"I Murdered My Grandmother This Morning!"
Sermon
Life Injections II
Further Connections Of Scripture To The Human Experience
At once, the man's ears were opened.
The failure to listen can be hazardous to our health.
The story goes that Franklin Delano Roosevelt got tired of smiling that big smile and saying the usual things at all those White House receptions. So, one evening, he decided to find out whether anyone was paying attention to what he was saying. As each person came up to him with an extended hand, he flashed that big smile and said: "I murdered my grandmother this morning." Most of the responses went as follows: "Wonderful!" "That's great!" "Glad to hear it!" "Keep up the good work!" Roosevelt found rather quickly that few, if any, were listening to what he had to say.
Now, unfortunately, what Roosevelt encountered at that White House reception is not all that unusual. Not too many of us are good at listening. We may hear but we don't listen. Subsequently, a lot happens that shouldn't have to happen; a lot goes on that shouldn't have to go on. If more of us truly listened, the quality of life would improve not only for ourselves but also for those around us and for the community in which we live.
First of all you'd have better mental health. Sam Kamelson of World Vision International tells of a seventy-year-old lady in Melbourne, Australia, who went to her minister to inquire as to what she might do to help serve the Lord. Unsure how to advise her, he suggested that she go home and pray over it. She did that and the Lord seemed to give her a plan. She bought a batch of three by five cards and wrote on them: "Would you like someone to talk to? Come to my house for tea at 4 p.m." She listed her name at the bottom. Next she posted those little cards around the University of Melbourne.
For the next two weeks this little lady had tea ready at four every afternoon but nobody came. Then, on the following Monday, one Indonesian student arrived and had tea and he found in her someone whom he felt truly listened to what he had to say. When word hit the campus as to what a good listener she was, her teas were filled with students and, when she died several years later, hundreds came to her funeral eternally grateful for the help she had given them at those listening sessions.
Now, that woman had no training in psychology. She had no training in counseling. The only gift she had was that of a good listener, but what a wonderful gift it proved to be. Many on that Melbourne campus had been experiencing immense amounts of tension and turmoil and distress. What they needed was someone to listen to their grief. She fulfilled that need!
One psychiatrist said recently that if everyone really learned to listen to other people, 75 percent of the psychotherapists in the United States would be out of work by next Tuesday. So if more of us truly listened, the mental health of the community would improve immensely. And so would be the case for physical health.
There's a great German tale about Death being struck down and wounded by a giant. As he lay there helplessly, a young man came by who bandaged his wounds and cleaned him up and gave him a drink. After being helped to his feet, Death said to the young man: "Don't you recognize me?" "No, I don't," said the young man. "Well, I am Death and I spare no one. When someone encounters me, he must come with me. I make no exceptions. However, in order to show my appreciation for what you did, I will not take you with me now and, when I do have to call your name, I'll send messengers to give you a fair warning."
The young man was pleased that he would live safe from the fear of death, so he went out and lived a happy and carefree life. As he advanced toward old age, he began experiencing various ailments but he thought nothing of them because he knew he was safe from death. No messenger had as yet arrived. All of a sudden, one day, he turned and he saw Death standing beside him, and Death said: "Follow me! Your hour of departure from the world has come!" "Wait a minute!" said the man. "You promised to send messengers before you arrived and no one's been here!" "I'm surprised that you haven't recognized my messengers," said Death. "I sent fever to slow you down. Next, arthritis came attacking your joints warning you that any step may be your last. Later, infection came and gave you aches and pains all over your body. Finally, I sent fatigue and sleep to remind you each night that Death was near." The man had nothing to say. He yielded to his fate and walked away with Death.
The fable in many ways is true to life. Quite often our body sends out messages letting us know that we're pushing too hard, letting us know that our burning the candle at both ends is exacting its toll, telling us that our dishonesty, our game-playing, isn't boding well with the organs inside us. High blood pressure, headaches, stomachaches, and fatigue are just a few of the ways our body speaks to us. Unfortunately, all too often, we don't listen and as a result our bodies break down a lot sooner than they need to or should.
If more of us began to listen, we'd find better mental health in our community, better physical health, and we'd also find better personal health. Dr. John A. Hutton, who was for many years the editor of The British Weekly, told about the dictatorial manner of the caddies who work the golf links at St. Andrew's in Scotland. The caddies, most of whom have worked there for years, usually hand the golfer the proper club, tell him the direction toward which he is to swing, and then watch the performance in silence.
