Grace In the Park

The park was located in the inner city, within a neighborhood that had been desired in the 1930s, 40s, and 59s, seen decline in the 60s and 70s, a resurgence in the 80s and become a center of individual involvement in the life of the neighborhood, a beehive of activity for betterment of people of all social status. The neighborhood was proud of its park, and though it belonged to the city it was the people of the neighborhood who kept is pristine.

A grove of ancient hardwoods formed the eastern border of the park. The stately oaks stretched their limbs to form a canopy over the concrete path that meandered through the trees, leading the walker along the edge of the state-of-the-art playground and ending at the opposite street bordering the sixth hole of the nine hole golf course. It was on that concrete path the parson found himself one day in early fall. The leaves were still on the limbs, the weather was still shirt sleeve, but the wind held the promise of chilly weather a'comin.

As the parson walked along, occasionally picking up an acorn or two to toss toward a tree here or there, he suddenly heard, coming from the depth of the massive oaks, the lyrical sound of a guitar. He stopped. He listened. Again, he heard the sound. The plaintive sounds of the vibrating strings hitched a ride upon the softly moving winds to reverberate upon the parson's ear.

Like the sirens calling an ancient Greek on his own quest, the parson was drawn amid the trunks and shrubs onto a path barely wide enough to provide a way for the critters of the park. He paused at the top of the rise on which he stood and looked down into a depression where in inclement weather the storm drain brought a torrent of water. There, beside what on cool nights served as a campfire, sat a man upon the trunk of a fallen tree. His age was indeterminate. His back was turned from the parson. His head decorations of ribbon tipped dreadlocks seemed to dance with the rhythm of his coming from the guitar resting on his left thigh. Each note of Amazing Grace seemed wrapped within the melody brought forth from dexterous fingers in constant movement, each sounding a note in counterpoint to the former.

The parson set himself upon another log and listened while whispering lyric to appropriate notes:

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,

that saves a wretch like me,

I once was lost but now am found ...

The parson paused in his silent mouthing of the words as his accompanist veered into an improvised jazz-like detour from the melody. Silently the parson listened with closed eyes until the strumming fingers beckoned him back to the melodic tale.

Twas grace that taught my heart to ....

A movement caught the parson's eye. The blue uniform stood out as the man stood at the top of the hill where the concrete initiated its meandering path. The parson knew the man. The parson knew why the man was here. The parson rose and quickly walked to the top of the rise.

“Hello, Henry,” the parson said as he approached the man. “What brings you to the park?”

“We're going to make a sweep,” said Henry, “and remove anyone who's not suppose to be here.”

“It's a public park, Henry. Anybody can be here.”

“Don't give me a hard time, Parson,” said Henry. “We've had that discussion before. I'm just doing my job.”

“You know sometimes you do it too well, don't you?”

Henry ignored the comment. “What brings you out here in the park in the middle of the day? And why the hell are you talking so loud?”

“I was heading over to Ms. Jenkins for a visit.”

“Well, you're going the wrong direction,” said Henry, his right hand resting on his 9mm.

The parson thought quickly, “Actually, Henry I looked up here and saw you so I turned back. Does your precinct have tickets to the Bar-B-Q this weekend?”

“No, we don't,” said Henry.

“Well, call your partner and walk over to the church with me. I'll get enough complimentary tickets to feed the whole precinct.”

Henry reached for the radio on his shoulder and summoned his partner. As they waited the conversation turned to Henry's family. Finally, his partner came.

“Oh, my goodness, Robert,” said the parson. “How in the world did you end up with Henry?”

“Luck of the draw,” said the young policeman.

The three walked over to the church where the parson gave them a handful of tickets to the upcoming event.

“Thanks, Parson,” said Henry as they walked back out of the church. “We appreciate this.”

“You're most welcome,” said the parson.

Henry and Robert turned and walked up the street toward their patrol car.

“Thought you were going to sweep the park?” the parson said.

“We were Parson, but I have a feeling by the grace of God there are no vagrants down there now.”