BROWNIE: An Angel's Visit

by Linda Stanley Dalton

  “Is there a lot of interest in Messianic Jews?” Bernie asked. “This is all rather new to me.”

  “I’ve always thought that could be the best of both worlds,” Jeb encouraged him. “I mean, having a traditional Hebrew heritage, yet also believing in Jesus as the Messiah. I know there is a lot of disagreement about it, as there is in all faith issues these days, but I personally think it makes perfect sense.”

  Seconds later, Kenni was directed to a parking space. She parked, turned off the engine and looked at her husband. When she arrived home from work he had been making his way into the living room sporting bed head and wearing somewhat rumpled striped pajamas. Other than feeling a little groggy from sleep, he assured her he was fine and eager to come along when she told him about Bernie’s son.

  “Are you feeling okay?” she asked Jeb.

  Jeb nodded as he unfastened his seatbelt. “I’m fine, my love; really.”

  “I wish I was,” Bernie muttered from the back seat.

  “You’re just having cold feet, Bernie,” Kenni comforted him as Jeb opened the door. The car’s interior lights came on and she turned around and smiled fondly at Bernie. “I know you want to see Seth because if you didn’t, there’s no way I could have dragged you here. Besides, you invited us, remember?”

  As Kenni exited the car, Jeb heard her cry out. He immediately followed her. “Kenni, are you okay?” To his relief he heard her laughter.

  “We have a football or soccer player on the way!” she said and took his hand as they started toward the entryway of the church. “I think he’s gonna have big feet like his daddy!”

  Jeb laughed. “I don’t know, Kenni, you don’t exactly have dainty little tootsies yourself,” he teased, and then laughed when she jutted out her lower lip at him in a mock pout. “By the way, girls do play soccer.”

  “Point taken,” Kenni conceded as they moved along toward the church entrance. She laughed again. “Oh, Jeb, now I have a disturbing picture in my head of our daughter emerging from the womb feet-first, wearing shoe boxes because her feet are too big for baby shoes, and that everyone will call her Olive Oyl!”

  The church was packed as the trio made their way inside, past the welcoming greeters who handed them each a copy of their bulletin printed on pale yellow paper, and cordial ushers who helped them to find seats. The service began with praise and worship and the sound of guitars, organs and drums grew louder as they spilled down from the huge Peavey speakers mounted on the ceiling. At the sound of music, Kenni quickly shed her coat and was on her feet. With Jeb beside her, they both started clapping their hands energetically and singing along as the words appeared on a large flat-screen TV at the front of the sanctuary.

  Bernie remained seated in the pew with a racing pulse, wondering what he would say to his son. He was feeling like a fish out of water, but was resigned to seeing it through, regardless of how it ended. It occurred to him that it was possible that Seth did not know of Isabel’s death. From the corner of his eye, Bernie noticed that someone had sat down beside him and he recognized the familiar green eyes of Kevin Browne. “Hello, Brownie!”

  The angel smiled. “You didn’t think I’d abandon you on your mission, did you? A little bit of patience on your part may be required of you, though.”

  “It’s not that I’m not grateful, but what are you doing here?”

  Brownie got to his feet. “Angels praise God, Bernie. Remember the Heavenly Host? This is different than what I’m used to, of course, but I figured I’d give it a try! You know, I’ve never attended a human church service on any of my missions. The Lord likes it, though I must tell you that the music of Heaven puts this to shame, lovely as it may sound. What is that saying I’ve heard before—when in Rome do as the Romans do?” With that, Brownie started clapping his hands and singing. His voice was strong, falsetto, in key and stood out from the other voices. The sound was rich and distinctively different, beautiful, and soothing to the ear.

  Kenni and Jeb heard it as well and they both turned their heads toward the sound. Jeb was surprised to see Kevin Browne, but Kenni wasn’t. “Hi, Brownie,” she called out to him with a smile on her face. “You have a beautiful voice!”

  Brownie nodded, closed his eyes, and continued to sing and praise as he renewed himself, refreshing his spirit in worship. He was enjoying himself immensely, and thought, whether man or angel, to the soul praise is indeed praise.

