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From Envy to Contentment

The Tenth Word

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JEFF HAMMERBACHER

If I hadn’t seen such riches I could live with being poor.

JAMES, “SIT DOWN”

You shall not covet your neighbor’s house;you shall not covet your neighbor’s wife or his male servant or female servant or his ox or his donkey or anything that belongs to your neighbor.

EXODUS 20:17

John removed his motorcycle helmet, a grin stretching from ear to ear. It had been a brisk if short ride to the coffee shop. As he walked across the parking lot, he saw Steve sitting across from Will at one of the tables outside, smoking a cigarette and reading the paper.

“Morning, Steve. Morning, Will.”

Steve looked up. “Morning, preacher! You’re looking mighty pleased with yourself.”

Will laughed. “Of course he does. He’s got beautiful weather for his day off.”

Steve looked from one to the other. “So you guys know each other, then?”

Will replied, “Oh, John and I go way back. I could tell you all kinds of stories about the preacher here.”

Steve looked back at John. “I’m all ears!”

“I’m sure you are, Steve,” said John. “But how about you let me get a cup of coffee first.”

“We’ll be coming in right behind you—but only after I’ve heard at least one story.” Steve turned back to Will, who looked at John and shrugged. John smiled, then noticed a familiar car pulling into the parking lot. He walked across to greet the occupants as they got out.

“Hi, Rick. Hey, Carlos. Thanks for coming. Ready for that first cup of coffee of the day?”

The driver, a stout figure with a salt-and-pepper beard, snorted. “Hardly! I’ve already seen off a pot at home.” He looked at the young man beside him, who was yawning and running his fingers through matted hair. “Although I imagine mister bedhead here could use a cup.”

Carlos gave him a mock scowl. “Especially if you’re buying, old man.”

“Hey, I gave you a ride. You’re the one buying the coffee.” Throwing an arm around the young man’s shoulders, Rick steered him toward the door. “I’ll even let you buy me a bagel!”

John started to walk over with them, but then spotted Jenny riding up on her bicycle. As he walked across to greet her, a car pulled in and the driver honked. John looked up, and when he saw the loud print of the occupant’s dress, he smiled.

“Morning, Jenny. If Sam’s seated at the bar, I think the gang’s all here.”

Jenny pulled her bag out of a pannier, and then locked her bike. Swinging the bag over her shoulder, she said, “Well, let’s go find a table.”

The last arrival walked across to them, and John said to her, “Did you choose the dress to match your hair color, or dye your hair to match the dress?”

The woman twirled around. “I don’t recall which came first. But don’t I look fabulous?”

Jenny laughed, as did John. “As fabulous as always, Sarah. Glad you could join us.”

Sarah looked at Jenny. “And who is this beautiful young lady?”

“I’m Jenny.”

“And I’m Sarah. Delighted to meet you.”

John grabbed his helmet off the table as they made their way to the door, and held the door open for them before entering with a spring in his step.

Sam was seated on his usual stool at the bar. He had pulled a couple of tables together next to him. John, steaming cup of coffee in hand, walked up to the group now seated there, and seven faces turned to greet him. Sam said, “We’ve all introduced ourselves, so now it’s over to you, John.”

“Thanks so much for coming.” He took the seat that Steve held out for him. “I must confess, I’ve really been looking forward to this morning, and I’m so glad you all came. I know most of you have jobs to get to, so I’ll try to keep our conversation to an hour or thereabouts. How about we jump right in, and I’ll read the Tenth Word to remind us where we’re starting out?” He pulled his Bible out of an inside jacket pocket.

No lusting after your neighbor’s house—or wife or servant or maid or ox or donkey. Don’t set your heart on anything that is your neighbor’s.1

As he put the Bible down on the table, the group looked at him expectantly. “Do you remember the London riots in the summer of 2011?”

“Of course,” said Steve, “it was all over the news here.”

John continued, “I was making breakfast for my family one morning that week and listening to the BBC World Service’s News­­hour. For several nights the riots had struck different parts of London and other major cities in the United Kingdom. I was wondering if the violence affected any of my friends who live there. As I listened, the newscaster described the violence, property destruction and looting. With sirens wailing in the background, a reporter interviewed a young girl. The conversation went something like this.

‘Why are you out here doing this?’

‘To show the police and the rich that we can do what we like.’

‘Who are the rich?’

‘You know, people with money. People who own businesses.’

‘That’s why you’re stealing from them?’

‘Yeah, to show them we can do what we like.’

“At the time commentators seemed at a loss to explain why this was happening. Unlike the Occupy Wall Street movement that started a little later here in the United States, these riots didn’t appear to be rooted in political protest or social unrest. There were no marches, no banners or placards with slogans. No one was giving speeches. It was just mobs of mostly young people looting, smashing windows and burning cars. People were destroying property and taking what they wanted, ‘to show them we can do what we like.’”

Sam snorted, “And what they liked, apparently, was other people’s stuff.”

“Either as something to take for themselves,” added Steve, “or to destroy so that other people no longer had it.”

John nodded, “Right. I remember thinking at the time that after the streets had been swept clear of broken glass, after the last op-ed piece had been written and the numerous explanations had been offered, what we were left with was a graphic example of why we’ve been given the Tenth Word, and the consequences of ignoring it.”

Sam said, “Absolutely. They were just a bunch of thugs. ­Hooligans—isn’t that what they call them over there? Opportunists. No respect for other people’s property.”

“I must confess that I had similar thoughts as I scrambled the eggs for breakfast that morning,” offered John. “I opened up some distance between myself and the mob, and was enjoying a sense of moral superiority. ‘How can people do such things?’

“But when that thought about the Tenth Word popped into my head, all my moral indignation went out the window.” John leaned forward. “You see, while I may not have been in the mob stealing and looting, nor, tragically, taking someone’s life, I think such behavior does have its roots in the Tenth Word—’You shall not covet.’ And coveting is something I’m well acquainted with. I imagine that the young woman interviewed on the radio didn’t wake up one day and just decide, I think I’ll destroy some property today. I think I’ll steal some stuff tonight. Nor did someone wake up and say, When I hit the streets tonight, I think I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way. The behavior of the mob, which we condemn, began with a desire. A desire I’m all too familiar with.

“I’ve had my old Harley out there,” pointing his thumb toward the parking lot, “for twenty years.”

Will interjected, “And it looks like it.”

“I know it does,” John shot back. “When I wheeled it out of the garage this morning, it was its usual temperamental self and took a while to get started. But as I rode over here I wasn’t thinking about how beat up it looks. Or how I sometimes have to bump start it on cold mornings. I was just enjoying the beautiful morning and the brisk air on my face. And later on I’ll feel those same things as I ride out into the country and maybe get my knee down around a few bends.”

He paused. “But then I’ll stop at my favorite little diner for lunch, and I’ll pull up next to the cook’s custom Night Train.”

Jenny and Sam looked confused. Will said, “That’s his dream bike.”

“Right, sorry,” said John. “Anyway, I’ll get off my bike, and chances are I’ll look at his ride and then down at mine, and some of the shine will get taken off the day. On my best days I’ll just feel a twinge of jealousy. On my worst . . .”

Steve spoke up, “You’re not the only one, preacher. I feel that way about my neighbor’s car. It’s all I can do to keep mine on the road. He seems to switch his out every other month.” He looked around the group. “What about you all? What do you covet?”

“For me,” said Rick, “it’s my buddy’s golf swing. I know it sounds stupid, but as much as I love the guy, when we play golf, more often than not I’m hoping he has a bad game...