“Ladies and Gentleman, it is my profound pleasure to introduce to you the man that you’ve named the National Educator of the Year for 2004, Mr. Lester Sherman”. I stood back from the podium, as a thunderous ovation rose from the crowded ballroom floor and I watched in amazement as my old friend made his way to the platform. This was one of those moments in life that you never see coming; a moment too surreal to be imagined. After all, who would think that a powerful group like the National Education Association (NEA) would be acknowledging the work of a man who spent his entire career in education toiling at a secondary school in the ghetto’s of Baltimore. He looked so out of place in this room and with these people, but I knew that if anyone deserved this award it was Mr. Sherman and I also knew that whatever he’d have to say would be memorable. When he reached the platform, he gave me a long and very sincere hug before he turned to address the audience, who were still on their feet and clapping enthusiastically. He seemed a little embarrassed by all the fuss, but not at all nervous, as he began to speak.
“Thank you very much for your kind welcome and thank you professor for your generous introduction. I can tell that you must have taken some “Creative Writing” classes somewhere along the way, as that synopsis of my career in education sounded far more grand than I remember it actually being. I am certainly honored to be here tonight and humbled to have been chosen for this prestigious award. I must admit to you that I am somewhat baffled as to what exactly qualifies me for such an honor; but I’ve learned that if I question an unexpected blessing, it steals the joy of it; so I will set aside my confusion and simply be grateful for this special recognition. One thing that I am pretty sure of is that this award is not the result of any one thing that I’ve done, but the culmination of over forty years in education. As I’ve thought back on those years and recalled the many amazing people that I’ve encountered along the way, there were three very special people who stood above the rest and who I wish to acknowledge tonight. Their influence on me has been most profound; and since this gathering is a celebration of “Educators”, it seems fitting to recognize those whose lives have taught me so much. The first of those special people is my beautiful wife Jeanette. We have been married for over thirty-five years, we’ve raised two beautiful children together and we spent over twenty-five years working together in the school system. She’s taught me just about everything that I know about giving and sharing and patience and love. She has been my fiercest advocate and at times my toughest critic. She is everything that I am not and I’ve come to rely on her strength and wisdom just to make it through the day. I am forever grateful to God for blessing me with this amazing woman to share my life with and I can’t imagine who I would have become without her.”
The attendee’s once again rose up, giving Mrs Sherman an enthusiastic ovation, as the people at her table pushed her to her feet. This clearly pleased Mr. Sherman, who smiled broadly. As the applause subsided, he continued on.
“The second person whose life so profoundly impacted mine was that of my mother [Mrs. Mary (Wilson) Sherman]. Though she went on to be with the Lord a couple of years ago, there is not a day that goes by that I am not touched by her influence. Though she was born into a difficult circumstance and endured many painful things, she refused to feel sorry for herself or to use that as an excuse; and as my sister and I grew up, she refused to allow us to do that either. My mother understood that the cost of blaming someone else for the condition of your life was the power for you to change it. As a young person I didn’t appreciate her view of this; I felt like I had a right to feel sorry for myself; but with the benefit of forty years experience at an inner city school, I can now see that it is a trap that few kids from the ghetto avoid and that even fewer emerge from. Though my father abandoned us before I was old enough to know him, my mother was unwilling to accept what people assumed was her fate. She often worked more than one job, while attending nursing school and raising two kids by herself. If she ever complained, she never let me hear it; and though it took some years, she eventually did become a nurse. When she got a job at the hospital, we were able to move out of the projects and into a little apartment near where she worked. It wasn’t a whole lot bigger or nicer than the place we’d moved out of, but it was the beginning of a new and better life for us. A few years later she married the associate Pastor from our church and we were finally able to move into a house of our own. As I look back I realize that my mother’s life taught me that no one can respect you, if you don’t respect yourself; that your circumstances won’t change until you are willing to be changed within your circumstances and that anything of lasting value can only be attained through perseverance. Her unwavering faith in the goodness of God and her confidence in His destiny for me, have been beacons of hope throughout my journey; and her legacy is one that I pray will be passed down through my children’s children.”
