When I was a teenager, I worked summer nights at the Funtown Amusement Park on the south side of Atlanta, Georgia. After work, as I drove home to the north side of Atlanta, I had to pass through “Cabbagetown.” In the early 1960s, during the days of segregation in the South, Cabbagetown was a shantytown neighborhood inhabited by tough, white folks who worked at the nearby Fulton Cotton Mills. On steamy summer nights, the streets of Cabbagetown were often filled with tents hosting evangelical revival meetings. Fascinated by the commotion, I would often stop by to listen in. The words of these street preachers still echo in my mind:
“I was a fornicator,” they would proclaim.
“I was a slave to John Barleycorn,” they would confess.
“I danced the Hoochie Koo.
But then … I found Jesus.
Now my soul is saved.
I’m going to heaven!”
To a nice Jewish kid from the north side of Atlanta, this was amazing:
You could do all this naughty stuff.
You could get drunk.
You could screw.
You could dance the Hoochie Koo.
And nothing bad would happen to you!
Believe me, this seemed like a heck of a better deal than in my religious world, where any attempt at fun seemed to break one of the 613 commandments of the Holy Torah!
As I share this story, I imagine many readers are chuckling, perhaps even chortling, with thoughts like:
“Ha ha. Look at these hillbillies, these rednecks, these Bible-thumping Holy Rollers. These are the folks whose front yards are filled with rusty cars on cinder blocks. These are the folks (in the words of comedian Jeff Foxworthy) who think Moon Pies and beef jerky are two of the major food groups! These are the folks who believe taking your wife on a cruise means circling the Dairy Queen!”
Let me be transparent.
I meant to paint that picture for you.
I meant to create that tone of snarky ridicule.
But with time, after over 40 years of practicing neurology in Hayward, California, I got to know these folks, and I heard their voices of faith. My snarky ridicule of these so-called “Jesus Freaks” turned into sincere respect. Let me share with you three “random” observations.
Random observation #1: What happened at Wendy’s
I was having dinner at Wendy’s during a night shift, grabbing a bite at the nearby restaurant on Hesperian Boulevard. At the next table, a couple had just received their meal. The man wore a work shirt with the name “Bob” printed above the left breast pocket, and the woman was missing several teeth. They sat side by side, held hands, and bowed their heads in prayer, thanking God for His blessings.
It’s funny. Over the years, like many of you, I’ve eaten in upscale restaurants—places filled with men whose shirt pockets didn’t display their first names and women with full sets of teeth. I’ve never once seen anyone bow their head in thankful prayer in those places. I wonder why.
Random observation #2: The first surgeon
Ruth, a patient of mine, was preparing for a serious surgery. Before the procedure, she met with her surgeon and anesthesiologist. Being a retired Sunday school teacher, she couldn’t resist giving the doctors a Bible lesson.
“Let me ask you doctors,” she said, “who do you think performed the first surgery?”
The doctors looked puzzled, so Ruth answered simply, “God.” (Though, when Ruth said it, the word had about three syllables.) “God,” she continued, “was the first surgeon. He took Adam’s rib and made Eve.
“After that,” Ruth added, “all surgeries have been performed by humans. And as you perform my surgery today,” she concluded, “may God guide your hand.”
Many of my colleagues in the medical profession are secular. A lot of this “God,” “Jesus,” and “Hallelujah” stuff doesn’t resonate with us. I understand that. But perhaps we physicians need to honor those People of Faith like Ruth—people who trust that God is guiding our hands.
Random observation #3: “Now I know I have a Father”
For many years, I worked at the Kaiser neurology clinic in the Sleepy Hollow neighborhood of Hayward, a tough area plagued by drugs, alcohol, teen pregnancies, gangs, and vagrancy.
One of my patients was an 18-year-old named Darren, a product of that environment. Raised by a single mother, Darren had been involved in gangs, but he had turned his life around. He was bussing tables at the Olive Garden and attending night school to become a plumber. Unlike his own absent father, Darren aspired to be a real father to a son one day.
I asked what had changed his life. Darren told me about a neighborhood preacher who reached out to him and spoke of Jesus who died for his sins. The preacher told him about a God who loved him.
“For the first time,” Darren said, “I know I have a Father.
I have a Father who cares about me.
I have a Father who cares if I do good or bad.
I want to do good.”
Now, I said these were three “random” observations, but maybe they’re not so random after all. What I’m trying to say to my Christian brothers and sisters—even those who have their names on their shirt pockets and are missing a few teeth, even those who are often the target of snarky remarks from “enlightened” folks like me—is this:
I know you love the Lord.
I know you want to live by His grace.
I know you want to lead good and decent lives.
Because of people of faith like you, I believe America will be a safer and better place. Because of people like you, I believe America will bless you, and you will bless America.
May God be with you on this journey of faith.
Scott Abramson practiced neurology with Kaiser Permanente Northern California for over 40 years, from 1979 to 2020. Throughout those years, Dr. Abramson was passionately involved in physician communication and physician wellness endeavors. Some of his insights and stories from his experiences in these endeavors can be found in video format on his YouTube website channel: Doctor Wisdom.
