The Great Commission

Silas avidly loved the youth group because Friday night was family cleaning night. His mother was satisfied with Silas skipping out on family cleaning night in order to attend youth group. Naturally, Silas was thrilled. Of course, his mother wasn’t without help. His two older siblings, Jason and Hosana were too old for youth group. Then there were the younger ones, Izzy, Isaac, and Bella. They were too young for youth group. But Silas was twelve - the perfect age for getting out of family cleaning night, an accomplishment about which he was ardently passionate.

Of course, there were other reasons why Silas adored youth group. Pastor Danny was interesting and quite funny. And he seemed quite wise, at least in Silas’ estimation. Pastor Danny always had something interesting to introduce to the group. There was Bible Smuggler night and Jelly Bean taste testing, and spinning chair bowling. But perhaps no youth group night was so exciting as the one during which Pastor Danny announced that he was planning a mission trip to Peru. Anyone could come, he announced. Silas waited patiently for the catch. There was always a catch to most cool things. His anticipation was not disappointed. Pastor Danny explained that anyone could come, provided that each person raised the required 800 dollars: the catch! Silas’ heart sank. With a sigh, he shrugged off the idea. He would be left behind, and would have to face three weeks of no youth group, the ramifications of which meant compulsory participation in family cleaning night.

Silas was so deflated by the required price that he didn’t bother to mention his plight to his family. That is, until Sunday dinner. You see, Sunday dinner was a staple for the McCarson family, but this Sunday dinner was special. It was special because Uncle Ted came to visit. Uncle Ted was a rather eccentric character. He always had something strange underway, like the time he thought his life calling was to work at McDonalds or the time that his highest ambition was to learn how to yodel. This Sunday dinner was no disappointment. Uncle Ted excitedly relayed his latest passion: Geographic Encyclopedias! 

“I tried selling Bibles,” he began, “but I felt funny about that. The ethics felt a bit off, so I thought, I know: geographic encyclopedias! So I bought three thousand encyclopedias and I plan to sell them throughout the city, neighborhood by neighborhood.” Uncle Ted raised his eyebrows, peering over the kids, pushing up his round-framed glasses for a supposedly dramatic, but truly anticlimactic effect.

“I just need some employees,” Uncle Ted baited. This was Silas’ moment. He sat as straight as he could, attempting his hand at shrewdness. 

“Keep talking,” he nodded confidently.

“Are you interested in taking up a commission Silas?” asked Uncle Ted. Silas nodded resolutely. “I can cut you a commission at ten percent,” Ted offered.

“Forty,” Silas cocked his head.

“Fifteen,” Ted smiled.

“Thirty,” Silas pushed.

“Twenty,” Ted countered.

Silas knew better than to push too far. He nodded, smirking at his relative triumph. And so it was that Silas found the way to Peru. If he could sell enough encyclopedias, he’d make it.

Things would have been smooth sailing for Silas, except that Uncle Ted rallied other kids from the neighborhood to sell his geographic encyclopedias. To Silas’ dismay, Uncle Ted then proceeded to pair his young employees together, “for safety,” he had insisted.

Since when had Uncle Ted ever cared a whim about safety? Wasn’t he the one who had traveled to the Congo just to prove that he could survive for a week in the jungle on his own? Safety? And to make matters worse, Uncle Ted even employed the Thompson brothers! Now the Thompson brothers were meanies and were extremely competitive. They had a reputation for turning your day from marginal to dismal in roughly thirty seconds or less - a tremendous, but sinister skill. No, things did not bode well for poor Silas. Nevertheless, he and all of uncle Ted’s new employees met up at Uncle Ted’s house one sweltering July morning to receive their instructions and their geographic encyclopedias.

“Now I’m pairing you kids into, well, um, into pairs, and am assigning you to certain jurisdictions. Remember, be polite and try to convince people that your product is fantastic. Respect the public and you’ll be fine.” And with a flourish, Uncle Ted paired the children and assigned their districts. Silas went to find his partner. She was a small bright-eyed girl, her thick braids dancing as she bobbed with enthusiasm.

“I’m Marzi! You must be Silas. This is going to be amazing! These books are fantastic and our district is a ritzy neighborhood. We’ll have no problem making our quota!”

Silas was taken aback by his enthusiastic partner. “As long as I sell enough books to get me to Peru, I’ll be happy.”

“Are you going on the missions trip?!” Marzi gasped. “‘Cause me too! We can be, like, travel buddies!”

Silas groaned. The last thing he wanted was a travel buddy girl. Silas watched in a sludge of dismay as Marzi cheerfully scooped up fifty copies of the large textbook entitled: “What in the World!: Where to Find It, And Why It’s There”. She twirled in ecstasy, her braids hitting Silas in the process. “Oh, sorry,” she gasped through an elated grin. “This is so cool!” Silas nodded calmly, hoping that his even-keel demeanor might dampen Marzi’s hyper-enthusiasm. Silas groaned. This was going to be a long commission.

The next morning, he and Marzi met at the playground, armed with fifteen textbooks each. Silas had drug along his little sister’s wagon.

“Oh what a brilliant idea!” Marzi exclaimed upon detecting the rusty wagon. “And I was going to put them all in my backpack. That would have been heavy. I guess we can put the money in the front pocket of the backpack to keep it safe. We’ll have to make sure we don’t lose the customer’s money,” she added gravely. Silas merely nodded as he and Marzi started towards the ritzy neighborhood that was their jurisdiction, Highland Heights.

Marzi was walking on air as she exuded, “Highland Heights! That sounds so fancy. I’m sure they’ll have enough money for our encyclopedias!” Silas nodded, begrudgingly pulling the wagon. Leave it to a girl to make him drag those heavy encyclopedias! 

