infinite love and goodness lay at the heart of a unified Godhead, came also an opposite yet related revelation—a keen and stinging consciousness of his own sin.
It was a slow revelation, for Robert was still young, just seventeen. Awareness of sin is not easily born in the youthful heart that tends to think much of itself. But it had begun, and all beginnings, if followed, are pathways to growth, maturity, and wisdom. He had seen within himself that which disgusted him. He had thus begun to see himself truly and so enter upon a new level of personal faith.
Recognizing his own sin anew, he asked God to forgive him for his meanspirited and un-Christlike attitudes. At long last he began to pray for Damon Teague, and for the strength and humility to truly forgive him. Where hatred had sprouted unbidden in his soul, he asked God now to plant love.
Robert returned home two weeks before the trial was scheduled to begin. He would have remained away if possible, but he knew it was his duty to be present. He could not shirk the responsibility of his own involvement.
The day of the trial came.
By the fall of 1864 General Early’s troops had moved south against Washington and had been defeated by General Sheridan’s Union Army as Confederate fortunes continued to decline.
The case had been widely publicized and the courtroom was full. A dozen witnesses were brought forward. Teague was defiant, unrepentant, full of venom and hatred. When Robert took the witness stand, he could not look him in the eye. Much had been resolved within him. But he still could not openly face the man his own accusation had brought here.
The jury took less than an hour to reach the verdict: Guilty.
The judge banged his gavel several times to silence the temporary uproar, then announced his own decision in the matter of the sentence.
“I sentence you, Damon Teague, to hang by the neck until dead.”
Tears stung Robert’s eyes.
He stumbled out of the courtroom and outside, amid jubilation of the spectators both inside and outside.
He walked hurriedly along the street, broke into a run as h
e heard voices calling his name, finally turning into a deserted alley. He continued to run through it, turned again, and finally collapsed on the back stairs of an abandoned brick warehouse.
He sat down and wept. The trial had been just. The sentence was just. The wages of sin was death. But the wages of all sin. In Robert’s ears, the sentence was pronounced, not against Damon Teague, but against him.
What about me? he thought. I am a sinner. I deserve the same! I—Robert Paxton—am guilty too.
The pounding of the gavel brought all his doubts from before Ohio back to the surface.
“Oh, God,” he cried, “forgive me of my own sin! That poor man! May I never judge anyone again by a different standard than I judge myself, or by a different standard than you judge all men. Forgive him for what he has done . . . and forgive me!”
And with that simple prayer for forgiveness, truth began to grow in Robert’s soul—truth that soon turned to hope. Yes, he was a sinner along with Damon Teague. But such a thing as forgiveness also existed. Sin and death were not the end for either of them.
It was in God’s heart of goodness to forgive! He sent His own Son to earth to open the door into that forgiveness by His own willing and sacrificial death.
As he sat, tears still pouring from his eyes, a simple revelation stole into Robert’s heart—simple, yet a revelation upon which turns the destiny of eternity: As he and Damon Teague were both sinners, so too they had both been forgiven.
“God, oh, God,” he prayed, “thank you that you love me and forgive me in spite of the sin I have seen within myself. I want to be your son, your obedient son. Help me to learn to call you Father just as Jesus did, and to know you as He knew you.”
THE CELL
9
WHEN THE VISITOR APPEARED AT THE BALTIMORE jail to see the condemned prisoner, it took the guard on duty by surprise. Teague had not had a single visitor since the trial.
“You be careful in there,” he said. “He’s a violent one—you call if he tries to start something.”
“I will,” said the visitor.
The guard led him in, and unlocked the door.
Teague glanced up. His visitor walked into the cell and stood waiting. Teague remained seated on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees, dirty fingers clasped together, stringy hair falling around his shoulders.
“Come to gloat, did you?” he said cynically.
“No, I did not come to gloat,” said Robert quietly.
“What, then? You got what you wanted. Why don’t you just get out of here!”
Robert stood silent.
Even now at this eleventh hour of earthly opportunity, the condemned man still had defiance written in every line of his face. But a great change had taken place within Robert Paxton. For the first time since the arrest he was able to look straight into Teague’s eyes without the remorse of his own personal guilt.
And now he did look into those eyes.
In the passage of but seconds, eternity itself opened into his spirit. For those brief moments he saw into the depths of Damon Teague—murderer and unrepentant sinner—and seemed to see his soul with a fragmentary glimpse of what God himself saw.
The words he’d heard returned to him with tenfold force: I am Damon Teague’s Father.
Robert’s heart nearly burst with sudden intense love and compassion for the man who had killed his sister.
He truly loved him!
He could not condemn this man. He could no longer hate him.
And he knew in that moment how much God loved him too.
Thoughts and flashes of light like momentary bursts from heaven tumbled in a cascade of insights into his brain, plunging him straight into God’s heart. Suddenly everything began to fit into place.
Of course God was his Father!
If he, weak sinner that he knew himself to be, could find mercy to forgive in his heart, how much more mercy must exist in God’s infinite heart? Was it possible that he could be more merciful than God?