The attendee’s once again broke into a loud, sustained applause, as Mr. Sherman seemed overwhelmed with emotion at the memory of his late mother. He pulled a handkerchief from inside his jacket pocket, dabbing his face and clearing his throat before continuing.
“Last, but certainly not least, is a lady who more than any other person shaped the way I think about education and maybe more rightly, about life itself. Her name was Thelma Watson and she was the first Principal that I taught under when I arrived at PS 236, some forty odd years ago. To my shame, I will admit that I didn’t really want to be there. I felt as though I had escaped life in the ghetto and I had no desire to go back. Though I liked to brag of my beginnings on the ‘mean streets’, I also wanted people to know that I was an educated black man, who had risen above his past. In truth, I perceived this assignment to my old neighborhood school as just another example of how the white school administration wanted to keep a young black teacher from ever really succeeding. And though I never spoke any of that out at the time, Thelma Watson had no trouble in reading me like a book. Anytime she sensed my bitterness or frustration rising up, she’d say, ‘Lets check our attitude Mr. Sherman’, which always managed to make me feel self-conscious. I remember thinking that she couldn’t possibly understand, because PS 236 was exactly where she wanted to be. In my cynical young mind, she was one of those idealists’s, who was trying to save the world; while I counted myself a realist, who understood that some things would never change. I saw this ghetto school as little more than a stepping stone to bigger and better things, while she viewed it as her destiny. I had hoped to just bide my time until I got a better offer, but about half way through my first year, Mrs Watson made it her mission to change my mind. I wish I had the time to share with you all of the wisdom that she imparted to me in those years and to tell you of the many unorthodox ways she used to make her points, but for the sake of time I will share just one story, which I hope will give you a sense of this amazing women.”
The audience seemed captivated by Mr. Sherman’s words, as they sat quietly while he took a sip of water and continued on.
“One day, late in my first year, Mrs Watson stopped me in the hall and told me to come to her office during my off period, which was always right after lunch. Though I was mildly annoyed by this intrusion on what I considered to be ‘my time’, I told her that I’d be there. When I arrived, I was surprised to find that she had a young student in her office and that she wanted me to come in anyway. I knew the boy’s name was Marcus, but he was too young to be in one of my classes, so I didn’t know anything else about him. Mrs Watson asked Marcus to find something in her office that made him think of when he was ‘little’. I remember chuckling at the absurdity of the inference that Marcus wasn’t ‘little’ any more, but Mrs Watson better understood the mind of a child and so Marcus immediately popped up and headed for the toy box in the corner. He quickly emerged with a plastic locomotive, which he set on the Principal’s desk. When she asked him why he’d picked that, he said that his momma always read him the story, ‘The Little Engine That Could’ when ‘he was a baby’. She then asked him to pick something from the office that made him think of where he lives now and to my surprise, he went over and picked up the vase of flowers from Mrs Watson’s windowsill. When she asked about it, he told her that he picked them because they smelled good and that they reminded him of his momma and sisters, who always smelled good too. Finally, Mrs Watson asked him to pick something that showed what he wanted to be when he grew up. Again Marcus rummaged through the toy box, eventually producing a medieval knight on a horse. When asked, he explained that he wanted to grow up to be the bravest knight in all the land. After sending Marcus back to class, another child, who looked about the same age, was brought in. I didn’t recognize him, but Mrs Watson introduced him as Cory. She then repeated the same process with him that she had with Marcus. Cory picked a toy mouse as the object that reminded him of being ‘little’ and he proceeded to tell us of the time his hand had accidentally gotten caught in a mouse trap. He picked a toy gun as the item that reminded him of where he lived, because he said he would often hear guns go off at night; and finally he picked a little Indian figure, shooting a bow and arrow, saying that it reminded him of his hero Robin Hood, who stole from the rich to give to the poor. After some pleasantries, she sent Cory back to class and then turned the conversation toward me by asking what I’d derived from all that. I tried to come up with something intelligible, but honestly I was completely stumped, so I simply shrugged. She went on to explain that these two boys were actually cousins, whose mothers were twin sisters and that they were both being raised in the same tenement building. She also said that these questions were meant to demonstrate how the children viewed their past, present and future; adding that she’d felt that they had done just that. I remember thinking that it was crazy to believe that you could derive all that from kids randomly pulling toys out of a toy box and as usual Mrs Watson didn’t seem to need for me to say it to know how I felt. She went on to argue, ‘If it is truly the environment that these kids are growing up in that is destroying their future, then why do these two boys, who are the same age and live on the same street and come from the same DNA, view their worlds so differently? Why does Marcus remember being encouraged and loved, while Cory remembers being hurt; why does Marcus think of the sweet smell of home, while Cory senses the danger all around him; why does Marcus still believe that he can be a Prince, while Cory believes that the best he can do is to steal from the Prince?’ The normally composed Mrs Watson had turned into a wild-eyed preacher on me and to be honest, I was having a hard time swallowing her message. Again, she read my reaction and added, ‘this is just like you and me Mr. Sherman, we both come to this same school everyday, we deal with many of the same people and we have many of the same challenges; but the way I choose to view it gives me a sense of purpose and fulfillment, while the way you choose to view it causes you to be frustrated and bitter.’ I found her pointed assessment of me to be highly offensive, though even then I recognized the truth of what she was saying. It was all more than I could take in at that moment and she seemed to understand that too. Through gritted teeth, I managed to ask to go back to my classroom and as I walked down the hall, I promised myself that I was going to quit. Somehow, by the grace of God, I made it through the rest of that day and as I left the parking lot that evening, I once again vowed to myself not to come back; but Mrs Watson had succeeded in sowing the seeds of change within me and probably for the first time in my life, I was forced to take a good hard look at myself. All that night, I couldn’t shake the image of those two little boys and I had to admit that I had a lot more in common with Cory than I did with Marcus. I didn’t like that and I found myself wanting it to change. I still wasn’t sure that I could accept that her little test was even valid, but something about it was absolutely compelling to me. I dragged myself to the school that next day, not because I wanted to be there, but because for the first time, I felt like there was something for me to learn there. Mrs Watson wisely gave me a lot of time and space, allowing the wheels of my own mind to turn; and I began to listen, to watch, and ultimately to learn. And the more I did this, the more I grasped the wisdom of what she was teaching me.”
Mr. Sherman once again dabbed his face and sipped his water before continuing.
“I began to realize that I’d gotten into teaching for the wrong reasons; that I really just wanted people to recognize me as an educated black man and not to see me as some Negro from the ghetto. Unwittingly, I had passed judgment on my old neighborhood and on the people who lived there, including the very children I was supposed to be helping. To be quite honest, I didn’t believe that a kid like Marcus stood any real chance of becoming a Prince and there was a part of me that wanted to warn him against having such lofty aspirations. But Thelma Watson believed; she truly felt that there was nothing that these kids couldn’t accomplish and I realized that if I couldn’t come around to that way of thinking, I had no business staying at the school. The last thing that these kids needed was yet another voice telling them that they had no future or encouraging them to view themselves of helpless victims of a corrupt system. As I watched Thelma deal with these children, I could see that she had become a source of inspiration and hope for them and I found myself wanting to be like that too. She not only believed that these kids could do it, she expected that they would do it and she had no problem in letting them know when they were falling short of their potential. She wasn’t willing to make excuses for them and she wouldn’t accept excuses from them or anyone else. It took some time to sink in with me, but slowly my mind was changed. As the years went by, I began to see that what people said and believed about these kids wasn’t nearly as important as what they said and believed about themselves. As I reflected on my own life, I realized that it had been my mother’s faith that a better life was attainable for us and her willingness to pay the price, which had actually changed the course of our lives; and I began to yearn for that in the lives of these kids. I stopped being focused on the rampant racism that was especially prevalent in that day and I quit ranting about the blatant corruption of the system, because constantly pointing those things out made them seem insurmountable. I came to believe that hope was such a powerful thing that racism and corruption couldn’t withstand it; and I soon found that such a belief was contagious. Now don’t misunderstand, that didn’t mean that everyone suddenly grabbed a hold of this idea or that every kid magically succeeded. To be honest, for every one success story, there have probably been thirty who never made it; but because of the profound influence of Mrs Thelma Watson, I came to believe that it was worth whatever that one might cost.”