“I stayed up way too late last night reading,” Marzi offered, her flashing eyes enticing Silas into a conversation for which he had no passion. “Did you know that Egypt is considered to be an African nation even though it’s in the Middle East? So I’m thinking, like, is it North African or Southern Middle Eastern? And if it’s Middle Eastern, that’s kind of weird because wouldn’t it be South Eastern. But the book calls India ‘South East’, so that doesn’t work. I mean aren’t north, east, south, and west all relative? Does that make absolute truth go out the widow?”

“You lost me Marzi,” Silas sighed. “Can we talk about normal stuff?”

“Don’t you care about the book we’re selling?” she countered.

“I care about the mission trip to Peru and I care about selling the books. I don’t care about the books.”

Marzi gave a playful moose-lip, pouting good-naturedly. “So you’re willing to advertise something that you don’t even read?” she chided. Silas felt upbraided, but before he could issue even a modest comeback, Marzi pressed the issue. “How can you convince people to want what you’re giving if you don’t even want it? Doesn’t that make you an encyclopedia hypocrite? How are you gonna knock on a lady’s door and say, ‘hi ma’am. This book is so boring that I haven’t bothered to read it, but it’s awesome and you need it.’ Like that’s gonna win people!”

“They won’t be able to tell that I don’t read it,” Silas argued.

“Oh yes they will! You can tell that I’ve read it and that I'm super excited about it,” Marzi scolded.

“But you’re, um, well. Now Marzi, don't take this wrong or anything, but you’re just special that way.”

Marzi shook her head. “Nope,” she stated flatly. “I’m not special.”

“Don’t you watch Veggie Tales?” Silas groaned before quoting in his squeakiest Larry the Cucumber voice, “God made you special and He loves you very much.”

“Special to God, yes,” Marzi shot back in vigor. “But special like unreasonably excited, no. And how can you tell that you wouldn’t be as excited as me if you just took the time to actually read it? Good grief Silas! Here, I’ll prove it,” Marzi reached for one of the heavy books. She cracked it open and began to read. Silas desperately hoped that nobody was watching as Marzi rambled.

Silas tuned her out, daydreaming about dump trucks. Silas was fascinated with dump trucks, and they were much more interesting than Marzi. When he did begin to hear her again, his mental dial fading back into station Marzi, she was chattering away about what seemed nearly unintelligible to Silas. 

“And so there are seven stans. Five of them were part of the former USSR and one was part of India, and well, I haven’t been able to figure out much about Afghanistan, except for a great big war. The other ones are Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, and Pakistan.  Seven stans and all of them are in Asia. I think if I could pick one to visit, I’d pick Kazakhstan ‘cause it’s closest to Mongolia and Mongolia is super cool. What about you?”

“What about me what?” Silas asked, bewildered.

“Which stan would you visit?” Marzi persisted.

Silas had not been listening to Marzi’s stan rant and so he just tried to pick a random country to satisfy her. “I dunno. Probably Pakistan.”

Marzi’s eyebrows shot up. “Why?” she exclaimed, confused.

“‘Cause, well, ‘cause they’re probably really nice there. I dunno. Just because. It starts with P and I like that letter. You happy now?”

“I don’t think you know anything about Pakistan,” she giggled, nearly gravely.

Silas rolled his eyes. “I guess that’s why I should go there then.”

“I think you should find out way more about it before you ever go there,” Marzi smiled. “Hey, this is Front Street,” she exclaimed. “This is our jurisdiction. Let’s start knocking on doors.”

Silas sighed, relieved to finally begin the task at hand. “Alrighty,” he grinned, stepping towards the first house. He hesitated a moment before commencing in the commitment of a full-on knock on the door. Marzi was beaming, excitement pulsing through her trembling hands as she held out the encyclopedia. Silas realized that she was nervous. But before either of them could think, the door swung open. A wiry woman with huge glasses peered through the door. Her long blond hair swung in a giant pony tail as her sky blue eyes darted across the pair of children. A thin arm swept up to brush away a wisp of hair that had escaped from her scrunchy.

“Can I help you?” she asked politely.

Marzi surprised Silas by looking towards him, signaling his initiation.

“Well it’s like this ma’am. We are selling some amazing encyclopedias,” he offered.

“What is so special about these encyclopedias?” she inquired.

Silas was silent for a dreadful moment until Marzi stepped into the situation.

“Well miss, do you know what continent South Sandwich Island is part of?”

The woman shook her head. Marzi continued, “it’s actually British territory in the Atlantic. It’s uninhabited, and is near Argentina.”

“Hmm,” the woman considered. “And why is it important that I possess that information?”

Silas gulped. How would Marzi handle this one? “Well miss, it tells you something about Britain that it still has foreign territories,” Marzi began. Silas was in shock. Was Marzi really taking the challenge? He watched her, wide-eyed as she continued. “That territory is a remnant from a time of British expansion, which has current ramifications when you want to understand how freshly independent countries function. Colonialism is an interesting story because it shows up a lot in contemporary themes. And it’s good to know some history about it. South Sandwich Island just sort of reminds you about it all, you know, to peak your curiosity about more applicable things.”

“Very good,” the tall woman smiled, nodding with an air of compliment. “I am a university social studies instructor. I teach courses in sociology and general social sciences. Context is important. I probably know most of the things in that book of yours, but just for that stunning answer, I’ll buy one. Hang here and I’ll go grab my wallet.” And with that, the confident woman strode back into her home.

Silas gasped. “Wow Marzi!” he whispered. “That was amazing.”

Marzi grinned. Leaning over, she whispered back, “read the book.”

Silas just nodded.

As Silas and Marzi made their way to the next house, Silas gulped. “We need a game plan,” he admitted.

“Well, why don’t we ask questions from the book that we don’t think the customers can answer unless they buy the book?”

“Okay,” Silas answered. “And Marzi?” he began.

“Yes, I’ll do it,” she smiled, justified in her avid encyclopedic study.

This time, Silas knocked in confidence, emboldened by their first success. His knock was answered by a giant man with a newspaper in his hand. “You kids delivering newspapers? ‘Cause I just got this here paper, so don’t you dare try to scam me. I’ve got a subscription to the newspapers and you kiddos can’t cheat me out of nothing, got it?” he proclaimed.