  Bernie was certain he stuck out like a sore thumb as he sat on his ample behind while everyone around him was standing. Reluctantly, he got up, telling himself that he would clap his hands, but he was not going to sing. As Bernie watched the flat-screen monitor streaming the song lyrics across it like a CNN banner, his gaze shifted a bit lower to the platform where Pastor Maropolis stood with his face turned upward, his open arms outstretched in a posture of praise. A tall, slender man with a hauntingly familiar face stood just to the left of Pastor Maropolis. Though only Bernie heard it, his heart cried out, Seth! My God, it’s Seth! He’s clapping and singing, praising the name of Jesus!

  To Bernie’s surprise, hot tears stung his eyes. Their son—Isabel’s and his—was on the platform beside the man who had performed her funeral service. He stood motionless as he struggled to process all that was flooding his mind. He wanted so desperately at that moment to make peace with Seth, to be a part of his life, that he could scarcely contain himself.

  “It’ll be okay, Bernie,” Brownie supported as his mesmerizing green eyes met the senior doctor’s. “Have faith and be patient, you can do this. Trust God, He’s here, you know. Do you remember how you felt after our trip above?”

  Bernie could only nod his response. His mouth was as dry as if lined with cotton, yet his palms were sweating and clammy, and he felt hot-and-cold all over. His mind and heart were both racing as thoughts came at him a mile a minute, dizzying, like a quickly moving collage of images, disjointed yet connected. He saw visions of Seth as a little boy and recalled the joy their son had brought to Isabel’s heart. With the teen years, the rift began with disagreements over Seth’s choice of friends, his goals, or lack thereof for the future. The years passed and Seth drifted away from them, following a seemingly erratic pattern that concerned them as he had moved from one plan to another, seemingly failing at them all. He had gone from immersing himself in art and music to martial arts and body building, to name some of the things he had tried, failing to find his niche in any of them.

  Bernie glanced over at Brownie who was singing in his rich, heavenly voice, and he wondered, why has God sent an angel into my life? It humbled him and was enough to elicit a barely audible, “thank you, God.” Outwardly, they were but three little words, but for Bernie, they were enormous.

  Fifteen minutes later, the praise and worship portion of the service ended and everyone sat down. The youth pastor, who looked to Bernie to be not much older than his flock of teens, announced upcoming events for the kids to prepare for and to participate in—registration fees, permission slips were needed as were parents able to drive and/or chaperone.

  Melinda Maropolis, the Pastor’s youthful looking wife, sang a special contemporary solo in a pleasant voice. Lyrics about forgiveness stirred many of the congregants to tears and a chorus of sniffling and throat clearing echoed throughout the crowded sanctuary.

  Pastor Maropolis thanked his wife and praised her beautiful voice before he introduced the guest of the evening. The pastor spoke with a strong voice devoid of any detectable accent, sounding like his fellow Ohioans. “When Melinda and I visited Florida, we attended Sunday morning service where the guest speaker was Rabbi Seth Bernstein from a nearby temple. He spoke with eloquence and great passion about his journey to Jesus and living as a Messianic Jew, about Israel and things that are happening in the world that are being prophetically interpreted as signs that we may well be in the end times. Melinda and I had lunch with Rabbi Bernstein, his lovely wife, Sondra, and their infant daughter, Isabella. Rabbi revealed that he was born and raised in Bran
nan’s Point, so as fellow Ohioans we were immediately like family!” Laughter rippled through the sanctuary. “As we got to know each other, I invited him to come and visit us so that I could share my new friend with you.”

  The congregation applauded. Bernie hung on every word Pastor Maropolis said, but his eyes never left his son’s face.

  Pastor laughed softly. “We all know that I can talk all night.” A mixture of laughter, an “amen” or two, and applause from the congregation followed his remark. “I know we have some tired saints and cranky kids among us tonight, including my own, so I will now turn the platform over to Rabbi Seth Bernstein.”

  The pastor and the rabbi embraced while the congregation welcomed Seth with applause and the microphone was handed over to him. “Shalom!” Seth greeted them in a strong, clear voice.

