The Lovele$$ Landlord

A true-to-life parable. Names changed.

by Patricia Backora

Major Hardy beamed with pride. Before he departed his earthly abode, he’d been permitted a glimpse of the towering tributes paid to him by former comrades in arms. The papers were full of tales of his bravery and exemplary military leadership during World War II. Major Hardy was praised as a winner of distinguished service medals. He was eulogized as a man of great heroism and deep religious faith. But why was his escorting angel so solemn, as if he were ignorant of the major’s impressive achievements? The tall, wiry soldier was due to give His Lord an account of his life. Having delivered so many eloquent Christian testimonies during his sojourn on earth, he hoped his comportment during this meeting would be worthy of the prestige he had earned in the Marines. Surely the Master would be impressed by Major Hardy’s record of service on earth. He had received the highest commendations his nation could bestow upon him. In the years before he died the retired officer would pull out his fat portfolio of medals and show them to his gawking grandchildren. But this time the major hoped for a much more worthy decoration: one which would endure throughout eternity. This disciplined soldier who had reviewed many platoons on parade was about to be reviewed himself, and by the Supreme General of the Armies of Heaven. With the bearing of a no-nonsense businessman, he held a black briefcase in one hand, filled with his spiritual treasures he intended to present to the Commander-in-Chief in heaven.

As the angel flew him upward to higher levels within the Celestial City, the light grew ever more intense. It seemed to go right through you, as if nothing were hidden from it. Though unblemished beauty filled the vast panorama before him, Major Hardy’s courage began to falter. “How far are we from the Throne Room?” he asked the angel.

The angel eyed a mountain peak which glimmered like a diamond overarched by a rainbow. “It will not be long now, Major,” he said. “He eagerly awaits your arrival.”

“Please, could we just pause so I can collect my thoughts?” the major pleaded, nearly fainting from the clean white brilliance of the Light. “I never walked into a conference room without adequate preparation.”

The angel paused in his ascent and set Major Hardy down on a flower-dotted ridge. “You were supposed to prepare yourself for this moment while you were on earth,” he said, a bit reproachfully.

“Please,” the major begged him, “let’s take a moment to rehearse...if that would be possible.”

The angel closed his eyes briefly, then agreed. “It is an unusual request, but the Lord would have you to enter His Presence with humility of heart, not with pride. I believe you brought along some presents to lay at the feet of your Sovereign?”

Major Hardy’s wide mouth spread in a toothy grin. His beady eyes lit up in delight. “Yes, Mr. Angel, I brought a big portfolio of military medals I earned for valor and bravery in our nation’s fight against the evil forces of Adolf Hitler. I charged through a massive frontal assault to rescue several of our wounded boys from being run over by tanks. I visited military hospitals to boost the morale of convalescing soldiers. More than one veteran spoke of how my shining example of devotion to duty encouraged them to keep on fighting when the odds were stacked against them. I received several medals of honor, medals for distinguished service, good conduct medals, even a special one for getting wounded in the kitchen while I was doing KP. My finest hour was when I ran uphill through a hail of bullets to hurl a hand grenade into a pillbox full of snipers firing artillery at our unit. I blew ‘em all to kingdom come.”

The angel smiled sadly. “Earthly medals matter little in the sight of God. There are many higher awards a Christian can receive from the Father in heaven. Even after the war was over, you faced many other uphill battles and fought hard to win them.”

Major Hardy scratched his head. “My life was generally very pleasant after the war, but I guess you can recall some of those other battles even if I can’t.” “Angels happen to have very sharp memories,” said his companion. “Briefly let’s review one incident where you fought as valiantly against a threat to your financial security as you did against Adolf Hitler.”

At the angel’s command a faraway vista appeared, like a motion picture. It was the early ‘70’s, and into view came a rundown stucco house, an oddity in that humid Southern climate. The field surrounding the back yard was overgrown by thick, tangled foliage which ought to have been uprooted many years before. Huge field rats raced here and there, and slipped in and out of the house through unrepaired foundation crevices.

“Your property was in that sorry state long before a certain young couple moved in,” said the angel. “You, who boast of being an orderly, disciplined soldier...why didn’t you care for your own property?”