“Well sir,” Silas began, his palms a bit sweaty. “We are actually selling geographic encyclopedias. These could change your life!”

“For example,” Marzi began. “Do you know what the youngest country of the world is?”

“Why should I care?” the man nearly spat, totally annoyed with the two youngsters who rambled before him.

“Because the Republic of South Sudan is something you should care about.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Well I don’t care, and you’re making me miss out on the golf tournament on TV.”

“Well there are roughly eleven thousand people who care very much about the Republic of South Sudan,” Marzi argued.

“I’m not one of them,” the man growled, slamming the door.

Marzi stared at Silas for a moment before promptly shrugging with a sigh. “Dusting off our feet I guess,” she grinned. “I care about South Sudan.”

“Where is that again?” Silas asked. 

“Right under the northern part,” Marzi grinned.

“Really Marzi?” Silas sighed, but playfully this time.

“Okay, okay,” she laughed. “It’s in Africa.”

Silas nodded. “That’s where my brother wants to go,” Silas offered.

“South Sudan?” Marzi exclaimed.

“No, I think he said Zim-bob-nam-ba-way or, or, um, something like that,” Silas tried to explain.

“Is that Zimbobway or Namibia?” Marzi laughed.

“Ask him. He’s the real missionary,” Silas rolled his eyes. “And if I want to be like him, I’ve got to make good on this commission so I can get to Peru.”

“So this is your great commission then,” Marzi giggled way too long at her own joke.

Silas grinned. “I guess. But it feels pretty meaningless.”

“Why?” Marzi shrugged. “‘Cause some grumpy dude slammed a door in your face? You can’t just give up.”

“I never said I am giving up,” Silas frowned. “You can do what needs doing and not like it.”

“So you don’t like doing this at all?” Marzi asked in amazement. Silas sighed. “I know what will change that for you,” Marzi grinned in smug triumph. “Read the book!”

“My reading does nothing to guarantee that anybody else cares at all about encyclopedias. I’m not giving up, but I know I am wasting my breath when I try,” Silas answered sourly.

“Not at this next house,” Marzi encouraged Silas.

“Why?” he questioned.

“‘Cause she has children. Look,” Marzi pointed to the three children playing in the front yard of the next house. “I’ll bet you anything they’re homeschoolers, and homeschool moms always want to buy all the good geography books,” she added confidently.

“Marzi, how could you possibly know that?” Silas sighed.

“I just have a feeling,” Marzi beamed, “Plus, that kid’s tee-shirt says ‘homeschooled and loving it’,” Marzi explained without pointing, darting her eyes to avoid staring because, well, she knew that staring is rude and she didn’t want to scare the kids. Encouraged by the prospect of an educational encyclopedia-loving mama, Silas and Marzi felt a surge of renewed vitality coursing through their new found salesman veins. 

Marzi rapped on the door, trying in vain to stifle an anticipating bounce. A short woman opened the door. Silas smiled in relief. She was certainly a homeschool mama. Maybe it was her cable-knit sweater that was barely covering an unmistakable baby-bump. She was definitely on the home-stretch, (so to speak). Perhaps it was the pencil that she had stuck through her bun, precise enough to hold her thick chestnut hair in place, but haphazardly enough to be interpreted as a multitasking afterthought. Or it might have been her knowing hazel eyes which were so aptly accustomed to reading the faces of children as keenly as any grade-two reader that gave away her occupation. But whatever hint was loudest, the impression remained in stark absoluteness: she was definitely a homeschool mama.

“Well hi there. Can I help you,” she offered.

“Actually ma’am, we’re here to help you,” Silas began, confidently but politely just the same.

“We’re selling geographic encyclopedias!” Marzi nearly sang. “They are extremely educational and multicultural, and, well, they’re the perfect addition to your library.”

“What curriculum is it from?” the woman asked.

Silas was dumbfounded, but Marzi wasn’t caught off guard. “Well, you see, they are an independent product, but they will easily melt into any well-designed geographical curriculum. My mother uses BrightLight curriculum. It’s literature-based and so this encyclopedia is quite complementary to the core of our readings. I find it supplements my learning quite nicely.”

“How old are you dear?” the woman asked, slightly surprised at Marzi’s competency.

“Thirteen ma’am,” Marzi chirped. 

“What curriculum do you use again?” the woman asked.

Marzi frowned slightly. “BrightLight,” she answered, “but ma’am, about the encyclopedia…”

“Is BrightLight a global curriculum? I really value an international education for my kids.”

“Yes miss, and so is this encyclopedia. It is extremely global.”

“And does BrightLight accommodate multiple grade level participation. That’s the reason I like unit studies. I can teach one class for all three kids and they each learn at a slightly different capacity, but the content is essentially the same. Does BrightLight follow that philosophy?”

“Yes ma’am,” Marzi answered, attempting to mask her frustration. “But what I’d really like to show you is this textbook.”

“You are a brilliant child and I’d just love to know more about what your mama used with you. Is BrightLight biblically based?”

Marzi nodded. “And this encyclopedia includes missionary stories and facts about world religions, so it’s quite similar, but more self-contained. I really think your kids would love this encyclopedia.”

“Oh, right,” the woman smiled, effectively leaving the alluring compulsion of curriculum land. “You wanted me to buy that book of yours.”

Marzi hopefully held the book out to the woman. The mother flipped through the pages, her thumb adeptly skimming through with fine-tuned skill. It was as if the woman had digested the gist of the book in five seconds as she glanced up and smiled. No doubt, she was a shrewd co–op curriculum trade-show shark. No scams here. This mama clearly knew what she was doing. “This looks great,” she nodded. “I’d love one.”

The rest of the afternoon was marginally successful for Silas and Marzi. All in all, they sold ten encyclopedias - a far cry from the quota of thirty, but it was at least a start. 