The answer was obvious—no.
God must be more merciful and forgiving than any man or woman could even imagine!
For the first time he grasped what God had been trying to tell him that day beside the stream, and more recently in the alley where he had prayed for forgiveness. There could be no artificial theological divisions within humanity. All humanity is God’s. He is calling His wayward prodigal children home, to the home of His heart, where all will one day call Him Father.
It was such a simple yet powerful truth. How could it have taken him so long to see it? God’s desire was not to punish but to heal, not to condemn but to restore, not to banish but to reconcile, not to torment but to burn clean.
Only a few seconds had passed. But they were seconds that would change Robert’s outlook forever. For he did not merely see into the soul of Damon Teague, he had been given a glimpse into the Father heart of God himself. His prayer to be shown who God truly was had been gloriously answered—God was an infinitely forgiving and merciful Father!
Teague was still looking at him with a fierce expression of hatred.
“Get out of here!” he repeated angrily. “I didn’t ask for you to come.”
It was all Robert could do to contain what was bursting within him. His heart overflowed with an intense almost physical joy to realize that he had at last truly forgiven the man. A great burden had been lifted in the liberation of forgiveness!
He tried to smile.
“I’m sorry to cause you annoyance, Mr. Teague,” he said, a slight quiver in his voice the only betrayal of the emotions stirring inside him. “I only thought that maybe you would like to talk to someone . . . that you might want to make things right with God.”
“With God!” Teague spat back. “What would He want to have to do with me? Or me to do with Him for that matter?”
“Don’t you care that He loves you?”
“Loves me . . . bah, that’s nonsense! It’s little enough He’s ever done for me.”
“It’s hardly nonsense, Mr. Teague—His love is the truth that holds the world together.”
“How has He ever loved me?”
“It’s much that He has tried to do for you,” said Robert. His tone was completely unlike that of his previous exchange with Teague. Rather than lashing out in anger, his was now the voice of compassion, probing that which needed to be exposed to the light of truth.
“What are you talking about!” said Teague irritably. “Who prevented Him doing it?”
“You did, Mr. Teague. Look at what you’ve made of your life. Whose doing is it but your own?”
“Who asked you to come preach to me!”
“I thought you might want—”
“I want nothing from you! You’re the reason I’m stuck in this hole!”
“You don’t think it has more to do with what you’ve done?” asked Robert, his voice soft, almost tender.
“What I’ve done is none of your business!”
“Have you forgotten whom you murdered? If it’s not my business, I don’t know whose it is. God might also consider it His business.”
“Don’t preach to me about God, I tell you!” Teague cried.
“You are going to have to face your sin sooner or later,” said Robert. “Considering the alternatives, it seems that it might be best to face it now.”
Teague leapt up, took two quick strides toward him, and shoved Robert back against the opposite wall with tremendous force.
“If you say one more word about God,” he shouted with menace, nearly spitting in Robert’s face, “I will kill you too . . . I’ll kill you with my bare hands. I’ve done it before. I’ve got nothing to lose. You’ll be lying on this floor with a broken neck before the guard can even get his key in the lock.”
Robert held his gaze a moment. “You can try to intimidate me all you want,” he said. “You can push me, you can try to frighten me. But I don’t want to add anything more to your conscience which you will have to atone for one day. So I wi
ll comply with your wish and leave you. I have but one more thing to say to you, Mr. Teague. Whether you can understand it, I don’t know, but I must tell you regardless. I forgive you. It has not been an easy thing to do, but I can honestly now say that I bear no ill-will toward you and wish you only the best.”
Teague laughed sarcastically. “The best?” he said. “Sure, kid!”
“I will continue to pray for you,” Robert went on undeterred. “You cannot stop me doing that—in hopes that you will one day discover the love God has for you. His love is truth, Mr. Teague.”
Behind them the hurried step of the guard, who had heard the ruckus, came running along the corridor. Quickly he opened the cell door.
“I will not force myself upon you again, Mr. Teague,” said Robert. “But I am at your service should you change your mind.”
A minute later, with a breaking heart and blinking back tears, he emerged back out into the light of the sunny Baltimore street.
Oh, God, he said silently, break through into that man’s heart with hunger for you!
WITNESS
10
TEAGUE’S OUTBURST SOBERED ROBERT. BUT IT DID nothing to alter the profound change of heart that had taken place. His entire outlook on God’s work within humanity was being transformed. He had come to realize that God the Father was the wooing, loving, and forgiving Abba of Jesus Christ, not the hell-threatening tyrant of the theology in which he had been so meticulously steeped since childhood. The explosion which had gone off in his heart in Teague’s cell could be reduced to a simple truth which changed everything: Jesus Christ did not come to save humankind from God, He came to lead everyone to God.
The principles he had been familiar with for years now took on deeper and wider meaning. God’s Fatherhood became near and real. The Savior was not one warding off arrows of wrath behind a shield called atonement. Rather He was an Elder Brother sent to take us home to the forgiving arms of our Father Creator. God’s Fatherhood began to embrace him with its light and warmth.
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