On one occasion a stranger, who was not familiar with the dictatorial manner of the caddies, was preparing to tee off on one of those dogleg holes where the pin is hidden from view and one has to approach the green in an indirect way. In this particular instance, the caddie hands him a golf club and says: "Shoot toward that roofed shed over on your left!" "Wouldn't it be better," said the stranger, "to go straight toward the hole over the trees?" "You may play in any direction you like!" the caddie noted. "I was only suggesting the correct way to do it."
In life today, there are many caddies around telling us the correct way to hit the ball and they are far less dictatorial than those at St. Andrew's in Scotland. They are our grandparents, our parents, our spouse, our friends, our teachers, our ancestors. Their expertise, however, isn't in golf, it's in life. They're telling us things we need to hear. They're telling us what worked in the past when certain difficulties had arisen. They're telling us about opportunities that are out here for the taking, opportunities that will enhance and enrich a life. They're telling us about certain changes we need to make in our lifestyle, changes that will spare us heavy pain. They're telling us about things we're doing that we need to stop doing. There are all kinds of caddies out there in life whose advice, whose counsel, whose wisdom, whose warning are readily being offered, readily and constantly being articulated. But unfortunately, we're not listening, we're not paying attention, and as a result we're hitting bad shots and we're playing poorly. We're talking here not about golf but about life.
If more of us began to listen, we'd find better mental health, better physical health, better personal health, and better civic health.
On the eve of the French Revolution, Louis XVI presided at the opening of the States General in France. The Bishop of Nancy delivered an address in which he described the appalling conditions of the country. He told of the poverty. He told of those who were starving. He told of the beatings that went on. He told of the diseases that were prevalent. He told of the horrible injustices that had been inflicted on so much of the population. While telling of those horrible things, he looked toward the King and there he was fast asleep, his snores growing more audible by the minute. Because Louis XVI didn't listen, the country of France met with disaster.
Although there are many good things going on in this land we live in, there are many who are not doing so well, many who are barely making ends meet, many who are living in poverty, who wander the streets homeless and abandoned. There are also a lot of injustices that still go on and a lot of inequality that has yet to be rectified. But unfortunately, when they're brought to our attention, we don't listen. We may not be as crude as Louis XVI and actually fill the air with snores, but we basically have the news go through one ear and out the other. And because we do so, because so many of us fail to listen to the cries of those who are hurting, the quality of life in this land we live in remains seriously infected. Who knows what disasters may lie in the future.
If more of us began to listen, we'd find better mental health, better personal health, better physical health, better civic health, and finally we'd find better spiritual health.
A colleague of mine said that he once stopped at a street corner where the Salvation Army had gathered. They were soliciting money for Christmas and were filling the air with music. A lovely young woman stood in the circle singing a solo. Around her was the band: the drums, trombone, and cymbals. From the occasional notes he caught of the singer, he judged that the girl had an exceptional voice. He wanted to hear more of it but the blare of the trumpet and the pounding of the drums smothered the solo and drowned out her voice.
That often happens when it comes to the voice of God. God may be speaking but we're not hearing God because we're doing all the talking. We're trumpeting out all our needs. We're drumming up a storm recounting which areas of our life need God's attention. In so doing, we drown out God's voice. If in our prayer life we spoke less and listened more, God might get heard and we just might find our spiritual lives improving quite dramatically.
In our Gospel today, Jesus opens up the ears of someone who was deaf, and in no time he could hear. Our hope and prayer today is that Jesus might open up our ears, not so much that we might hear, because we can, but more importantly and most especially to open our ears that we might listen. That we might listen, first of all, to the many people around us who are hurting and who can't find anyone hosting an afternoon tea that will hear out their hurts. We want Jesus to open up our ears that we might listen to our bodies so when they send out messages, we'll pay attention.
We want Jesus to open our ears that we might listen to the caddies of life when they offer their counsel, their wisdom, and their advice; that we might listen instead of snore when reports emerge telling us of the plight of those who aren't as privileged as we. We want Jesus to open our ears that we might listen when God speaks and get out of the habit of drowning him out with the hammering of our drums and the blasting of our trumpets. If Jesus does that for us, the mental health, the physical health, the personal health, the civic health, and the spiritual health of our community will never be better.
At that White House reception I was referring to earlier, there was one person who did listen to what the President said. It happened to be a foreign diplomat who was looking for some aid for his country. When Roosevelt shook his hand and said he murdered his grandmother, he replied: "Mr. President, sir, she must have had it coming!"