The next morning, Silas and Marzi headed towards the outskirts of Highland Heights. Now Highland Heights was situated on the border of Skippy Sam’s trailer park. Skippy Sam’s trailer park was not part of Silas and Marzi’s jurisdiction, so they did not enter it, but they were working their way along its border. That’s when the trouble began.

The trouble didn’t seem like trouble at first, but I suppose that’s often trouble’s way. Well, actually, it was Turner’s Way. Turner’s Way was the street up which Marzi and Silas were walking. True to her enthusiastic passion, Marzi was jabbering on about the wonders of the encyclopedia. Silas was once again, fading in and out of Marzi’s rambles.

“And so facism and communism are actually polar opposites, but when taken too far, they both have similar results. Hitler and Stalin were enemies, but the US thought they were both their enemies. Except for during World War Two when the US worked with Russia ‘cause the enemy of an enemy is a friend. But after the second world war, the Cold War started - and that was between Russia and the US. In a perfect world, communism might actually…”

“Shh Marzi!” Silas abruptly hushed Marzi’s assertion. Marzi looked hurt. Why had Silas interrupted her so brashly? “There’s something in the bushes,” he whispered.

“Probably a nice little squirrel come to admonish us to carry on,” Marzi smiled, heading towards the lilac hedge. Silas instinctively grabbed Marzi’s wrists. “Didn’t your mama ever teach you to keep your hands to yourself?” Marzi quibbled quite indignantly.

“Something is wrong Marzi,” Silas insisted.

“You bet it is!” came a menacing cry from the lilac hedge. An anti-climatic moment of rustling and scratching, and the odd cry of frustration at being so tangled in branches commenced. The element of surprise had been stifled, but even so, the desired surge of terror within the moment remained effective. For out of the bushes, stumbled four of the burly Thompson brothers. Silas felt sick while Marzi felt that kind of naive excitement when you figure that a sub-optimal situation is an opportunity for something cool to happen (right before life whacks you in a way you didn’t anticipate).

“What do you think you’re doing on Turner’s Way?” one of the unsavory youths demanded.

“It’s part of our jurisdiction,” Silas bravely insisted.

“Correction,” one sneered. “We have authority over Skippy Sam’s Trailer Park and Turner’s Way is part of it.”

“Not according to our map,” Marzi answered calmly. “Mr. Ted specifically assigned us to Highland Heights and Turner’s Way is definitely part of that district. Mr. Ted is in charge and he gave us authority to be here, so we don’t just get to be here - we must be here! End of the story! He told us to be here, so we’re staying here and we’re taking these encyclopedias up the road no matter what you say,” she added with a flourish of self-congratulation. “Education to the people!” she smiled, too confidently for her own good.

Silas glared at Marzi for stirring the pot. He was not naive to the wrath of the Thompson brothers. “Marzi,” he whispered. “Let’s get out of here.” In his head, Silas added, “before we still can”, but he thought better of completely speaking his mind.

“Listen to your buddy there little girl,” one of the brothers attested. “This doesn’t have to be a terrible day for you if you take your encyclopedias and get out of here. I’m a compassionate guy.” One of the other young men snickered at that assertion. “Well,” the brother continued, “compassionate to a point. And at this point, you can leave and save yourselves.”

“Never!” Marzi exclaimed in brash confrontation, at which Silas rolled his eyes and braced himself. At Marzi’s confident cry, one of the brothers came running for her. But Marzi was quick. To Silas’ angst and shock, she scrambled up a nearby oak tree, scampering as nimbly as a monkey. She perched up in the tree, broke off a branch, and held it out in what she thought was a menacing manner, but in effect, her threat was quite pitiful.

Would the Thompson brother possess enough nimbleness to follow Marzi up the tree? We shall never know, for in an instant, a baseball whizzed through the air, just missing the young man’s head. The indignant punk ducked. “What was that?” he cried in outrage. A megaphone could be heard from somewhere behind the lilac hedge. It triumphantly declared, “There’s more where that came from. Leave the girl alone and nobody get’s hurt.” Another baseball came promptly flying across the hedge, narrowly missing another Thomson brother. “You hungry for more, or is this the part when you punks take off?” the muffled megaphone threatened. Another baseball came soaring, this time rickashaying off a nearby trashcan and hitting one of the brother’s shins.

“Let’s get out of here,” he moaned. And just like that, the brothers scattered. Silas glanced up towards the hedge, anxious to behold his protector. A boy about his age came scrambling through the hedge, another baseball in his hand. Marzi leapt down from the tree, rather indignant towards the stranger. 

“And what was all that about?” she demanded. 

“What? Is this how you thank me for practically saving your life?” the kid questioned. 

“Don’t you know that those who live by the baseball will die by the baseball?” Marzi chided.

“Well miss oak branch waver, I’ll have you know that this is a softball,” the kid replied in glib sarcasm.

“It looks hard enough to me,” Marzi countered. 

“So you’re mad at me for chasing off the bad guys,” the boy asked in bewilderment. “What would you have rather I’d done? Grab some popcorn and watch them beat you to a pulp?”

“I doubt they would have done that,” Silas answered, trying to temper the situation. “Maybe just, you know, into more of a mince. Pulp sounds kind of intense.”

“But you’re still mad at me?!” the new boy exclaimed.

“I’m mad that you almost gave those boys a concussion,” Marzi pressed. “That’s way worse than whatever they’d have done to me. Besides, they’re chickens, I’m sure of it.”

“Chickens can be ferocious,” the boy argued. “Haven’t you ever heard of alektorophobia?”

“Hey, what’s your name?” Silas asked, more kindly, not wanting to come across as ungrateful.

“The name’s Pete, and you both clearly need a protector,” Pete answered.

“We can’t share any of our commission with you. We’re trying to raise money to get to Peru,” Silas was quick to explain.

“Listen, you two,” Pete smiled compassionately. “Running from your problems won’t solve them. If those brothers are giving you trouble, running to Peru is not the answer. What you need is a trusted adult, and…”

“Oh no,” Silas answered. “We’re not running away; we’re going to do our part in following the great commission.”