“I didn’t have time, with all my other duties,” the major faltered.

“But you found plenty of time to go worry the poor woman who inhabited that house,” reproved the angel. “See? That’s you getting out of your car to harass her about your rent money, knowing full well her husband is not home.”

The scene shifted to a young woman who heard his knock and rose up from taking a nap with her baby. Marie peeked out the window. Her brow knitted. Oh no, she thought.

As Marie slipped on her shoes she heard the sound of a key in the lock. She forced a fake smile onto her grim face.

“She doesn’t look very happy,” said the major.

“Nor would your wife, if she were home alone and some man walked in unannounced on her,” said the angel. “What if some man walked in on your own wife and she happened to be in the shower at the time?”

“That question is inapplicable,” said the Major. “My wife only showered before bed.”

“You’re deliberately ignoring my point,” the angel grumbled. “Here’s more.”

The focus zeroed in on the major’s head as he called out: “Anybody home?” As Marie approached him his thoughts were made audible: Why did I ever rent this place out to hippies anyway? Long hair, long dress, torn jeans, rundown van, no curtains on the windows, shabby furniture...

The angel paused the video and said: “Before we go any further, show me the Scripture which makes it a sin for men to wear torn jeans, or for women to wear long hair and long dresses.”

“Well, my wife didn’t look that way,” said the major sanctimoniously. “Her skirts were always the proper length, and her coiffure was always lacquered in place. And there’s nothing Christian about torn jeans. And what was the matter with those people anyway, with no curtains on the windows?”

“You can’t eat curtains,” said the angel tartly. With that, the focus shifted to a kitchen cabinet, bare except for a box of baking soda.

The weather has interfered with her husband’s outdoor employment,” the angel added. “A few days after you left, two self-righteous gossips from Marie’s church came by to give her a hard time about her feelings toward a fellow believer who cheated her husband out of his rightful wages. After they finished carving up her soul into tiny little pieces, one of the ladies said: ‘I’m going to fast about this!’ Well, at least they had a choice about breaking their fast. The fat lady treated them both to a big juicy hamburger while Marie sat at home fuming and struggling to hold onto her faith after their hypocritical visitation. How cheap to kick someone who’s down, but how costly to offer practical help. And to make matters worse, this woman now has to contend with you. Now back to the vision.”

Brother Hardy did the rounds of the old house, checking to make sure it was tidy and clean. Marie told him about a pest infestation problem. Her husband had sprayed for bugs and laid giant traps for the field rats, which were as big as fat cats. But the problem had persisted. The house had been scrubbed top to bottom but the grim old soldier inferred that the pest problem could be due to bad housekeeping habits.

“She spent so much time with her broom and mop that they became her closest companions ,” said the angel. “The devil tried to make Marie think her own self-worth was tied up with the cleanliness of that old house. How could you have held her responsible for the water which collected within the walls of the stucco which attracted the roaches, or for the big masonry gaps which let in the big rats? Why were you so slow to admit the problem was your fault, not hers?”

“Because I needed the money!” the major barked. “In order to keep my financial ship afloat I had to plug up the leaks. Her husband badgered me so bad I caved in and called in the pest control people.”

“What if one of those rats had bitten her baby, or someone had been hurt by that rat trap, which was strong enough to cut a cat in two?” the angel asked. “How would you have felt?”

Major Hardy grimaced. “I sure wouldn’t have felt good about it, but it was like pulling hen’s teeth to get those folks to pay their rent on time.”

“Even on an empty stomach?” said the angel.

“All I can say is this: It was God’s responsibility to look after those people, not mine.”

“And who looked after you when you were dead in sin and on your way to hell? Don’t you believe in showing your gratitude to God by treating His children with compassion? I think it’s very odd the way hippies and New Age

groups share their food with each other and generally look out for the welfare of their group, but Christians peck at each other like hungry chickens. The miracle is how Marie was able to disassociate church people from the REAL Jesus and cling to her faith, after all was said and done.

Major Hardy grumbled under his breath. “I hate guilt-based religion! God loves us out of grace, not to get us to owe Him something we have to repay less-deserving souls. For your information, Mr. Angel, I’ve repaid my debt to God many times over. Just think of all the tithe money I’ve dumped into church offering plates over the years. Those people sure didn’t contribute much, now, did they?”

