Once upon a

time, in a fairy-tale land far, far away, I believed in

the inherent goodness of government. I believed that

civic-minded citizens, wishing to contribute their skills

and talents for the common welfare and benefit of all,

offered themselves for public office and, once elected,

operated with the highest of motives and with civility

and consideration for all the citizenry.

My father-in-law, John

Douglas, was that kind of man. The son of a car salesman

in north Florida, John put himself through the University

of Florida and became an engineer. He served as an

officer for a few years in the Air Force then went to

work. Over time, he moved up the corporate ladder.

John was a devout Baptist

believer and a dedicated family man. He was a good man,

an honorable man, with a love for his community. Later in

his life, John, now a vice-president for Eastman Chemical

Products, an industry that employed some 15,000 workers

in east Tennessee, ran for the Board of Mayor and

Aldermen in Kingsport. He won, served the one term he had

promised to serve, and exited the political scene.

Many, many times people

would say to me, "I wish that John had run for

reelection. He had no personal agenda and would always

listen to the issues before he voiced and voted his

conscience."

John's telephone at his

home rang continuously during his four-year term as he

made himself available to the citizens of the community

day or night. He never asked if they voted for him before

he would take their call or listen to their cause. He

believed that all the citizens had a right to be heard.

Why, he even believed that he, an alderman, worked for

the citizens! His example helped me to believe in the

fairy tale.

A few years ago, a new

state senator was elected to serve the people of the area

where I live. About nine weeks after she assumed office,

I wrote her a postcard which said something like this:

" Dear Senator, I would be most appreciative if you

would consider voting for pro-life legislation during the

current legislative session. Sincerely, W. D. Epps."

I sent the message on a

postcard provided by a Roman Catholic pro-life

organization which featured a trash bin full of the

bodies of aborted babies. Within a few days, I received

an angry reply from the senator who castigated me for the

photograph on the postcard, informed me that I obviously

did not know how to deal with someone of great importance

such as herself, and hinted at reprisals.

I thought the whole thing

was an over reaction until, a few days later, I saw the

headline of the local newspaper that read: "REVEREND

EPPS UNDER FEDERAL INVESTIGATION." My heart jumped

into my throat and I could feel my temples pounding as my

head began to swim.

With trembling hands, I

purchased the newspaper and read that my postcard had

been turned over to the federal postal inspectors for

investigation. The possible charge? Use of the United

States mail system for the unlawful distribution of child

pornography. Why such an allegation? Some of the dead

babies in the trash can were naked.

I was being investigated

for child pornography because I had written my state

senator on a post card that featured dead children whose

lives had been terminated in an abortion clinic and whose

bodies had been dumped in a garbage can. If indicted and

convicted, I could spend at least three years in a

federal prison. The fairy tale was over.

A public outcry ensued.

Hundreds of people wrote letters and made telephone calls

as I prayed and prepared for jail. My life stopped and

time stood still. Eventually, the postal inspector

assigned to the case determined that I was lawfully

exercising my rights under the First Amendment and ceased

the investigation.

He confided to me,

"The only reason we even gave this any consideration

is because the person making the allegation was a

politician. I'm sorry you had to go through this."

It was weeks before I slept

soundly again. For months afterward, my children

continued to be asked by classmates if their father was a

child pornographer. My own small children asked me if I

would have to go to jail. For months, people who

recognized me as they passed by stared and mentally made

their silent conclusions about my character.

The senator served one

two-year term and was driven from office. Dozens of

people in her own political party confided that, while

they themselves were pro-abortion, they had voted against

the senator because of, in their view, her blatant

attempt to restrict me of my rights under the First

Amendment. The senator discovered, all too late, that the

people who truly counted were the citizens - not the

politicians. When the politicians cease to serve the

people, when they refuse to heed the voice of the common

man or woman, it is time to remove them from their

responsibilities.

I am not antigovernment. To

me, government is like an ax. An ax can fell a tree for

shelter, can make firewood for warmth, and can even form

ice into a beautiful sculpture. But an ax can also kill,

and maim, and destroy.

But an ax is only a tool.

In the right hands the ax is a great implement. In the

wrong hands, an ax can bring fear and destruction.

Government is like that ax.

Government is just a tool ... it is capable of great good

or great harm. Like the ax, government is neither good

nor bad. You just need to keep a careful eye on the one

who holds it in their hand. [Father David Epps is rector

of Christ the King Church in Peachtree City. He can be

contacted at [email protected] or at www.ChristTheKingCEC.com .]