The audience once again rose to their feet in thunderous applause, which seemed to linger for even longer than before. I knew Mr Sherman well enough to know that he’d want to wrap things up quickly, so I wasn’t surprised that as soon as the ovation started to wane, he quickly resumed speaking.
“My dear colleagues, I will confess to you that I never once tried to duplicate Mrs Watson’s little demonstration with Marcus and Cory; and I’d be the first to admit that this methodology was something less than definitive; but I would also have to testify to the fact that there was something to all that. You see, I got to watch these two young men grow up and I got to see their lives bear out what Mrs Watson had said that day. As a matter of fact, it was Thelma that I stood with at Cory’s funeral; just weeks after his nineteenth birthday and within a few days of him being shot to death during a Liquor Store robbery. On Thursday afternoon we wept bitter tears at our inability to reach Cory, but on Friday morning we returned to work at PS 236, with an even greater sense of urgency to press on. I wish that I could tell you that Cory was the only one we lost, but I couldn’t begin to number the one’s who didn’t make it. I have cried many tears in the last forty years, but not all of them have been in sorrow. You see, every once in a while, a little one grabs a hold of hope and runs with it. It’s a beautiful thing to watch and it renews your spirit to keep up the fight. Marcus was one of those children. Despite all of the obstacles and all of his supposed disadvantages, he just kept getting stronger and stronger. Just a few short years removed from Cory’s funeral, I once again stood with Thelma, as Marcus received the first of his college degrees. On that day, our tears were filled with joy, as we marveled at the power of hope. It wasn’t long after that wonderful experience that my dear friend and mentor, Thelma Watson retired; handing the reins of PS 236 over to me. Though she’d had many opportunities to go elsewhere during her career, she chose to end it where it began; just as I will do at the end of this school year. Some might view that as tragic, but I’d submit that there is no better place to be than in the place you feel called to. Thelma knew that she was created with a purpose and with all that was within her she tried to fulfill that purpose. I will tell you that there is no more meaningful life than that. Thanks to her influence, and that of my wonderful family and friends, I will depart your ranks with that same fulfillment. I again want to thank you for this wonderful recognition and as a fellow educator, I want to challenge you to truly invest yourselves in the opportunities that you’re given. Never forget that educating means far more than simply passing on information and that without hope, there is no bright future for the emerging generations. Finally, I want to thank my dear friend and colleague, Professor Lindsey for coming all the way from Virginia, just to introduce me tonight.” With this, Mr Sherman motioned for me to come to him.
As I quickly made my way to his side, he put his arm around my shoulder and said, “If you read your program, you probably already know that Dr. Lindsey is a professor at Hampton University and the head of their History department; but in my heart he will always just be a little bright-eyed boy named Marcus.
” With loud cheers and whistles, the attendees again rose to their feet and the room seemed to shake with their applause. As Mr. Sherman and I stood together, looking out over this unlikely scene, I too found myself amazed by the power of hope.
Bjcorbin's Blog 
Fruit Flavored
February 12, 2010 by bjcorbin
As a father, I care about what my children eat and as such, I’ve become a lot more attuned to what’s written on the packaging of the food I buy for them. One of the patterns that I’ve noticed is some of the interesting claims associated with items that are fruit flavored. One box proclaims in bold letters, “Real Fruit Flavors”, while a check of the ingredients reveals that it contains no real fruit. This of course begs the question, “Where does the ‘Real Fruit Flavor’ come from, and what exactly qualifies it as ‘Real’?”