The failure to listen can be hazardous to our health.
The story goes that Franklin Delano Roosevelt got tired of smiling that big smile and saying the usual things at all those White House receptions. So, one evening, he decided to find out whether anyone was paying attention to what he was saying. As each person came up to him with an extended hand, he flashed that big smile and said: "I murdered my grandmother this morning." Most of the responses went as follows: "Wonderful!" "That's great!" "Glad to hear it!" "Keep up the good work!" Roosevelt found rather quickly that few, if any, were listening to what he had to say.
Now, unfortunately, what Roosevelt encountered at that White House reception is not all that unusual. Not too many of us are good at listening. We may hear but we don't listen. Subsequently, a lot happens that shouldn't have to happen; a lot goes on that shouldn't have to go on. If more of us truly listened, the quality of life would improve not only for ourselves but also for those around us and for the community in which we live.
First of all you'd have better mental health. Sam Kamelson of World Vision International tells of a seventy-year-old lady in Melbourne, Australia, who went to her minister to inquire as to what she might do to help serve the Lord. Unsure how to advise her, he suggested that she go home and pray over it. She did that and the Lord seemed to give her a plan. She bought a batch of three by five cards and wrote on them: "Would you like someone to talk to? Come to my house for tea at 4 p.m." She listed her name at the bottom. Next she posted those little cards around the University of Melbourne.
For the next two weeks this little lady had tea ready at four every afternoon but nobody came. Then, on the following Monday, one Indonesian student arrived and had tea and he found in her someone whom he felt truly listened to what he had to say. When word hit the campus as to what a good listener she was, her teas were filled with students and, when she died several years later, hundreds came to her funeral eternally grateful for the help she had given them at those listening sessions.
Now, that woman had no training in psychology. She had no training in counseling. The only gift she had was that of a good listener, but what a wonderful gift it proved to be. Many on that Melbourne campus had been experiencing immense amounts of tension and turmoil and distress. What they needed was someone to listen to their grief. She fulfilled that need!
One psychiatrist said recently that if everyone really learned to listen to other people, 75 percent of the psychotherapists in the United States would be out of work by next Tuesday. So if more of us truly listened, the mental health of the community would improve immensely. And so would be the case for physical health.
There's a great German tale about Death being struck down and wounded by a giant. As he lay there helplessly, a young man came by who bandaged his wounds and cleaned him up and gave him a drink. After being helped to his feet, Death said to the young man: "Don't you recognize me?" "No, I don't," said the young man. "Well, I am Death and I spare no one. When someone encounters me, he must come with me. I make no exceptions. However, in order to show my appreciation for what you did, I will not take you with me now and, when I do have to call your name, I'll send messengers to give you a fair warning."
The young man was pleased that he would live safe from the fear of death, so he went out and lived a happy and carefree life. As he advanced toward old age, he began experiencing various ailments but he thought nothing of them because he knew he was safe from death. No messenger had as yet arrived. All of a sudden, one day, he turned and he saw Death standing beside him, and Death said: "Follow me! Your hour of departure from the world has come!" "Wait a minute!" said the man. "You promised to send messengers before you arrived and no one's been here!" "I'm surprised that you haven't recognized my messengers," said Death. "I sent fever to slow you down. Next, arthritis came attacking your joints warning you that any step may be your last. Later, infection came and gave you aches and pains all over your body. Finally, I sent fatigue and sleep to remind you each night that Death was near." The man had nothing to say. He yielded to his fate and walked away with Death.
The fable in many ways is true to life. Quite often our body sends out messages letting us know that we're pushing too hard, letting us know that our burning the candle at both ends is exacting its toll, telling us that our dishonesty, our game-playing, isn't boding well with the organs inside us. High blood pressure, headaches, stomachaches, and fatigue are just a few of the ways our body speaks to us. Unfortunately, all too often, we don't listen and as a result our bodies break down a lot sooner than they need to or should.
If more of us began to listen, we'd find better mental health in our community, better physical health, and we'd also find better personal health. Dr. John A. Hutton, who was for many years the editor of The British Weekly, told about the dictatorial manner of the caddies who work the golf links at St. Andrew's in Scotland. The caddies, most of whom have worked there for years, usually hand the golfer the proper club, tell him the direction toward which he is to swing, and then watch the performance in silence.
