Before reading this story you should read
"The Advent of Elliot". The names have
been changed for obvious reasons.
*****************
I don’t know how the Kramers found our church. We’re off the beaten path and we
don’t advertise. Maybe it was God, I don’t know.
Jennifer was only 19 and David was 20, but they already looked beaten, worn, and
creased. They were rough in speech and manner. He worked construction and
she worked off and on at the 7-11. David Jr. was three and little Stacy was 7
weeks old.
It was like meeting the people you see on “COPS”. One night Jennifer punched her
mother in the nose. David was outraged because she was holding the baby at the
time. He felt that any decent mother would have put the child down first.
David was having his own troubles as he maintained a shaky sobriety. The last
time Jim Beam got the best of him, he fought the police officer who responded to
the neighbor's call. They had to pry David Jr. off his leg when they took him
away.
About a month after the Kramers started coming to church we were gathered
together for our Wednesday night meal. Everyone was sitting around the tables
chatting after supper when we heard a terrible scream down the hall.
The first thing I saw was Stan and Carol running toward Joan, one of our
deacons, who was carrying Elliot into the kitchen. He was screaming at top of
his lungs, and there was something in the scream that made every parent stop
talking. You knew it was something serious.
There was a rush of adults toward the kitchen. Joan put Elliot on the counter,
and people crowded around talking all at the same time. Carol pulled up Elliot’s
shirt and everyone fell silent. On his back were eight vicious bites, two rows
of four oval wounds. The skin was broken and oozing blood. Angry, red welts were
rising around the teeth marks.
Do you know the horror that borders on disbelief? Do you know that sad,
squinting face people make when they mouth words, but do not say them? That’s
how we were. The ugliness made us squint. Helpless, we formed words with our
mouths, but did not speak.
It was Joan who had found them in the Sunday school room. David Jr. had dragged
Elliot to the ground and was growling as he bit him over and over. Innocent
little Elliot, only 2-years-old, didn't even know how to struggle. He was bitten
14 times, each one drawing blood. He had bites on his back, arms, and head.
As everyone fussed over Elliot, David Jr. walked into the kitchen and watched
with an innocent and unconcerned expression. I stared at him in wonder. How can
a 3-year-old have such rage? How can his anger come and go so quickly? Where did
he learn to bite like that?
My mind flashed to the scenes of violence in the Kramer's home, secret scenes
they had shared only with me.
David and Jennifer came rushing around the corner and immediately saw what had
happened. Jennifer cried out, "Oh my God, not again. David!" Then she ran out of
the church, crying hysterically.
Later I would discover this was not the first time David Jr. had bitten someone
at church. The Kramer family had developed a tragic pattern. They would find a
church they liked, and then David Jr. would bite a child. They would leave in
shame and find another church.
They should have warned us, but they were young and foolish. Their denial about
their son was only one of the ways they were out of touch with reality.
David picked up his son and pleaded his apologies. As he edged toward the door
he kept saying the same thing over and over. “I’m sorry. He knows better. I’m
sorry. He knows better.”
Tossing one final “I’m sorry” over his shoulder, David ran out the door. I
followed him and found Jennifer in the parking lot talking with one of our
deacons. I don’t know what he was saying to her, but she had a crazy look and
was edging toward their old pickup.
I could tell they wanted to leave. Who could blame them? To be honest, I was
hoping they WOULD leave. I was in such shock. I was trying to be nice, but I was
so angry and so sad all at once.
Then the front door of the church banged open and Carol burst out. She ran
toward Jennifer who froze and whispered, "Oh my God". As Carol approached,
Jennifer lowered her eyes and began to weep and apologize. “I’m so sorry. My
God, I’m so sorry.”
Carol didn't say anything at first. Then she put her left hand on Jennifer’s
shoulder and her right hand under her chin. She lifted Jennifer’s face and spoke
in a very soft, but firm voice. “Stop.”
"Listen to me", she said. "Elliot is going to be fine. He will heal, and he will
get over this. I’m not worried about Elliot. Do you know what does worry me?"
Jennifer shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"I'm worried that you and David will be so embarrassed about this that you will
never come back to our church. That’s the only thing that worries me. We've come
to love your family, and you need to be here with us. You need church, and I
want you to promise me that you'll come back THIS Sunday."
Jennifer didn’t answer her. I don’t think she could, really. She did what felt
right. She melted into Carol’s arms, sobbing. There was something different
about the way she was crying, too. It was sad crying, but not as crazy and not
as lonely as before.
They stayed like that for a long time, two mothers holding each other in the
parking lot. Two mothers crying for their sons.
I watched and had the strangest impulse to take off my shoes.
It’s one thing to read about Christ in bibles and books. It’s quite another
thing to meet him in person. Quite another thing.
I'll never forget the sight of those horrible wounds on Elliot's little back.
They are a stark reminder of the reality of evil and the high price of
redemption.
The Preacher
Postscript
The Kramers still attend our church, but not as regularly. We've pushed them to
get counseling for their son and their family. We are gentle, but insistent.
When David Jr. is at church, we have an adult who monitors him closely. He seems
to be less afraid and has not tried to bite another child.
We are hopeful that in time, they will find healing.
