The Kids are Alright

 

I once served as the leader of a troop of Boy Scouts that was sponsored by the church my Mom attended. Once known as the Scout Master, the position came to be called Troop Scouter when I took it on in the mid 1970s. There were two brothers in the group, both well-mannered and somewhat on the shy side. The older one was sixteen, beyond the upper age limit for Scouts (14) but he qualified for the Scouter-in-Training program and wanted to be in the same group as his younger 11-year-old brother.

My first encounter with the boys’ parents was when I went to their home to collect a payment for their summer camp fees. The exterior was festooned with Union Jacks and portraits of the Royal Family adorned the inside walls. The father seemed rather elderly considering the boys’ ages and he went to his desk, wrote out a cheque and finished with a flair using a rubber stamp. The stamp imprint read “God Save the Queen.” Okay, then.

I had another occasion to attend at the boys’ home and this time the old man left a calling card. While I was inside with their mother, he must have opened my vehicle door and left a postcard on the dashboard. It was dutifully signed by him and read as follows:

Worldly churches in confusion

Feed mankind a strange delusion.

Rome and Russia mixed together;

Satan’s doubtless at the tether.

Fellowship with them is not right;

Everlasting damnation will be their plight.

It was terrible poetry, and the last two lines didn’t even scan. I showed the old man’s handiwork to the minister at my Mom’s church. He nodded his head in recognition. He was familiar with that family’s brand of old-time religion. The boys’ mother had them near the end of her child-bearing years and when they were both born healthy, they took it as a sign from God that he approved of their rootin’- tootin’ fanaticism. They were adherents of Ian Paisley, the Northern Irish firebrand who denounced Catholics, ecumenism, and homosexuals.

The minister thought that the little ditty was a slam against the World Council of Churches and, of course, Roman Catholics. May as well lump the Communists in with them while they’re at it. He told me about a service at his church to commemorate Lord Baden Powell’s birthday – it was before I signed on as Scout leader. The boys attended with their troop and the parents accompanied them. As the minister read passages from the Good News Bible, the old man stood up and decried the use of scripture from anything but the “original St. James version of the Bible.”

The minister replied that it’s the King James version and that “James I sure the hell was no saint!”

“And if it’s ‘originals’ you want,” he continued, “come next week and I’ll read to you from the original Hebrew and Greek.”

“These people engage in spiritual blackmail,” the minister opined.

 Sometime later the boys approached me and said their parents were urging them to earn their Religion in Life badges. Being still new to the position, I wasn’t familiar with the requirements and said I’d get back to them.

The Religion in Life Award was a recognition of a Scout’s commitment to his spiritual beliefs. The award was given when the relevant religious organization acknowledged the boy’s dedication. I told the two brothers that if the minister at their church wrote a letter saying the requirements were met, I’d be happy to give them their badges.

At the time there were two badges associated with the award, representing the Christian and Jewish faiths. The first depicted the symbols for Alpha and Omega and the second displayed a Menorah. No other faith was represented – a situation that has since been addressed, and although there are dozens of such badges presently, someone is bound to feel left out. I would just as soon prefer that religion be kept out of the Scouting movement, as it should be with schools as well.

In due course the boys’ pastor wrote a letter and I obtained the badges from Scout headquarters with an accompanying certificate to be signed by him. The boys told me that their parents wanted me to present the award to them during a special service at their church. I agreed but based on the last couple of incidents I probably should have known what I would be getting myself into. I gave a tidy little speech during which I explained the emblem on the badges and congratulated the boys. I should have left at that point, but I felt compelled to stay for the rest of the service. At my Mom’s church, it would have been close to the end. But these people were barely getting started. It was “testimony” time. One person after another went up to the front and gave a rambling, exhaustive narrative of how they “received” Jesus into their lives. I was past getting fidgety.

Finally, it was the Pastor’s turn at the podium, and it was a non-stop denunciation of Catholics. Next, he exhorted the congregation to show their commitment to Christ and stand up to accept him. I figured we weren’t ever getting out of there until everybody stood, so I rose to my feet. I was the only one.

“Praise Jesus that this man has decided to give his life to the Lord,” thundered the Pastor, whereupon things seemed to wind down. I made my way to the exit as the piano and organ players worked their instruments. The Pastor beat me to it and was waiting for me at the door. He wanted to meet with me in his office right then and there and discuss this new direction in my life. It was getting close to 11:00 pm. I told him I had to be somewhere else and hastily departed. I could have kicked myself when I realized that I had signed their guest book with my address and phone number. For the next couple of weeks, I refused to answer my phone or my apartment building’s buzzer.

Both boys eventually left the Scout troop. The older one became an assistant leader with another troop and the younger one, now 14, wanted to join the Venturers. We didn’t have that program in our group.

I would think about those two nice boys every now and again, especially whenever religious fanaticism ended in tragedy. The Jonestown incident occurred in November of that same year. The Waco Texas massacre took place 15 years later. I prayed that the boys would not be caught up in anything similar.

I would by chance encounter the older boy again in the early 2000s. I would not have known him; he was now in his early forties, but he recognized me and said hello. He said he was doing fine; he was divorced but getting re-married that fall. His younger brother was happily married and living on the west coast. I was glad that they seemed to have turned out so well-adjusted, but I came across the older one in the very last place one would expect given his upbringing. Certainly, the parents would never have imagined it in their wildest dreams.

It was the nude beach at Toronto Island. And we were both in full uniform – for that venue.