On one occasion a stranger, who was not familiar with the dictatorial manner of the caddies, was preparing to tee off on one of those dogleg holes where the pin is hidden from view and one has to approach the green in an indirect way. In this particular instance, the caddie hands him a golf club and says: "Shoot toward that roofed shed over on your left!" "Wouldn't it be better," said the stranger, "to go straight toward the hole over the trees?" "You may play in any direction you like!" the caddie noted. "I was only suggesting the correct way to do it."
In life today, there are many caddies around telling us the correct way to hit the ball and they are far less dictatorial than those at St. Andrew's in Scotland. They are our grandparents, our parents, our spouse, our friends, our teachers, our ancestors. Their expertise, however, isn't in golf, it's in life. They're telling us things we need to hear. They're telling us what worked in the past when certain difficulties had arisen. They're telling us about opportunities that are out here for the taking, opportunities that will enhance and enrich a life. They're telling us about certain changes we need to make in our lifestyle, changes that will spare us heavy pain. They're telling us about things we're doing that we need to stop doing. There are all kinds of caddies out there in life whose advice, whose counsel, whose wisdom, whose warning are readily being offered, readily and constantly being articulated. But unfortunately, we're not listening, we're not paying attention, and as a result we're hitting bad shots and we're playing poorly. We're talking here not about golf but about life.
If more of us began to listen, we'd find better mental health, better physical health, better personal health, and better civic health.
On the eve of the French Revolution, Louis XVI presided at the opening of the States General in France. The Bishop of Nancy delivered an address in which he described the appalling conditions of the country. He told of the poverty. He told of those who were starving. He told of the beatings that went on. He told of the diseases that were prevalent. He told of the horrible injustices that had been inflicted on so much of the population. While telling of those horrible things, he looked toward the King and there he was fast asleep, his snores growing more audible by the minute. Because Louis XVI didn't listen, the country of France met with disaster.
Although there are many good things going on in this land we live in, there are many who are not doing so well, many who are barely making ends meet, many who are living in poverty, who wander the streets homeless and abandoned. There are also a lot of injustices that still go on and a lot of inequality that has yet to be rectified. But unfortunately, when they're brought to our attention, we don't listen. We may not be as crude as Louis XVI and actually fill the air with snores, but we basically have the news go through one ear and out the other. And because we do so, because so many of us fail to listen to the cries of those who are hurting, the quality of life in this land we live in remains seriously infected. Who knows what disasters may lie in the future.
If more of us began to listen, we'd find better mental health, better personal health, better physical health, better civic health, and finally we'd find better spiritual health.
A colleague of mine said that he once stopped at a street corner where the Salvation Army had gathered. They were soliciting money for Christmas and were filling the air with music. A lovely young woman stood in the circle singing a solo. Around her was the band: the drums, trombone, and cymbals. From the occasional notes he caught of the singer, he judged that the girl had an exceptional voice. He wanted to hear more of it but the blare of the trumpet and the pounding of the drums smothered the solo and drowned out her voice.
That often happens when it comes to the voice of God. God may be speaking but we're not hearing God because we're doing all the talking. We're trumpeting out all our needs. We're drumming up a storm recounting which areas of our life need God's attention. In so doing, we drown out God's voice. If in our prayer life we spoke less and listened more, God might get heard and we just might find our spiritual lives improving quite dramatically.
In our Gospel today, Jesus opens up the ears of someone who was deaf, and in no time he could hear. Our hope and prayer today is that Jesus might open up our ears, not so much that we might hear, because we can, but more importantly and most especially to open our ears that we might listen. That we might listen, first of all, to the many people around us who are hurting and who can't find anyone hosting an afternoon tea that will hear out their hurts. We want Jesus to open up our ears that we might listen to our bodies so when they send out messages, we'll pay attention.
We want Jesus to open our ears that we might listen to the caddies of life when they offer their counsel, their wisdom, and their advice; that we might listen instead of snore when reports emerge telling us of the plight of those who aren't as privileged as we. We want Jesus to open our ears that we might listen when God speaks and get out of the habit of drowning him out with the hammering of our drums and the blasting of our trumpets. If Jesus does that for us, the mental health, the physical health, the personal health, the civic health, and the spiritual health of our community will never be better.
At that White House reception I was referring to earlier, there was one person who did listen to what the President said. It happened to be a foreign diplomat who was looking for some aid for his country. When Roosevelt shook his hand and said he murdered his grandmother, he replied: "Mr. President, sir, she must have had it coming!"
