Unrecognized Faith
Stories
LECTIONARY TALES FOR THE PULPIT
Series III, Cycle A
Pastor Jim and his wife Ida were shaking hands with people as they came to church. Pastor Jim was idly chatting with several of the people as they quickly shook his hand and entered the massive building. Ida was standing beyond, sharing a story about the twins: they were so active, learning to walk and into everything! At two years of age, no one held Ida's heart more captive than her only grandchildren.
It was a cold, spring morning, with a little snow still on the ground. Jim was glad his alb was wool. He was just about to close the door against the wind when he saw an older man walk up the sidewalk. The man walked with a cane and had a limp. His coat was open, flapping in the wind. His suit underneath was wrinkled, his tie crooked. Pastor Jim smiled broadly and waved him on through the door. "Welcome!" Jim said in his booming, cheerful voice. He shook the man's hand and introduced himself as the pastor of First Church. The man said his name was Peter. Jim took Peter's coat and hung it up in the foyer and waved for an usher to help Peter find a seat. Jim's thoughts turned to the worship service.
His music minister did such a great job. As a daughter of a pastor, she was very familiar with integrating the music and the lectionary cycle: the hymns and special numbers fit the texts perfectly. He knew he was lucky to have this young lady on staff. He felt his heart soar as her prelude came to a close. He smiled at her.
The service was joyful and upbeat. His sermon was predictable: know God loves you, know God is with you, know that God cares for you. He wove stories into the sermon from his past as a missionary and people nodded and smiled at the right places. He caught sight of Ida and watched for a look of disapproval or approval. She was his meter and his true critic, and she didn't let Jim get away with much. She nodded and smiled. He hoped someone would be moved and someone would understand how much God loves them.
The special music was indeed special, and Pastor Jim said so. Chelsea was only twelve years old, but the music she made with her viola moved even his 55--year--old heart. He reminded the children how important they were in their church and what special gifts God had given each of them. He raised his hand to bless the church.
Pastor Jim caught sight of Peter, and he smiled at him. Peter. Who was he? Was he transient? Was he traveling? What was his story? His eyes stayed a second longer as he pronounced the benediction. "... The Lord look upon you with favor and give you peace."
Pastor Jim once again stood at the back, shaking hands with his parishioners and their visitors. He met Julie's boyfriend, the Hanson family's great--uncle, a doll named Betsy, and several members who were returning from their winter stay down south. He couldn't blame them; a warm climate could be so inviting at times when there were several inches of snow around! He shook hands again with Peter as he walked out of the church.
"That was a good message, Pastor. It warmed my heart." Pastor Jim and Ida chatted with Peter a while and invited him to lunch. Ida was thinking a hot meal might be good for Peter. Pastor Jim was thinking that Peter might be craving company. It would be good for all of them.
They went to a nearby restaurant and had what amounted to a Thanksgiving feast: turkey, dressing, potatoes, yams, vegetables, a salad bar, even several pies to choose from. What a banquet it was. They spoke about superficial things at first: Jim befriending his beloved Ida after World War II, their life on the missionary field, and the adventures as parents in Madegascar. They shared of their loneliness for their children when they were sent off to England for high school. There were plenty of stories about their younger son's two children: the twins. Soon their conversation turned deeper, with Peter sharing stories of his own travels across the world and the suffering he saw in many war--torn countries. Peter said that he was sorry to learn in his travels that so many people didn't know about Jesus. He only briefly mentioned that his wife died in childbirth, and he never talked about it again.
When they went to pay, it was Peter who handed the money to the waitress, much to the shock of Pastor Jim, who insisted that he had invited Peter and he expected to pay. But Peter would have none of it. "Maybe in the next few days or weeks we'll eat together again and it'll be on you. Right now I need to go home, I have a very special visitor coming."
And so began their friendship. Jim and Peter met several times at the caf . Peter hardly ever talked about himself, though. He was adept at turning the conversation to Jim and evaded many direct questions. He loved it when Ida came to join them. He encouraged Ida's idea for a quilt design for the back wall of the church. He even felt free enough to debate points that Jim made in his sermons or in adult Bible study. Peter was an honest, seemingly carefree person, interested in others and his relationship with God - it turned out he also had a keen interest in the Bible. Jim bounced ideas off of Peter several times in preparation for a sermon or class. Their friendship was deepening.
It was quite a shock when Pastor Jim received a phone call from the hospital: Peter was in Intensive Care and was not expected to live much longer. Jim and Ida hurried to the hospital to be with their friend. Peter was on oxygen and had IVs in place. He looked ghostly pale, yet he smiled when he saw his friends.
Jim tried to make the moment lighter and kidded Peter about not even knowing him for six months and already it seemed like a lifetime. But Jim also could see Peter was tired, and Jim wanted to make the most of the moment. They held hands and sat together. Jim prayed with Peter, asking God to give comfort and peace.