“Oh,” Pete smiled, not understanding in the least what Silas meant. “So that’s why you’re selling encyclopedias.”

Silas nodded. Now, dear reader, have you ever beheld a conversation between two people in which both come away with a separate understanding of the conversation’s conclusion, each believing that the other understands, but neither actually understanding one another? Well, this moment could have been a case study in such affairs.

“So this is your way to do great commission?” Pete asked, thinking solely of a sale’s commission.

“Exactly,” Silas answered, grinning and thinking about sharing the gospel. “The great commission is the best ambition I’ve ever had,” he answered, finally smiling a bit.

“Well,” Pete answered, “that depends on whether you are successful in convincing people that they actually need what you’ve got.” Now, Pete could see the encyclopedias, so he jumped to what would have otherwise been a rather solid conclusion.

“Well,” Marzi jumped into the conversation. “I think that if we love what we’ve got, people will see that it’s worth having. That’s why it’s so important to take time to just enjoy it!”

“I guess so,” Pete answered. “So you spend your time on this great commission. Well, I suppose it must be worthwhile then. But what makes it so great?”

“Well I mean, it’s quite a cool opportunity just to get a chance to participate in the great commission,” Silas explained.

“So the guy who gave you this commission, he’s good?” Pete asked. “I mean, you don’t want a mean boss or something like that.”

Silas laughed. “You’re silly. He’s very good and you’re pretty funny. Actually, He gave us authority to do the great commission, so there should be no problems.”

“Maybe you should tell the Thompson brothers that,” Pete suggested.

“I don’t think they’d care,” Marzi frowned.

“I guess so,” Pete agreed. “So you’ve got some opposition then?”

“To put it mildly,” Silas answered in a twinge of glib sarcasm.

“Then you need a protector. Take me with you!” Pete urged them. “I’ll be your baseball body guard!”

“Oh that’s okay. I’m sure you’ve got lots to do,” Marzi smiled, her anger at Pete’s brashness subsiding.

“No, like I actually need you to take me with you!” Pete exclaimed. “I’m staying with my grandpa and he watches golf all day and tells me to play on the playground. But the swings are for babies, the monkey bars only have four rungs, and I can’t do a teeter-totter by myself. I’m going crazy. The isolation is crushing me. It’s dehumanizing! I’m wasting away to nothing! Take me with you!” he implored, exaggerating as best he knew how.

Marzi nodded, compassion swelling within her. “Of course you can come along, isn’t that right Silas?” she nudged.

“Of course,” Silas gulped against his better judgment.

“So Pete, are you named after Peter in the Bible?” Marzi chirped, effectively accepting Pete into the group.

Pete shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. I’m not big on Bible stories. I do know the one about Moses and the Ark.”

Marzi winced. “You mean Noah?” she asked.

“He’s the guy with the coat of many colors?” Pete asked.

Marzi shook her head and laughed.

“You’re named after a super cool character,” she changed the subject. Peter walked on water!”

“I could get used to that,” Pete grinned. “What about him?” Pete pointed at Silas.

“Oh, well he’s named after a dude who got flogged in Philippi,” Marzi stated flatly.

“Thanks Marzi,” Silas rolled his eyes. “That figures.”

“Sorry bro,” Pete offered. “I guess we can’t all walk on water.”

“I’m named after my great-aunt Marzi!” Marzi interrupted. “She is an origami champion and is great at bowling.”

“That’s real nice Marzi,” Silas sighed. “Real nice.”

And so it was that Pete joined the great commission. This progressed quite smoothly from then on out. Pete and Marzi were able to geek out on encyclopedic knowledge, a fact that caused no small amount of annoyance to poor Silas. Pete knew little about any sort of geography whatsoever. His exchanges with Marzi were, well, shall I say, interesting?

Four days into the great commission, Marzi and Pete were again bantering about geopolitical trivia. “So Georgia is a state, but it’s also a country right smack between Turkey, Azerbaijan, Russian, and Iran. It was part of the USSR. I don’t know if it still is,” Marzi explained.

“But who copied who?” Pete mused. “Did the founding fathers think, well, let’s name this deep south state after a communist country in the middle of, um, is it Europe or Asia?”

“I think Asia,” Marzi answered. “But I don’t actually know for sure. And no, it was named after King George before the US declared independence from Britain.”

“So who was the copycat then?” Pete pondered. 

“I wish I knew Pete,” Marzi sighed. “I wish I knew.”

“Hey you two!” Silas vyed for their attention. “Take a look over there,” he whispered.

To Marzi and Pete’s astonishment, the Thompson brothers were just a street away, brazenly selling encyclopedias right in the midst of what the trio was sure was Highland Heights district.

“Those thugs!” Pete whispered. “Let’s get ‘em!”

Marzi shook her head. “No way. We should not retaliate.”

“Turn the other street,” Silas smirked. “Get it, like turn the other cheek…”

Marzi laughed. “Good one Silas,” she smiled.

“Was that a compliment?” Silas exclaimed. “Wow, a compliment from Marzi? What beautiful, glorious words: good one Silas. When I’m in the depths of despair, that pure poetry will soothe my mind to new heights of hope. Good one Silas - the salve for my deepest distress. Anytime anywhere the ray of light can reach me: good one Silas.”

“Very funny Mr. Humble,” Marzi laughed.

Throughout the day, Pete periodically brought up the injustice of the Thompson brothers’ operation within the Highland Heights district. Silas and Marzi quelled his ambition time and time again. “As long as the encyclopedias are being spread, in this I will rejoice, yea, and do rejoice,” Marzi recited in great dignity.

Silas threw up his hands in sarcasm, “Yay! I do rejoiceth also!”

“Nay, I doth not rejoiceth at the nasti-eth-ness,” Pete tried to quibble, failing miserably.

