“…Senior Man…”

So please believe me when I tell you that I frothed and foamed earlier this week once I was dubbed and named, honorable senior man.

A Rasta-Man did the honors; and that this wonderful thing has happened in a moment like this makes me even more pleased.

Felix Frederick Bethel, HSM.

My Lord, this has surely been another of those bitter-sweet weeks; bitter because a neighbor and a friend of mine – albeit from a discreet distance – has been felled by a stroke.

And as I thought about the cruelty inherent some of the sweet words we use to describe calamity, I thought to myself that the word ‘stroke’ is painfully inappropriate when a man or woman is struck down or sometimes laid low by a stroke.

But in truth, we also hear some people talk about a ‘stroke’ of good luck.

In truth, so be it all as together we live out our life’s sentence that has death as the full stop.

But even then, those of us who profess Him, we know that Death shall have no dominion.

O Death, we shout, where is thy sting/ O grave where is your victory/And so to the brother-neighbor of mine who is struggling in this dread hour, the word from across the street remains, Be of good cheer…

I suspect that this brother of mine who is now struggling as he has never had to struggle, today better understands that the real battle is surely the Lord’s.

I pray for him and I say to myself, What a time this has been for old men like us; Black men who never thought that they would live long enough to see and know that Barack Obama is still Commander in Chief and is still President of the United States of America – and I am also reliably informed that I am not dreaming.

Indeed, what a time as together we learn that the Word of God is true, and He does not lie. He says vengeance is His - He will repay.

I am also reminded that, He says [in Proverbs 24  (NIV; courtesy of biblegateway.com]: Do not lie in wait like an outlaw against a righteous man's house, do not raid his dwelling place; for though a righteous man falls seven times, he rises again, but the wicked are brought down by calamity.

I take it as truth when the Word says, Do not gloat when your enemy falls; when he stumbles, do not let your heart rejoice, or the LORD will see and disapprove and turn his wrath away from him.

As I take one step and place it where another has already been, I also take with me a shadow that is today as heavy as heart can bear.

But with it all and through all that life brings with it – the bitter and the sweet – I must give praise. Even though Thou slay me – Job shouts – yet shall I serve…! Yea, even though…!

I shout like this even as I am myself reminded that in my little space of time, I have come across all types of human beings.

Sadly, some of these people have been perfectly ghastly; others have been cherubic and sometimes so syrupy-sweet that I could swear they had lost their way – and bumped in to me – as they journeyed heaven-ward.

And then again, there are all those other folk whose lived existence is so far removed from mine that I scarce can see the extent to which these people share anything in common with sufferers like me.

They live in their world and I live in mine.

And for sure, there are the types who live life as I suspect it was meant to be lived by the vast majority of humankind: love and marriage [horse and carriage] some sex, the children, the house, the job, retirement – and then the wait for Death’s cold hand…

But clearly, no matter how life is lived in the vortex of these times, the fact remains that there are – from time to time – certain exquisite moments when a truth is spoken that is heard; and which, once heard again, echoes.

Such was my good fortune this past week as I traveled on one of the King’s Highways in this blasted place.

Let me explain.

As I sailed along in my purple car, I lingered for a while and a Rasta brother too lingered a while. And we – each of us – exchanged greetings. Mine was a to-the-point, Blessings, Good Brother; his was precise and to the point, Blessings to you, honorable senior man.

And I said to myself, what a wonderful man and what a wonderful truth from a proud son of the Bahamas – a peanut vendor, fruit salesman, God’s son, and one of my brothers – a man who could be one of my own flesh and blood sons – one who affirmed that an old man could be [to him and some others] an honorable senior man.

I thank God for this man’s true witness and testimony.

And so it was that, I could almost weep for joy when he put his hand to his heart and said to me/ yes-me/ Blessings, Honorable Senior Man.

And seriously, as I thought about what he was truly saying, I thought to myself about all those men who are so serious about money, honors and respect that they sometimes take matters into their own hands.

Once the decision is taken to go down this path to self-adulation, these honor-rebels routinely shower each other with a nasty show of alphabetized BCHG’s, CMMMG,s BEO’s and a noisy assortment of other such ‘honors’ bestowed by themselves upon themselves and in the name of a defunct empire.

Even now, some of these fine ones are lobbying for their share of this spurious honor-stuff; most of which stinks to high heaven, redolent with the stench of slavery and the puffed up foolishness that is the continuing legacy of colonialism.

So it is today that those whose ancestors were so brutalized under the old flag that many of them learned to sing out in glee, Rule Britannia.

Indeed, one now old but yet revered and most beloved and truly sainted lady- and mother of many remembers the time when a hoary old Barbadian fool slapped a flood of holy tears out of the wells behind her eyes – all because of the fact that the negro child she was then could not or would not stand to attention rigid enough when the word was shouted, God Save the King.

And for sure, that dude did need some saving – but alas, slapping that poor, black child could –in the lubricious circumstances – do nothing to help the dumb king who – paradoxically – did nothing to help himself by insisting that he would marry somebody else’s wife.

These are the kinds of people who set the standard for the King George VI Negroes who still run things in this messed up place.

Thus the honor-rebels and Mr. Speaker, Sir – I rise.

And therein we find the enigma as the ogling public is told that some of their erstwhile peers are now ladies, some of them knights, others lords and all of them reputedly honor-rebels: thus the Honorable This and the Honorable That.

And so, even as this debauch of the language continues, I remain content with the word in the wind that echoes still; Blessings, Honorable, Senior Man!