Taken For Granted
“Christians? Christians?” Have you heard that call? They’re looking for me. That’s definitely me. You’re in doubt and Why? You want me to give you proofs? Oh! That’s very easy. Who told you to doubt that I am a Christian? I am a Christian! How? I went to church. I pray. I have my religion. I read the Bible. I love kids and I am giving them what they want. I sing gospel songs. Now you’re telling me that you are in doubt? How dare you to question me? Can’t you see? Or Are you blind? I am the true definition of a Christian. You’re so pathetic; you don’t have the right to question me that way. What?! You want to ask me more?!… I’ll think about it for a second. Hmhm… Ok! I’m sure I’ll be able to answer all your questions fluently. Go… Ask me…. You’re asking me if I go to church every Sunday?! I told you… I GO TO CHURCH… ahmm b-bu-but not every Sunday. Every other Sunday I guess that’s fine with the Lord. Why?! I-I-I have a project every other Sunday. Yes r-r-right, I have a project. The Lord understands that. Liar?! I’m not a liar. I’m telling you the truth in fact I went to church last three Sundays straight and Oh my Gosh Cristy is in the stage he’s starting to sing. Ooops I slip! Ok fine. I went to church three times straight without absent b-because of Cristy. She’s very cute, she’s talented. And I’m still there for the Lord. Liar? I’m not a liar. I am still a Christian. It so happen that I don’t have any projects that Sunday. Ahhh! Fake?! I’m not a fake Christian; at least I go to church. Don’t shout! Ahhh! I said I’m not a fake Christian, I-I-I pray… every other day. At least I pray. No! I said I am a true Christian I read the Bible. I open it… Every time the Pastor is telling me to do so. Ok stop. Why do we need to argue? I guess I really don’t know what Christianity is?
Ok! I go to church not because of Christ but because of Christy! I’m sleeping every time there is a sermon because I only love the music. I don’t read my Bible because I guess that’s boring. I sing… “Jesus, I surrender I draw nearer, I fall down” but the truth I’m not sincere with that. But I guess my works will be credited in his name. I share my blessings to the poor, i give gifts every Sunday and I have a religion I guess that works…I don’t know. Right, Ephesians 2: 8-9 was right. It is not by works that I will be saved because Jesus is the only way. And I am so wrong I don’t even mind his sacrifices on the cross. I am supposed to be there because those are my sins. I forgot my purpose here on earth; you know what, he’s been good to me. But I always take him for granted. I’m doing things not for his glory but for my own. I should live for him because he died for me. I’m so ashamed now. But Lord you still forgave me. You’re so good. And you brought me to my knees. Now I’m talking and standing in front of you and I don’t care if you are going to laugh at me. I care to tell you things that I believe I must tell you. He won everything in me and he’s been waiting for you too… If you believe you have him, you may now shout what Carman once wrote “Jesus is the Champion”.
Being Mr. G (J.A. walks in wearing a business suit, barefoot with sandals. He blows in a train whistle.) All aboard! It’s a bright sunny day and you are taking a train. You are wearing a pair of sandals you proudly made yourself. As you board the train one of your sandals slips off and falls beside the track. (J.A. looses one sandal that falls down the platform.) You try to retrieve it. Too late. The train starts to pull away. What would you have done? I would have cursed my bad luck, mad at loosing a sandal. Contest chair, Ladies and Gentlemen, I once read the biography of a man I like to call Mr. G who once lived the same situation. When Mr. G realized he could not get his sandal back, he quickly pulled off his other sandal and tossed it on the tracks. (J.A. troughs his second sandal down the platform.) When asked why he did that, Mr. G replied: “The poor man who finds my first sandal will be very grateful to find the second one.” Don’t you feel like going, “Awww. How sweeeeet!” The first time I read this story, I was touched by such generosity. No wonder Mr. G, Mr. Gandhi, became a great leader. Gandhi dared to care. It would be easy to say, “Big deal it’s just a pair of sandals.” Yeah? Next time you go to work, just try it. March into the office with no shoes. (J.A. raises one bare foot to show the audience.) Someone says, “Hey where’s your shoes?”