The next day, Marzi brought a suggestion to the boys. “So I happen to know a sweet old lady who really needs an encyclopedia,” she explained.

“Well what’s her address? We’ll go hit the street,” Pete exclaimed.

“Well, she can’t afford to buy one,” Marzi clarified. “I was hoping to take the cost out of my commission profits so I can give it to her.”

“That’s crazy Marzi!” Pete cried. “What about your great commission?”

“Exactly,” Marzi smiled. “We should be giving our books, even when it costs us - especially when it costs us,” Marzi testified.

“That’s a backwards commission. Is that why it’s great?” Pete asked.

Silas knew better than to agree to the escapade, but somehow, he found himself saying, “Okay, if you really want to do that Marzi, then we’re behind you.” 

“Lead the way then,” Pete commissioned Marzi.

“There is a catch though,” Marzi admitted.

Silas peered at Marzi’s anxious gaze with increasing suspicion.

“She lives in Skippy Sam’s,” Marzi confessed.

“Well, I hope you had a nice, happy life, ‘cause your life’s over when you enter Thompson territory,” Pete warned. “And why do you think this lady needs an encyclopedia?”

“Well, she’s a widow for one thing,” Marzi began.

“A sob story?” Pete asked sarcastically.

“And she's poor and she loves geography!” Marzi burst out in anger at Pete's indifference.

“She’s poor and loves geography?” Silas sighed. “That sounds cliche.”

“And she was a missionary!” Marzi exclaimed, in one last attempt. “Come on Silas, Pete, have a heart!”

“How do you know she even wants an encyclopedia?” Silas asked earnestly.

“Because she loves that sort of thing. My piano teacher knows her and was just telling me the other day how lonely this lady is. I think a book like that would be a neat gift to her,” Marzi urged.

“Well, we’re not doing that in broad daylight!” Pete whined.

“Okay, well, we can do it after dinner,” Marzi suggested, ambition burning in her eyes.

“We’ll need to make a plan though,” Silas suggested ruefully. “Because the Thompson brothers live in Skippy Sam’s. They’ll see us if we’re not careful, and then…carnal chaos,” Silas added with a flourish of dismay, but at least the dismay was poetic.

“Okay,” Marzi suggested. “Let’s meet at my house after dinner.”

That evening, Silas and Pete showed up at Marzi’s house. Pete was armed with a set of three walkie-talkies. “We need to split up and work together,” he explained. 

“Isn’t that a contradiction?” Silas pouted.

“And we need code names!” Marzi piped up excitedly.

“You come up with the names Marzi,” Silas succumbed to suggest.

“Okay, Silas, you be Bonhoeffer!” Marzi declared. “He was the coolest paster-spy ever! 

“Didn’t he die?” Silas asked. “Why do I always have to be the one who gets the raw deal?”

“Because you’re the oldest and the wisest ones usually do,” Marzi answered cheerfully. “Pete,” she continued, “you be…”

“I’ll decide what I will be,” Pete interrupted Marzi. “I’ll be honest Abe - Abraham Lincon - best president ever!”

Silas sighed. “And others get to walk on water and be president…”

“And I’ll be Corrie Ten Boom!” Marzi jumped in excitement. “The coolest lady pretty much ever!”

“So here’s the plan,” Pete began. “Silas and I will go to the lady’s house. I’ll watch Silas’ back and he will take the book to the lady’s porch. Meanwhile, Marzi will be on standby to call the sheriff if we get into trouble.”

“The sheriff!” Marzi exclaimed. “We don’t need the sheriff! That’s crazy!”

“Not really Marzi. You’ve got to trust me on this one,” Pete raised his eyebrows. “You’ll wait just at the Skippy Sam entrance with an extra encyclopedia. If something happens to us, you can try a second time to bring the extra copy to the lady’s house.”

“Okay, deal,” she answered.

And so it was that Bonhoeffor, Corrie ten Boom, and Honest Abe made their way to Skippy Sam’s with two encyclopedias and three walkie-talkies.

Dusk was falling upon the trailer park as trepidation swelled within the hearts of the three salesmen - now turned secret agents. Marzi bid farewell to the brave soldiers as Bonhoeffer and Honest Abe crept into the tangle of trailers that seemed slightly more foreboding in the dusk.

“What was the house number again?” Silas whispered. 

“I think Marzi said 572,” Pete answered.

“You think?” Silas chided.

“I’m almost sure,” Pete tried to assure Silas. The two stopped in front of the mobile home with the numbers 572 nailed onto the door. “Eleven Boom,” Pete whispered into the walkie-talkie, “Honest Abe here. We made it to the target. We have the secret item and we are ready to plant it.”

“It’s Ten Boom, Corrie Ten Boom,” the walkie-talkie answered. “And don’t use so many code words. You sound like a terrorist. That’s not the vibe we’re going for - like, at all. Not eve remotely close…”

“Bunny-Hopper is sneaking around the back of the trailer to plant the book on the porch,” Pete explained.

“That’s Bonhoeffor, and I don’t think Miss Mable’s house has a back porch,” Marzi answered ruefully.

But she never heard back from Pete because at that very moment, who should come running down the street but the now exceedingly angry Thompson brothers? Without thinking, Pete and Silas ducked into the woman’s trailer to avoid being seen. For a moment, they hid in the coat closet, but they could only hide for so long. That strategy was a grave error, for who should be standing in front of them but a very angry old man.

“I think we have the wrong house,” Pete shuddered. Silas and Pete ran back towards the door, but the man ran after them, grabbing a menacing flyswatter. Pete dashed out the door, but Silas never made it to freedom. Before Pete knew what had transpired, the back door had slammed shut. Pete heard the click of an indoor lock.

Pete trembled as he spoke into his walkie-talkie, still in shock. “Ten Boom, come in Ten Boom.” But the connection was super fuzzy. Pete heard some static, but nothing more. “Bonhoeffor’s been taken away. I think he’s tasting the wrath of a fly swatter. The Thompson brothers are after me. You’re our only hope! Take the book to the missionary’s house while I try to rescue Bonhoeffor.” A muffled reply ensued, but it was unintelligible to Pete.