  “Shalom,” responded the congregation.

  “He sounds just like Bernie!” Kenni whispered into her husband’s ear, he nodded his agreement.

  “Thank you, Pastor, for inviting me to spend this evening with your congregation. It’s a weeknight, and I know that many of you have put in long hours at work, cared for families and have children who need to get up for school in the morning. I won’t keep you long; I promise.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met a single soul who did not express feelings of coming home when they describe their first visit to Israel.” Seth told the congregation that his favorite place on earth was Jerusalem, where he had met his wife. He recounted the feeling of his soul coming home during his first trip there, of being overcome at the Wailing Wall as he prayed where multitudes had done before him. He recounted his awe at having walked where Jesus had: along the Via Dolorosa, to the Damascus Gate, and the roads of Capernaum. “Just knowing that Jesus once walked on those very streets filled me with wonder at what it had been like to be with Him in those days, to hear Him teach, to marvel at His miracles.”

  Seth spoke somberly of the dangerous travel experiences—evacuations due to bombings, police out in full force in riot gear with and robotic bomb sniffers. “With my own eyes I’ve seen the sights many of you have watched on TV from the safety and comfort of your living rooms. I’m sure you can easily conjure up images from your memories of bombed-out buildings housing wounded and orphaned children.” He made eye contact with several people in the congregation who nodded solemnly in agreement. “My wife and I have ventured into areas not offered on the tours, to places the tour guides won’t take you because your safety cannot be assured. It’s far worse in person, my friends. It’s heartbreaking to see, terrifying to experience, yet the people there live with it day in and day out. Bomb shelters were the rage in America during the Cold War of the sixties, and then quickly fell out of vogue. They continue to be an unfortunate reality in most Israeli homes. Almost every home has a sealed room at the ready in case they are attacked, stocked with gas masks and supplies for their families. And with the advent of ISIS, well, they live under an almost constant threat of danger.”

  Seth sipped from a chilled bottle of water before he continued. “Despite what the world would want you to think, there is a bond between Christians and Jews,” he told them and his eyes scanned the faces of the silent crowd. He possessed a keen ability to make others believe he was speaking exclusively to them. “We are all descendants of Adam and Eve, sons and daughters of Abraham. Tonight, despite the problems we face each day, we will all go home, many of us with our families. Yes, we have mortgages or rent to pay, and car payments, utility bills; it goes on and on, and we all have them wherever we live. We might watch some TV tonight, catch the eleven o’clock news, and have a snack. Some will spend a little time with God in prayer and in the Word before we retire.”

  Seth was a gifted orator and held everyone’s attention—including his father’s—in the palm of his hand. His dark eyes were intriguing and expressive beneath slightly bushy brows framed by rectangular, wire-rimmed glasses. He could make eye contact simultaneously with each and every person in the crowded sanctuary, and not only that, he made it look easy.

  “Praise God, it’s unlikely a bomb will go off somewhere in your neighborhood,” he continued. “Nor will you hear machine gun fire, or sounds of a fire fight. It’s doubtful that those who might not like you because of what you are—or what you believe—will invade your home tonight brandishing weapons as they threaten to drag you away for an interrogation while your trembling wife and children look on in horror. My brothers and sisters, there are many tonight who don't have basic peace and security. Throughout history, the politicians, the military and other experts the world over have been clueless as to how to sort it all out, have never been able to negotiate any lasting peace in that part of the world. Sadly, many folks just don’t care anymore. They think, oh, well, that is another part of the world; it has nothing to do with us. Can we be so sure of that? In the global community we currently live in, I don’t think so. What can any of us do to change things a world away? I believe there is something each and every one of you can do tonight.”

  There were a few frowns and a couple grumbles heard across the congregation of those who expected a plea for money, a collection for a cause in a part of the world they only saw on the news. “I specifically requested that your pastor not take a special offering tonight, for what is needed can’t be bought; only given freely from our hearts.” He looked around the room again with his uncanny ability to connect almost supernaturally with each person there, and stunned his father in so doing.

