Quoted from The Ragamuffing Gospel, p. 92-93:
A story is told about Riorello LaGuardia, who, when he was mayor of New York City during the worst days of the Great Depression and all of World War II, was called by adoring New Yorkers ‘the Little Flower’ because he was only five foot four and always wore a carnation in his lapel. He was a colorful character who used to ride the New York City fire trucks, raid speakeasies with the police department, take entire orphanages to baseball games, and whenever the New York newspapers were on strike, he would go on the radio and read the Sunday funnies to the kids.
One bitterly cold night in January of 1935, the mayor turned up at a night court that served the poorest ward of the city. LaGuardia dismissed the judge for the evening and took over the bench himself. Within a few minutes, a tattered old woman was brought before him, charged with stealing a loaf of bread. She told LaGuardia that her daughter’s husband had deserted her, her daughter was sick, and her two grandchildren were starving. But the shopkeeper, from whom the bread was stolen, refused to drop the charges. “It’s a bad neighborhood, your Honor,” the man told the mayor. “She’s got to be punished to teach other people around here a lesson.”
LaGuardia sighed. he turned to the woman and said, “I’ve got to punish you. The law makes no exceptions — ten dollars or ten days in jail.” But even as he pronounced sentence, the mayor was already reaching into his pocket. He extracted a bill and tossed it into his famous sombrero saying: “Here is the ten dollar fine which I now remit; and furthermore I am going to fine everyone in this courtroom fifty cents for living in a town where a person has to steal bread so that her grandchildren can eat. Mr. Bailiff, collect the fines and give them to the defendant.”
So the following day the New York City newspapers reported that $47.50 was turned over to a bewildered old lady who had stolen a loaf of bread to feed her starving grandchildren, fifty cents of that amount being contributed by the red-faced grocery store owner, while some seventy petty criminals, people with traffic violations, and New York City policemen, each of whom had just paid fifty cents for the privilege of doing so, gave the mayor a standing ovation.
How well is his story crafted!?! Doing someting good; something Jesus would do; catches on. Change can occur when Jesus is the transaction. Brian – you rocked this issue in a way most of us would never have taken note. Rules exist and the punishment is set. But, Jesus took our punishment and keep us all in good light of the law.
Jerry — Yeah! I agree. I read this aloud to my wife, and we both struggled to hold back tears. Something in this story breaks my heart, here in this moment where someone got it, someone understood, someone stooped down from the bench to enter into the pain of someone else’s existence and offer life to her. I’m broken because of the way Manning says this is Jesus, that the best in this story, the best in any story and every story, the greatest picture of love and sacrifice, all of those… that it is Jesus who is depicted. He’s the source of all these stories, all of them flowing from him like blood from his side, because he is the source of our life. He took the blows for us — my God! — he took the blows for us! That in itself is amazing. But what is even better is the reason behind it, because he loves. Period. To hell and back. Beyond my fears. Deeper than despair. In hope against hope, God loves. Passionately. Stubbornly. Like a lover. Like a friend. Like a hero. Like a wild man. Like THIS (pointing to the gospels). Better than I could ever imagine. And I and you, we, are the object of that crazy lovesick heart of his. My God. I’m conquered. Who could resist?
Jerry, Brian – I agree – what else could I add. I like this moving story, too. Praise the Lord and God bless you all, Ingrid