“I gave them away to a homeless person on the street.” Will they say, “Awww. How sweeeet”? No! They’ll look at you as if you’re nuts. Sometimes there’s a risk when you care. When you dare to care you are like Mr. G. I once tried being a mister G. I was entertaining as a Disc Jockey for a group in which everyone was hearing impaired. Playing music for hearing impaired people. It didn’t work! Even with VERY LOUD music, no matter how I tried to get them moving. They stood still… just chatting… (J.A. signs some words to illustrate a conversation) so to speak. I had to reach them in their world. A crazy idea came from my heart and if it failed, I would look stupid in front of a hundred people. I asked someone to teach me a few words in sign language. I jumped on a loud speaker… actually I climbed… and yelled. (J.A. waves his arms in the air.) Well, that’s how you yell in sign language! Someone waved back. Then another and another. It worked! A hundred smiles waaaaved back. I pumped up the volume so they could feel the vibrations (J.A. mimes turning a volume button and stomps on the platform with the sole of his right foot to mark the rhythm.) and I signed, “Dance with me!” (J.A. makes the sign.) And we danced… (J.A. dancing with his arms in the air makes a full turn on himself.) At last, we understood each other. Not a word was spoken… Yet, we were not silent anymore. Our joy roared louder than a thousand voices. Words erupted from my heart. I couldn't hold them anymore. I yelled… (J.A. stops stomping.) They all yelled back, "We love you too" I know, “Awww How sweeeeet” When you listen to your heart, you dare to care. A Mr. G listened to my heart 12 years ago when I started in Toastmasters. It was my second speech and boy was I nervous! My heart was pounding! Up in front of the group. Shaking. I said a few words then my brain started melting like ice cream in a heat wave. Sweat rolled down my face, across my belly, pooled in my shoes. Confused, I mumbled: “I am sorry. I did not prepare my speech properly. Please accept my apologies.” I sloshed back to my seat. Ashamed. Determined to leave this group of... “TM” doesn’t stand for Toastmasters. It stands for Terrible Masochists! Then I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. I turned. A smiling Mrs. G whispered, “Congratulations for your courage. Most people wouldn’t dare try what you just did.” Then a Mister G on my other side grabbed my hand. “Good speech. Next one will be better.” In that moment, I realized I was a poor man… who just found two sandals at a train station.
Thank you. Yes… you… (J.A. looks directly to some people.) you… you… all of you! On behalf of all those, like me, who were touched by your generosity, thank you. You see, A sandal A sandal A sandal
you are like Mister G when you drop a sandal. of hope… when you reach out; of joy… when you listen to your heart; of courage… when you dare to care.
On the train of life, the world needs more Misters and Misses G’s like you. (J.A. blows in a train whistle.) All aboard!
THE FACE UPON THE FLOOR it was a balmy summer evening and a goodly crowd was there, Which well-nigh filled Joe’s barroom, on the corner of the square; And as songs and witty stories Came through the open door, A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor. "Where did it come from?" someone said. "The wind has blown it in." "What does it want?" another cried. "Some whiskey, or rum or gin?" "Here, Toby, sic ‘em, if your stomach’s equal to the work– I wouldn’t touch him with a fork, he’s filthy as a Turk." This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace; In fact, he smiled as tho’ he thought he’d struck the proper place. "Come, boys, I know there’s kindly hearts among so good a crowd– To be in such good company would make a deacon proud. "Give me a drink–that’s what I want… I’m out of funds, you know, When I had cash to treat the gang this hand was never slow. What? You laugh as if you thought this pocket never held a sou; I once was fixed as well, my boys, as any one of you. "There, thanks, that’s braced me nicely, God bless you one and all; Next time I pass this good saloon, I’ll make another call. Give you a song? No, I can’t do that, my singing days are past; My voice is cracked, my throat’s worn out and my lungs are going fast. "I’ll tell you a funny story, and a fact, I promise, too. Say! Give me another whiskey and I’ll tell you what I’ll do… That I was ever a decent man not one of you would think; But I was, some four or five years back. Say, give me another drink. "Fill her up, Joe, I want to put some life into my frame– Such little drinks to a bum like me are miserably tame; Five fingers… there, that’s the scheme… and corking whiskey, too. Well, here’s luck, boys and landlord… my best regards to you. "You’ve treated me pretty kindly and I’d like to tell you true How I came to be the dirty sot, you see before you now. As I told you, once I was a man, with muscle, frame, and health,
And but for a blunder ought to have made, considerable wealth. "I was a painter, not one that daubed on bricks and wood, But an artist, and for my age, was rated pretty good. I worked hard at my canvas and was bidding fair to rise, For gradually I saw the star of fame before my eyes. "I made a picture perhaps you’ve seen, ’tis called the ‘Chase of Fame’. It brought me fifteen hundred pounds and added to my name, And then I met a woman… now comes the funny part– With eyes that petrified my brain and sunk into my heart. "Why don’t you laugh? ’tis funny that the vagabond you see Could ever love a woman and expect her love for me; But ’twas so, and for a month or two, her smiles were freely given, And when her loving lips touched mine, it carried me to Heaven. "Boys, did you ever see a girl for whom your soul you’d give, With a form like the Milo Venus, too beautiful to live.