  “What I’m asking from you tonight is to remember Israel in your prayers, both believers and non-believers alike. In honor of our own beloved little ones, I’m asking you to remember that children have no say as to what their families believe or what they are taught. Remember all the children and the poor of other Middle Eastern countries who suffer daily for the basic necessities of life we take for granted. While we can run out to Walmart or Meijer any time, day or night for what we need, they don’t have a clue about what you and I take for granted. Scores of them are poor; they are persecuted for their beliefs and often executed—especially Christians. The Gospel isn’t welcome in many areas of the world today, and those who come to know the truth of Christ risk their lives whenever they pray or even speak His name! Yes, executed for speaking the name of Jesus—can you imagine such a thing? Hated for believing in Jesus Christ? Don’t feel badly if you can’t, instead feel blessed that you are free to call Jesus’ name, or reject Him completely should you choose to do so, free to read the Bible, go to church and hear a lowly Messianic Rabbi’s message.” Seth shook his head. “Others may think you’re crazy or weird, call you a ‘Jesus freak’ or ‘Bible Thumper,’ or even a ‘hater,’ but that’s probably the worst of it for most of you. Oh, they might hurt your feelings and embarrass you, but they won’t have you executed because of what you say or believe.”

  Seth took another swallow of water and sighed. His deep brown eyes revealed the depths of his pain over the conditions he described. “I respectfully ask that tonight in private that you would please pray that our Heavenly Father would grant peace to the children, the innocents in all cultures who face a very frightening world many of you can’t imagine or will ever witness, thank God. Ask that He would meet the needs of fathers and mothers who struggled today to make it through one more sunrise, one more sunset, and allow a plentiful tomorrow. Pray that they will be safe as they worship our Heavenly Father in secret, and that those who do not know Jesus will do so one day soon. Many Jews have come to Jesus but many have not, yet Romans Chapter Eleven says that all of Israel will be saved.”

  The sanctuary was deafeningly silent, the kind that makes one’s ears hurt, as the congregation and its visitors watched the tall, thin man with collar-length dark hair remove his glasses with long, narrow fingers to wipe tears from his eyes with a handkerchief. He was speaking from his heart and others shed tears too as they felt his pain, his intense passion for a part of the world that had experienced so much destruction that it seemed impossibl
e that it had somehow survived.

  Bernie sat, dumbfounded and speechless. He struggled to fathom that this man who spoke so passionately, so eloquently, was the same child he and Isabel had raised together, and often feared they had failed to bring up properly. He wondered if Isabel could see Seth now, see his passion and the compassion that flowed from his heart.

  Regaining his composure, Seth put his glasses back on and once more held the microphone to his lips. “I know that I was supposed to speak to you tonight about the relationship between Christians and Jews,” he said apologetically as he gazed at the crowd. “That’s not exactly where the Holy Spirit led me tonight and my well-planned—or so I thought—sermon went out the window. Thank you for your patience and indulgence.”

  He looked at Sondra, his beautiful blonde wife who held the sleeping, auburn-haired Isabella in her arms. She was sitting in the front row with pastoral and church leadership and their family members, smiling lovingly at him. Seth smiled back at her before he looked at the congregation. “I hope you won’t mind if I introduce my wife to you.” Soft applause filled the air. “Sondra, please come up here, Darling.”

  Sondra got to her feet, maneuvering her sleeping child expertly in her arms as she gracefully made her way up the steps to the platform to stand beside her husband. Her father-in-law, whom she had never met, wiped his eyes at the sight of her and his granddaughter.

  Seth placed his arm around his wife as he once more looked out over the congregation. “This is my wife, Sondra, and our daughter, Isabella,” he said and placed a kiss of adoration on the sleeping child’s head. “She’s nine months old and we thank the Lord for blessing us with her, and we also thank Him that when we put her in her crib for the night that we don’t have to worry about bombs blasting in front of our home, or whether a suicide bomber is planning to explode himself somewhere nearby. It has not become so common place that it has taken hold as a constant fear, at least not yet.”