Pete had every intention of staying by Silas’ side. After all, he had promised to be the protector. He peered through the window, trying to catch a glimpse of his distressed comrade. He could see nothing. No doubt, Silas was still in the hallway experiencing whatever swift retribution Mr. man-with-the- flyswatter had in mind.

But before Pete could think of what to do, he heard the cries of the Thompson brothers. “You’re on our turf now!” they threatened. “You're gonna pay.” Pete panicked, leapt over the back fence of the grumpy man’s property, and ran down the next street in Skippy Sam’s. He frantically glanced through trailer windows as he sprinted. Suddenly, he spotted a possible refuge. He ran up two steps and hastily pounded on the door. It gently swung open as a young man greeted him. 

“Hi there. I’m Alex. Who are you?”

“I’m Pete and I would like to join your study,” Pete stated as calmly as he could.

“How did you know this was a study?” the young man grinned.

“The open books on everybody’s laps as they sat in a circle for one thing,” Pete answered.

“Well, welcome in, Pete, isn’t it?” the young man graciously invited Pete in. Pete breathed a sigh of safety, briefly ignoring his fears for Silas and Marzi. As he walked into the livingroom, soft lamplight permeated the tranquil space. Landscape paintings covered the walls of the small trailer. A massive CD collection graced a plywood shelf while a large wicker basket full of yarn slumped in a corner. Young adults sat perched on one couch, a few kitchen table chairs that had been pulled into the cramped livingroom, and an assortment of colorful beanbags.

The nine young adults smiled upon Pete’s entrance. A young woman with curly black hair moved aside a stack of hymnals from a battered piano bench and motioned for him to take a seat. This, Pete did gratefully, just feeling blessed to be safe and free. He noticed that each of the kind young people had a copy of the same book. Not that the books were identical, just that they all said the same thing. Pete turned his head to glance at the bindings. “The Holy Bible,” they each read. The young woman handed Pete a spare Bible.

“We’re reading that last chapter of Matthew,” a young man in a plaid shirt explained.

Pete nodded. “And where might that be?” he asked.

“It’s the first book of the New Testament,” a young woman in a slouchy toque answered.

“That’s nice,” Pete remarked, “and where might that be?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could manage.

“It’s the second half of the Bible,” a girl in a long flowery dress explained.

Pete exuded confusion, so a young man with a bushy beard flipped open Pete’s Bible to the right spot.

“So to catch everyone up to speed,” another young man began, “tonight we’re discussing the great commission.”

Pete smiled. Now this was something he knew about. Encyclopedic sales commissions were his bread and butter now. Why a Bible study would discuss his great commission was beyond him, but he seized the moment, buying time. If he could just convince this study that he knew about the great commission, they would let him stay, and he’d escape from Skippy Sam’s unscathed.

“So the great commission can be really difficult sometimes, just because so many people hate the gospel. And it’s just that the gospel kind of sounds like foolishness, and it explains that people are sinners. Nobody really wants to hear that,” the young man began. 

“Amen brother,” Pete nodded, trying a little too hard. So far, so good, but what did gospel mean? He had no clue. 

The man continued, “I’d like to open up the floor for discussion. Does anyone here have an example of how the great commission can be difficult?”

Pete nodded and took a leap of faith, attempting to prove that he knew what he was talking about. “It’s like when Corrie ten Boom and Bonhoeffor want to take the book to a missionary. And even if it means like, you know, getting thrashed with a flyswatter or having to climb an oak tree ‘cause a gang of adolescent salesmen hate their guts, it’s worth it because, well, the dude in charge gave them authority to be in that place. He told them to do it, so when the thugs come, they can’t just give up. In fact, they have to deliver that book. It’s their, like, duty or something. And well, if only Abraham Lincon could have been as brave!” Pete concluded with a sorrowful sigh. “You know how it is. Some guys get beat in Philippi and get called Bonhoeffer while others walk on water and become president. I’m that guy.”

“Thanks,” the young man addressed Pete in a degree of perplexity. But the group adeptly plowed through the all too apparent awkwardness.

“It’s important that we remember that, even though we’re sharing the gospel with others, we never outgrow it ourselves,” a young man added. He was particularly well-versed in the art of redirecting a Bible study back to the Bible after the wildest of goose-chases.

A girl with curly hair nodded. “I think the day we stop enjoying and love the gospel and Jesus is the day that our message loses its passion and maybe even effect. I mean, God could still use our witness, but when we are just salesman for some theological concept, I mean, isn’t that sad?”

Pete butted into the dialogue yet again, exclaiming, “That’s what Marzi was saying! When we don’t read the book and enjoy it for ourselves, people don’t want the books. I mean, unless they just want it anyway, and sometimes they just do, but it makes no sense to give people something that we don’t really love. So I guess the more we read the book, the more we can get it to others. And then if you really love what you’ve got, when the meanies say you can’t give it to the poor lady, you don’t care what happens. Unless you’re like honest Abe, and then you leave your friend to get whacked without you,” Pete frowned, thoroughly ashamed while the rest of the room was thoroughly bewildered.

“I think of unreached people groups,” a young woman jumped into the conversation, attempting to salvage it with a flourish of redirection. 

“Ya Kelly, that’s what I was thinking,” a young man in a cowboy hat nodded. “You know, my sister and her husband are in a restricted access nation right now,” he added, excited to bring the conversation to an intelligible place.

“I know a lot about restricted access,” Pete added, a little too confidently. “And when you try to get the book into that part, oh you’re asking for trouble,” he shuddered, images of Skippy Sam’s Thompson brothers flashing through his reeling mind.

“There is a cost to it, for sure,” a man with a mop of red hair added.

