Few things get a crowd's attention more than an earnest prayer for fire from heaven. The Hallelujah Ululaters hushed their singing and stuck their heads outside the tent to watch. The people in the crowd cupped their hands over their eyes and looked at the sky. The naked girl sat on the altar and filed her nails. Then, suddenly, someone yelled, "Hey, look! Up there! The Victory Oak is on fire!"
Before I continue, I need to give you a brief history of the Victory Oak.
On Labor Day of 1945, the city fathers of Noel decided the city should celebrate the holocaust of Hiroshima and Nagasaki by planting a tree they called the "Victory Oak." The sapling was tended with great care, and seventy-five years later, the Victory Oak towered over Ball Park with a solemnity seldom observed in Ozarks trees. What nobody knew was that Tucson Foods had arranged with Brother Hollister to use the Victory Oak as a launching point for his "fire from heaven" miracle. The night before the Fight or Flyte Fete, Little Kenny Copeland had climbed the tree and tied a 12 lb. fishing line to the highest limb of the Victory Oak. He tossed the spool down to Bobby Tilton, and Bobby ran the line to a brush pile not far from the restrooms but still clearly visible from the tent. The plan was to send a fireball down the fishing line which would land on the brush pile and set it ablaze. The poultry plant managers figured the theatrics of the whole thing would make people forget their babies were sick and dying.
On the morning of the Fete, Little Kenny loaded his backpack with a roll of toilet paper, a jar of gasoline, a piece of coat hanger wire bent into a square 'U' with the ends crooked, and a book of matches. Then he climbed once again to the top of the tree where he had tied the line the night before. He also wore an earpiece. During the entirety of the prayer session, Little Kenny hid himself on the other side of the tree, which, of course, was fully leafed out and hid him pretty well anyhow. When Brother Hollister prayed, "Lord of God of Hosts, send down fire," Patrick Roberts radioed Little Kenny and issued the portentous command: "Now!" By the time, Brother Hollister finished the sentence, Kenny had worked the roll of toilet paper onto the wire 'U', soaked the roll with gas, and dropped the jar, which splashed the remaining gasoline on the limbs and down the trunk of the Victory Tree. Little Kenny clearly hadn't thought this through. Then he hung the bent ends of the 'U' to the line and took out the matchbook. All Kenny had to do was light the toilet paper and send it sliding down the line to the brush pile—which was also soaked with gasoline—and, voila, Brother Hollister and the poultry plant would have their miracle.
But of course, it didn't work that way. Little Kenny did indeed light the toilet paper which did indeed become a fireball, but the committee that planned the miracle neglected to consider the fact the fire would immediately melt the fishing line. Which it did. The flaming roll of toilet paper fell into the tree and caught the spilled gasoline on fire, which caught the Victory Tree on fire, which sent flames roaring up to where Little Kenny had scrambled onto the highest limb of the tree where he was hollering for dear life. (By the way, this was the same committee responsible for discharging the wastewater that sickened the babies.)
The crowd screamed. Jose muttered, "¡Mi Dios en el cielo!," and Omar said, "Whaat de faak...?"
Patrick Roberts radioed the fire department, to whom he exclaimed, "Holy shit! The Victory Oak is on fire with Little Kenny in it!" Seconds later, we heard the clanging of the bell and the blaring of the siren, and the firetruck roared into the park, around the tent, and to the side of the river. Quickly, the firemen unrolled rubber hoses and dragged them into the river; quickly, they unrolled long canvas hoses and dragged them toward the tree, and quickly, they doused the tree, Little Kenny, the tent, and everyone in the park with putrid poultry discharge water. The stench was staggering, literally, inasmuch as people staggered around the park, choking and retching. Brother Hollister was chagrined and ran to hide in the restroom. Jose and Omar looked at each other, up at the smoking tree, and shook hands. The firemen raised a ladder down which Little Kenny scrambled to safety. And the naked girl strode casually from the tent, across the baseball diamond, and into the lore of Noel.
And with that, the Fete was over.
So, what did I learn?
Well, I learned every story has a meaning; otherwise, it was never a story to begin with. I went back to the Old Testament and re-read the tale of Elijah and the prophets of Baal. Then I read the next chapter, I Kings 19, and the following verses leapt out at me: "A mighty and strong wind tore through the mountains and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind came an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper."
Did you get that?
After the fire came a gentle whisper.
The fire from heaven wasn't the miracle; the whisper was the miracle!
That's when I realized that people who talk about God and His Power nearly always get it wrong. They whip up people's emotions and create a clamor that completely drowns out the whisper. Or they appeal to secret knowledge that unlocks the mysteries of the universe and enables them to control other people.
But it's the whisper that says, "Hey. Maybe you shouldn't open that valve 'cause it might dump millions of gallons of wastewater in the river."
Or "Are you sure that praying to someone called Saint Death is healthy? Maybe a saint of life would be better for the children."
Or "I know you see your albinism as a curse, and it really hurts to be shunned by people. But burning the Quran and having a girl strip down to nothing is probably not the best response. Consider the girl's dignity. And your friends' piety to Allah. Putting them ahead of your own emotional trauma will give you more relief than a lot of mumbo jumbo. I know that's hard, but trust me. Been there, done that."
Or "I am so sorry, Noel, Missouri, that your babies got sick and died. But blaming me or blind fortune or another race or some poor old woman with a cast in her eye is not going to fix the problem. Look for answers in the real world, okay? It's called science. Then you can do something that might actually help, like prosecuting the hell out of the poultry plant, so they're forced to clean up the mess they made and make the groundwater safe again. Justice without reparations is not justice. Those son of a bitches need to be held accountable, and it's up to you to do it."
And, finally, "For God's sake, don't drop fire on people. That will only make the world burn."