I DEMAND DEATH My hands are wet with blood. They are crimsoned with the blood of a man I have just killed. I have come here today to confess. I have committed murder, deliberate, premeditated murder. I have killed a man in cold blood. That man is my master. I am here not to ask for pity but for justice. Simple, elementary justice. I am a tenant… My father was a tenant before me and so was his father before him. This misery is my inheritance and perhaps this will be my legacy to my children. I have labored on a patch of land not mine. But I have learned to love that land, for it is the only thing that lies between me and complete destitution. It is the only world that I have learned to cherish. And somewhere on that land I have managed to build what is now the dilapidated nipa shack that has been home to me. I have but a few world possessions, mostly rags. My debts are heavy. They are sum total of my ignorance and the inspired arithmetic of my master, which I do not understand. I labor like a slave and out of the fruits of that labor I get but a mere pittance for a share. And I have to stretch that mere pittance to keep myself and my family alive. My poverty has reduced me to the bare necessities of life. And the constant fear of rejection from the land has made me totally subservient to my master. You tell me that under the constitution, I am a free man-free to do what I believe is just, free to do what I think is right, and free to worship God according to the dictate of my conscience. But I do not understand the meaning of all these for I have never known freedom. I have always obeyed the wishes of my master out of fear. I have always regarded myself as no better than a slave to the man who owns the land on which I live. I do not ask you to forgive me nor to mitigate my crime. I have taken the law into my own hands, and I must pay for it in atonement. But kill this system. Kill this system and you kill despotism. Kill this system and you kill slavery. Kill this despotism and you set the human soul to liberty and freedom. Kill this slavery and you release the human spirit into happiness and contentment. For the cause of human liberty, of human happiness and contentment, thousands and even millions have died and will continue to die.
Mine is only one life. Take me if you must but let it be a sacrifice to the cause which countless others have been given before and will be given again and again, until the oppressive economic system has completely perished, until the sons of toil have been liberated from enslavement, and until man has been fully restored to decency and self respect. You tell me of the right to life and liberty and the pursuit of happiness. But I have known no rights, only obligations; I have known no happiness; only despair in the encumbered existence that has always been my lot. My dear friend, I am a peace-loving citizen. I have nothing but love for my fellowmen. And yet, why did I kill this man? It is because he was the symbol of an economic system which has made him and me what we are: He, a master, and I, a slave. Out of a deliberate design I killed him because I could no longer stand this life of constant fear and being a servant. I could no longer suffer the thought of being perpetually a slave. I committed the murder as an abject lesson. I want to blow that spelled the death of my master to be a death blow to the institution of the economic slavery which shamelessly exists in the bright sunlight of freedom that is guaranteed by the constitution to every man. My dear friend: I do anguish from the weak and helpless and has laid upon the back of the ignorant labor burdens that are too heavy to be borne, I demand death! To this callous system of exploitation that has tightened the fetters of perpetual bondage in the hands of thousands, and has killed the spirit of freedom in the hearts of men, I demand death. To this oppression that has denied liberty to the free and unbounded children of God, I DEMAND DEATH!