Another good one is the drink that says “Contains No Pulp”, when the ingredients list clearly shows that there is no actual fruit juice used to make the drink. These examples sort of make me grateful for the factual label that boasts “Made With 10% Real Fruit Juice”; but it also makes me wonder when only 10% of the real thing became something worth bragging about. As I pondered these and other allusions to “real fruit”, I sensed the Lord begin to speak to me about the church that bears His name.
Indeed the scriptures are full of references to fruit and fruitfulness, and undoubtedly God means for it to be a key component of every believer’s walk. Jesus went so far as to tell us that He is the vine and we are the branches, and that any branch which does not produce fruit will eventually be cut off and thrown into the fire. Not only does this tell us that producing fruit is not optional, it also let’s us know that we don’t get to decide on the variety of fruit our lives will produce. After all, the branches don’t dictate to the tree what kind of fruit they bear.
I believe this is significant, because God isn’t interested in simply producing any fruit; He’s after a specific kind of fruit, which He describes in His word. John the Baptist challenged the Pharisee’s, who undoubtedly viewed themselves as being very fruitful, to produce the fruit of their supposed repentance. Paul defined for the Galatians the fruit of the Holy Spirit, which in essence is Christ’s character, revealed in His people. In today’s church there seems to be much that is considered fruitful, even though it doesn’t seem to fall anywhere near these orchards.
Years ago, I was in one of those jumping & shouting church services, which we Charismatic’s, and our Pentecostal brothers, seem to enjoy so much. It was loud, and there seemed to be a lot going on, when the man on the platform made the declaration that “Lives are being changed!” And as much as I hoped that was true, I sensed a check in my spirit; so I inquired, “What do you see Lord?” I immediately sensed the response, “Christmas Trees”.
After wrestling with what that might mean for a few minutes, I sensed the words, “lots of gifts, no fruit”. As I prayed throughout the rest of that service, I felt like the Lord said that we often mistake motion for movement (i.e. progress) and that we often settle for change (generally of our mood or circumstance) instead of seeking transformation. Only genuine transformation has the potential to produce real fruit, and only real fruit contains the seeds of reproduction.
As I meditated further on this lively scene, the Lord gave me a vision of a chicken running around without its head and He said that even though the chicken still gives the appearance of being full of life, it was truly dead the second it became detached from its head.
Sometime later, a sister in the Lord gave me some interesting information on “hybrid” seeds, which I believe is pertinent to this discussion. A hybrid seed is one that is produced by artificially cross-pollinating plants and they were developed to improve the characteristics of the resulting plants (e.g. better yield, greater uniformity, improved color…). While in some ways this has been very successful, in other ways it has been counter productive. As opposed to natural seeds, hybrids tend to require a great deal of fertilizer, water, herbicides and pesticides to achieve the desired outcome; and more importantly most cannot be relied on to reproduce viable seed for a second generation of plants. That means that the farmer must buy new seed every year.
It seems that the western church’s efforts to make itself relevant to the culture have in many ways compromised the gospel message, and I wonder if the seed we’re trying to sow hasn’t become something of a hybrid; one that is high maintenance and unable to reproduce itself.
Jesus told His followers that the way people would be able to identify them was by the way that they loved each other, which is essentially a manifestation of the fruit of the Holy Spirit. I doubt that many would claim that the church in America is living anywhere near that standard. He later told them that the way they could differentiate between real and false prophets would be by their fruit; yet in today’s church, giftedness & personality seem to have become a viable substitute for a sincere expression of Christ’s character.
While there is still much being done in the name of Christ, Jesus warned that not everything done in His name would be found acceptable. He taught that it is only the fruit that is bore out of a direct connection to Him that really matters. We who proclaim the name of the Lord Jesus can tell the world that we have been grafted to the tree of life, but until they see some worthwhile fruit in our lives, our message will likely remain an abstract to them. Like a grape flavored drink, it may remind them of grapes, but there is nothing of the grape contained within it.
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Posted in Commentaries, Opinions | Tagged Christ's character, compromised gospel, fruit of repentence, fruit of the Spirit, hybrid seeds | 1 Comment »