Old Buckbee’s Confession

The day was dazzling, the church beautiful, and lovely hymns rose and fell from the congregation gathered within. From the pews, there emanated warmth and harmony and piety.

But a man-of-the-road, a frail and disturbing one, arose from his seat and stood before them, and trembled at their piety. The music died away, and a silence resounded throughout the building. The congregation shuddered at what he might say. For they knew him, knew him well, knew him better than ever they wished to know him, for he was a wanderer and none of theirs. Old Buckbee, they called him, from here or there or anywhere. 

And he spoke to them in halting manner. “Brothers and sisters,
I . . . I have need for confession.”

And they stirred uneasily on the hardness of their seats and prayed for deliverance.

“I have taken that which is not mine. I have reaped where I did not sow. Forgive me.” And he bowed his head.

And they murmured against him, “What? A thief in the House of God? Go now and repent of your evil.”

And he turned from them to go, but one, braver and more earnest than the rest, rose and called him back. “Tell us more, Mr. Buckbee, if you will, so that your burden may be lifted.”

And Old Buckbee, the frail and disturbing one, spoke to them.

“This morning, at dawn, I awakened to the swelling chorus of birds, and I went out into the new-made day. At the bridge over the brook, I paused to watch a twisted oak leaf, brown and parched, hurry beneath it, and when it emerged on the other side, a spider, speckled black and white, clung perilously to it. It was beautiful, appealing to the eye, that spider, in its unique way. By the side of the road and scurrying along the top of a stone wall was a striped chipmunk, cheeks bulging. It too was charming and delightful, a small but wondrous creature, bustling in search of food for his family. And in a lilac bush, I caught a glimpse of baby bluebirds, chirping hopefully for their mother. And why, I thought, does the good Lord offer all these good gifts to me? Did I toil or labor or create as he has done? No, truly I am a sinner, for I have reaped where I did not sow.”

And their chins dropped, and they looked at one another befuddled. But he was not finished and he spoke again.

“And on the road, I met a little one, whose name I do not know, with flowers in her hair, and she showed me . . . she showed me . . .” But he could not go on, and tears pooled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks.

But little Sylvie rose quickly, dancing on the pew in excitement, with laughter on her countenance.

“I showed him a blue and gold butterfly. And here it is!” She held the treasure triumphantly aloft for all the congregation to see.

And they murmured no more against him but welcomed him and asked his forgiveness for their stiffness and piety in the House of the Lord.

And beaming with joy, little Sylvie and Old Buckbee led the congregation out into the new day that the Lord had made.