I have almost gotten used to

casual acquaintances or total strangers being overly familiar with me.

Hardly a day goes by that someone that I've never met before will strike

up a brief conversation by asking me if I'm the guy that writes articles

for the newspaper.

I'm pretty easy to identify,

after all. How many white haired guys with white breads in a clerical

collar do you see running loose around these parts? Plus, I am just a

wee bit bigger than your average-sized guy (width-wise, not height-wise,

sad to say). And my photo is in the newspaper.

So far, nearly all of these

encounters have been pleasant and friendly. Sometimes, people will even

ask about members of my family or about someone else that I have mentioned

in the articles. I enjoy these opportunities to meet new people and to

make new friends. These chance encounters make my day.

Sometimes, however, people

go too far. For example, about ten years ago, a lady visiting the church

I served at the time, greeted me after the service by rubbing my tummy

and saying to her friend, "You're right. He is just like a big teddy

bear!" I considered returning the favor, but, desiring to keep my

career, resisted the temptation and just smiled.

Then there have been those

people through the years who, even though they were not asked, presumed

to tell me how to spend my money, discipline my kids, how to teach a lesson

or sermon, which car I should buy, what to put on my grass to make it

grow, what ties to wear, how long to wear my hair, and so on. Such things

happen regularly to most ministers, I have discovered. Mostly, I have

always been kind and offered a nod and a smile. Until last January.

I had just finished ministering

in an Atlanta hospital and had caught the elevator, which was going down

to the lobby. I was alone when the elevator stopped at the next floor

to pick up a passenger, a man in his 40s. Looking me over, he said, "So,

what kind of priest are you?" Knowing that there are a number of

priests who wear clergy collars, including Catholic, Orthodox, Episcopal,

and Anglican priests, to name a few, I started to answer.

Before I could utter a reply,

he said, "Are you the kind of priest who molests little children

or just has sex with teenaged boys?" Then he smiled as though he

was proud of himself for being so clever.

Maybe he just caught me on

a bad day. Or maybe I was just fed up with having to be nice to morons.

In any event, I removed my glasses, put them in my coat pocket, took a

step toward him, and said, "Well, sir, I'm the kind of priest who

is a former U. S. Marine, a former karate instructor, a former full-contact

karate fighter, and a cop. I'm the kind of priest who doesn't mind one

bit stepping out into the alley with you when this thing stops, if that's

what you'd like to do." The smile faded from his face.

Stammering and taking a step

back, he said, "I'm sorry, Father, I didn't mean to offend you."

"The heck you didn't!"

I responded (okay, I have to be honest here: I didn't say "heck").

Seizing the advantage, I said, "You know, you'd appear a great

deal more intelligent if, the next time you had an idea, you just kept

your mouth shut."

He nodded and mumbled another

apology. The elevator stopped and he exited in quite a hurry and disappeared

down the hallway.

My wife, who believes that

every male is afflicted with "testosterone poisoning" from the

date of his birth, reacted, as most wives would, with horror and disapproval.

"You wouldn't have gone into the alley with him?" she queried.

"Of course I would,"

I replied. "It was a win-win situation. If I beat him up, I win.

If he beat me up, who," I said while pointing at my collar, "do

you think the police would take to jail?"

Oh, I know that there will

be those who will squeal with disdain and shout at me about "turning

the other cheek." Doubtless, there will be some that stamp their

feet and say they can't believe that such behavior came from "a

man of the cloth." But most men - most real men, anyway -

will understand. They understand that, like King David, one can be a worshipper

and a warrior at the same time. They understand that taking a stand sometimes

means, literally, "taking a stand" - that is, determining

not to back down on serious issues.

Real men understand a Jesus

that was affectionate with small children, was courteous to women, and,

yet, made a whip and drove corrupt people from the temple. They understand

that, as Jesus said, sometimes you turn the other cheek and sometimes

you equip yourself with a sword. There is, after all, according to Solomon,

the wisest man of all, "a time for war and a time for peace."

And, sometimes, there is a time to refuse to be nice and a time to confront

inappropriate or offensive behavior. And, sometimes, it's okay to be glad

you did.

[David Epps is rector of Christ

the King Charismatic Episcopal Church, which meets at 8 a.m. and 10 a.m.

Sundays on Ga. Highway 34 between Peachtree City and Newnan. He may be

contacted at [email protected] or at www.CTKCEC.org.]