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Friends of the Missions

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An Empty Church


An empty church…just the organist and me

But there is my God….Hanging from a tree.

In spite of my endeavors….He seems too far from me.

Oh, what was it like on Calvary?


Your mother cries….and wails, unheard.

Where are your friends….your boyhood chums?

When now at last…. Alone you cry.

“Oh, dear Father, please, let me die.”


You see them shout and rant with joy

Cause, now they’ve got...their whipping boy.

I wonder why, or where, or when

They’ll understand what You did for them


An empty church…just You and me

My loving God…hung on a tree.


Jacob Schroeder, November 25, 2007

The Professional Flogger

Lucanus had recently retired from the job had loved. He had worked hard at it; over the years becoming a master. He was heavily recruited and his wife and family had moved several times. All for the career. His career. . . . He was the consummate professional.

Only once had he been drawn into it. Lost it. He liked looking into their eyes, the fear, the terror. It excited him. But the groveling, the begging; disgusted him. He really loved the screams, the pain. It was almost sexual.

Once though, a dirt bag seemed happy with all the pain. At least, that’s what his eyes said. And, he refused to scream. He kept beating the scum until his partner tackled him. Then, he ran outside, made a mat of brier and smashed it on scum bag’s head. He twisted it, screwed it on real good. No way to get that off. Still, no noise, the scum’s eyes were smiling! Weird, crazy. That jackass was nuts. No other explanation.

Later he saw the crud and two others. Crud seemed to be talking. Suddenly, one of the other asses was smiling. He stared. Then that scum turned; their eyes locked. He couldn’t stop staring. The guy was happy. …. Must be crazy.

A number of years ago, his wife started some women’s gibberish about people seeing dirt bag alive, but without his hat. Well, he saw him die. Dead. They lanced him. Nothing there , Nada. The stupidity was infecting his favorite (and only) grandson. He took him to the games. Make him tough. That was a while ago.

Things change. This time the kid actually arrived before him. Came on his own.

They opened the gate. Big roar. He is the center of attention. He sees the hat less man, smiling. Laying down his sword, he is moving towards his grandson, when dinner begins.



Jacob Schroeder, January 22, 2008