“So the spiritual gifts of the poorer saints don’t count for much in your estimation?” the angel frowned. “I find that a bit ludicrous.”

“Okay, I’ll admit God blesses His poorer children with spiritual riches too, but I wouldn’t have been doing those kids any favor by letting them stay in MY house rent-free. They needed to learn some responsibility. I learned plenty of discipline in the Marine Corps.” Major Hardy stuck out his chest with pride.

“Marie’s husband worked hard to try to improve your house,” said the angel. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“Well, it hardly looked like the Taj Mahal when he finished puttering around with it.”

“Were you generous with your contribution for materials?” the angel asked pointedly.

“Well, why should I have wasted MY money on that old dump?”

“Major, you aren’t being consistent. If that house wasn’t worth investing in, why was it worth collecting rent on?”

“Well, it kept them out of the rain, didn’t it?”

A new scene flashed before the major: Pots and pans spread on the floor collecting rainwater dripping through the roof.

“Some years after the couple moved away it was condemned by the city and torn down, as you well remember,” said the angel. “Seems to me that if you really loved Jesus you would have repaid Him for His kindness by allowing the young couple to live in that crumbling old house rent-free, in exchange for the husband’s repair work, until they got back on their feet financially.”

The major was defiant. “Oh, he tried doing that to get reduced rent, but I let that man know his work added no value to the house,” he grumbled.

“Because it hadn’t been transformed into a glittering showplace of opulence by the time you paid your next visit?” the angel shrugged.

“Well, I know what real estate properties are worth!” Major Hardy protested. “My dogs lived in better quarters.”

“Then why didn’t you just let that poor couple live there free of charge as an act of Christian charity, if you were so ashamed of that property? Wouldn’t you have done the same for Mary and Joseph when there was no room at the inn?”

The major snapped to attention and clicked his heels. “I don’t talk much about Mary and Joseph, Mr. Angel, because I happen to be a hard-working Protestant, not some superstitious Catholic! And I am of the persuasion that God is a God of order, sir, and I adhere strictly to my principles. I asked no more of those people than I would ask of myself. No one lives in any of MY properties rent-free under any circumstances for any length of time! I would expect that of my own son, sir.”

The angel groaned. “Do you care to retract that statement before you go in to see your Maker?”

“No sir, let it stand on record that I had a right to my own rent. Fair is fair.”

“It shall stand on record, but not in your favor,” said the angel solemnly. “Out of your own mouth you shall be judged thus: You, who were forgiven a debt as vast as the heavens, refused to forgive a debt infinitely smaller. You stored up plenty of treasures for yourself on earth but what provision have you made for your own home in heaven, besides those worthless medals that testify of your pride in human achievement?”

“All the tithe money I just mentioned, doesn’t that count for anything?”

“Not here it doesn’t,” said the angel. “If you failed to see your Redeemer in the face of His poor brethren, you’ve missed Him altogether. In God’s Kingdom you only keep for eternity what you give away. Far better to make a feast for the poor than for the rich who can easily recompense you upon the earth.”

“But that isn’t what Brother Silverspoon, that men’s motivational minister taught!” protested the major. “He said I could have my pie on earth, with lots of ice cream on top, and a big mansion in heaven after I died.”

“All that matters is what Jesus taught,” the angel said. “After you left Marie’s church you found another church which preached a gospel more to your liking. And you forgot your First Love. Instead, you invented unto yourself another Christ whom you will not encounter in the Throne Room. Didn’t you just tell me, Major, that you wouldn’t even provide shelter for your own son if he was unable to pay you rent?”

“Precisely so!” barked the Major.

“All your adult life you claimed to be a son of the living God,” said the angel. “Fair is fair. What goes around comes around. Those who show no mercy receive no mercy. Take, then, your poor offering offered out of a hardened heart and see if it will be sufficient to pay adequate rent to live in those mansions belonging to the One you claim as your own Heavenly Father.”

* * * * * * http://banpreachergreed.tripod.comhttp://waronbullying.tripod.comhttp://kingdomage.tripod.com http://boogerbucks.tripod.com

l