“Yes Dave, but it’s also a really special gift to be invited to join Jesus. I mean think about it! The great commission was His last instruction to us. It’s amazing because, you know, God doesn’t really need us. He can do anything. But He wants to use us. Isn’t that amazing!” a lady in a large bandana answered.

“Wait!” Pete exclaimed, “Jesus gave the great commission? But He’s like, God, isn’t He?” Pete was now officially confused.

“Jesus is God,” the woman next to Pete smiled. “And yes, that is a big deal, isn’t it. It’s nice to have fresh eyes to see these things with a new zest.”

Just then, Pete’s walkie-talkie went off like an unwelcomed siren. “Honest Abe,” the voice called. “Come in Honest Abe. Corrie Ten Boom here. I made it to the missionary’s house and I gave her the book. She’s invited me in for tea. But where is Bonhoeffer?”

Nine sets of bewilder eyes fell upon Pete, begging for explanation. But before Pete could speak, the walkie-talkie invaded the silence. “Is Bonhoeffer still locked up? Did he get whacked? How many times? How bad? Abe, answer me! Where is Silas?!”

“Did that walkie-talkie say Silas?” a young man quickly asked, standing to his feet.

“Jason, is that your brother?” the bandana woman asked, concerned. 

“Pete, what is Silas’ last name?” the young man asked.

“I don’t know, but he’s about my height and wears a ball cap that says ‘I Love the Ark Encounter’.”

“That’s Silas!” Jason exclaimed. “Where is he?” Jason asked gravely.

“In trailer 572 with an older man with a large, pink flyswatter!”

Jason wasted no time. “That’s Mr. Patterson’s place,” a young woman in a linen jumper explained to Jason. “He’s harmless, but he’s paranoid about crime. His ride-on lawn mower was stolen two weeks ago and he’s quite concerned about more theft. If you just explain the situation - whatever the situation is, I’m not actually too sure - but I'm sure he’d listen to you.”

“Thanks Lecia,” Jason called over his shoulder as he hastened his way out the door into the chilly night air, Pete at his heels.

Jason and Pete ran down the street and around the block over to trailer 573. Jason rapped on the door before barging into the trailer. He and Pete stomped down the short hallway and into the kitchen where Silas sat quietly on a kitchen chair. The elderly man stood, arms folded across his chest, a frown plastered across his face, and a flyswatter clenched in his rather large hand.

Silas looked neither distressed nor relieved, just completely expressionless, slightly shocked to see his older brother Jason in the kitchen. This day really couldn’t get any weirder.

“What are you doing to my brother?” Jason demanded.

“He was trying to steal from me,” the man answered.

“With all due respect, you did not not answer my question sir,” Jason countered. “Did you hurt him?”

“He’s fine,” the man replied gruffly. Silas nodded, embarrassed to be in the situation and not daring to argue.

“Let him go. This was all a giant mix up,” Jason insisted. It didn’t take long to iron out the wrinkles of the haphazard series of events that had recently transpired.

Jason, Silas, and Pete walked out into the refreshing night air, free at last. That’s when the upbraiding commenced. Jason could issue a pretty solid scolding, and continued to do so until the sorry group reached Pete’s house. Pete bade Silas farewell. “Hang in there Bonhoeffer,” he whispered.

Jason looked at Silas questioningly. “It’s a long story,” Silas skirted the issue. 

“You’ve got plenty of time to tell me. Out with it Silas.”

And with that, Silas relayed the story: Mariz, the encyclopedias, the Thomson brothers, the missionary, the flyswatter - everything. Jason could scarcely believe the tale. He made Silas check in with Marzi through the walkie-talkie which he had forgotten to give back to Pete. 

“Corrie Ten Boom,” he began, “Bonhoeffer here. Do you read me?”

“Loud and clear Bonhoeffer. Are you free yet?”

“Affirmative. Alive and well, and with my brother. I think I’m in a heap of trouble though.”

“Are you hurt?” the walkie-talkie asked.

“Not really,” he answered.

“That’s a non-answer,” Marzi complained. “Miss Mable really loves the encyclopedia and she invited me in for tea and told me missionary stories. It was great!”

Silas tried to be happy for Marzi. “That’s nice Marzi,” he sighed. “I’m glad you had a better night than me.”

“Well, get a good night’s sleep and I’ll meet you for more great commission tomorrow,” she answered.

“Great commission?” Jason questioned.

“That’s what we call it, Jason,” Silas responded.

Jason laughed. “Oh I get it! That’s Uncle Ted’s project. That sale’s commission you’re doing to raise money for that Peru trip. Oh, that’s actually pretty funny Silas.”

Silas groaned. “It doesn’t feel funny.”

“I think you’ve gotten into enough trouble already. Dad and mom will probably not be too upset,” Jasen sighed. “But I will suggest that I accompany you on your great commission from now on. I think you could use a field director.”

“Very funny Jason,” Silas sighed. “But honestly, how did you know you were called to, you know, Africa and stuff? I don’t want you to leave ‘cause I’m going to miss you.”

“When you know, you know,” Jason answered. “And you know what? The way to live the great commission is really just to live the great commandment to love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself. You do that, and you’ll fulfill the great commission wherever you are.”

The next morning, Silas, Marzi, Pete, and Jason met at the park by Pete’s place. Of course, Marzi had a million questions for Silas. 

“Was he mean? What was it like? Did my soothing word ‘good one Silas’ comfort your aching soul? Did he grab you? Did he really have a fly swatter? Is the song ‘I’ll fly away’ forever ruined for you now? Should I change your code name?”

“Marzi, look at me. I’m fine and I don’t really want to talk about it,” Silas answered, not unkindly, but firmly nonetheless.

“This really has been a great commission though,” Marzi smiled, “I mean, in spite of all the hiccups along the way. And last night, I read about Indonesia! I’ve got to tell you about Coconut Crabs!..”

“What did you think of the Bible study Pete?” Jason interrupted. “Would you care to come again next week?”

“Sure, Pete shrugged. “But I still can’t figure out why in the world a Bible study would ever talk about the great commission!”