The Man In The Iron Tank

The late James K. Baxter wrote:

There was a man who decided that life was too corrupt. He bought a large corrugated iron tank, and furnished it with the necessities of life - a bed, books, food, electric light and heating, his bible and prayerbook. There he lived a blameless life without interruption from the world. But there was one great hardship.

Morning and evening, without fail, volleys of bullets would rip through the walls of his tank. The man learnt to lie on the floor to avoid being shot. Nevertheless, he did at times sustain wounds, and the iron walls were pierced with many holes that let in the wind and the daylight. He plugged up the holes. He prayed against the unknown marksman, asking God to intervene.

By degrees he began to use the bullet holes for a positive purpose. He would gaze out through one hole or another, and watch the people passing, the children flying kites, the lovers making love, the wind in the trees,... He would forget himself in observing these things.

The day came when the tank rusted and fell to pieces. He walked out of it with little regret. There was a man standing with a gun outside. "Why have you been persecuting me?" asked the man from the tank. The other man laid down the gun and smiled. "I am not your enemy", he said. And the man from the tank could see that there were scars on the marksman's hands and feet, and these scars were shining like the sun.

God does not respect our desire to live insular lives, but disturbs us and threatens us with new insights and vision.

Glynn, the Baxter tale reminds me of an old story, origin unknown, about a man who was put in prison. For a while he fretted about the small cell and the loss of his freedom, but gradually he got used to it. He was fed well, and he had certain comforts, a sumptuous red velvet couch, the latest TV and stereo and some communication with other prisoners. There was a tiny window high in the wall which gave a glimpse of the outside world but reaching it required a bit of effort and after a while he didn’t bother. Years went by. One day, there were rumblings inside the prison, the cell door was thrown open and a guard announced, “You are free! You can walk out of here!” The prisoner was terrified. He rushed to his velvet couch, threw himself upon it and buried his head under a cushion.Cheers,Joy