The nurse came in and told them she would miss Peter. He had come to the University Hospital many times in the last seven years that he had this illness, but now he knew his time on earth was ending and he had wanted to be closer to the hospital. He had taken an apartment to be close by. Jim was so surprised. Never once in all their conversations had Peter mentioned he was ill. He had said he had traveled quite a bit, but Jim had never known if it was because he was transient or what the exact story was. It seemed although he had come to care deeply for Peter, he didn't really know who Peter was at all.
Peter's granddaughter came to visit. Her father had died of this same disease when she was only eighteen years old, and Peter was like a second father rather than a grandfather to her. She was his only family and she would miss him very, very much. She lived about an hour away and had come to visit him every Sunday afternoon without fail. She laughed when her grandfather rushed home one Sunday, was sorry he was late, but so excited about the pastor he had met! She knew all about Jim and Ida. Peter had told her everything about his new friends. He had been so happy to know them.
Peter died while holding Jim's hand. Jim wept for his friend and felt grief that he couldn't know Peter better. He admitted honestly to Ida he had cried for himself, too. He asked Peter's granddaughter if there was anything he could do with planning his funeral. She showed Jim the beautifully outlined worship service that Peter had planned. The music was beautiful; the texts were upbeat and confident. The tone of the service was one of faithfulness and celebration. Everything was ready. Peter had even penciled in Jim's name to do the benediction. Jim would do anything that she and Peter would want. "Just come to the church in our hometown, and please honor us by doing the blessing," was all she said. They parted with a hug.
Jim spent much time sitting with Peter, remembering their conversations, their pure and honest debates, the bond they had been building. He would indeed miss his friend.
When Jim and Ida set out for the funeral, they found the streets packed with cars. People were filing into Zion Church. Was this all for Peter? Their "simple" friend?
But Peter wasn't so simple at all. Peter had been a friend to hundreds in his home town. He was a philosophy professor who also had gone to seminary, not to be ordained but to give another focus to his philosophy studies. He spent every summer traveling in different parts of the world, traveling only with a small suitcase and relying on the goodness of people he met along the way. He in turn shared his faith with the people. Peter had only gotten in trouble once in his travels. He was in Pakistan, where Christianity is not something that is admitted to or shared with anyone. He was innocently sharing about Christ when he was arrested and jailed. He was beaten to the point of blackout until a guard felt pity on him and let him go. Peter had been to South America, Europe, Asia, Africa, the Scandinavian countries, and Russia. He had missed very few countries. Peter, this man who could debate so deeply with Jim. Peter, this man who so deeply loved Jesus that he was willing to risk his life sharing his faith story with others throughout the world. The pastor of Zion asked how many people could add such stories to their resume.
A fellow professor got up to speak. Peter was an activist, joining in protest against the unfair treatment of minority groups. He had been a beloved professor on campus, often letting students use his guest cottage if they had no place to go. He was a trusted colleague who was not afraid to challenge professors in their thinking. Jim nodded in understanding.
The congregation laughed when a young man shared how Peter had loaned him his only suit: a hopelessly outdated suit that the young man politely turned down. So Peter gave him a hundred dollars to buy a new suit. Peter, this simple man, who spoke, dressed, and acted simply. Many people spoke at the funeral about how he had given them money to buy food, clothing, or cars. He had even sponsored several young people with college funds.
Peter would be missed. He had given all his earthly possessions away about a year before when he knew his illness was progressing. He didn't want or need much anymore. He just wanted to be himself.
Jim got up to give the benediction. It was all he could do to keep from crying as he looked out over the large church. "And now may the Lord bless you...." It was packed with others who truly loved Peter. He turned to the casket: "... The Lord look upon you with favor and give us peace. Amen."
It was a cold, spring morning, with a little snow still on the ground. Jim was glad his alb was wool. He was just about to close the door against the wind when he saw an older man walk up the sidewalk. The man walked with a cane and had a limp. His coat was open, flapping in the wind. His suit underneath was wrinkled, his tie crooked. Pastor Jim smiled broadly and waved him on through the door. "Welcome!" Jim said in his booming, cheerful voice. He shook the man's hand and introduced himself as the pastor of First Church. The man said his name was Peter. Jim took Peter's coat and hung it up in the foyer and waved for an usher to help Peter find a seat. Jim's thoughts turned to the worship service.
His music minister did such a great job. As a daughter of a pastor, she was very familiar with integrating the music and the lectionary cycle: the hymns and special numbers fit the texts perfectly. He knew he was lucky to have this young lady on staff. He felt his heart soar as her prelude came to a close. He smiled at her.
The service was joyful and upbeat. His sermon was predictable: know God loves you, know God is with you, know that God cares for you. He wove stories into the sermon from his past as a missionary and people nodded and smiled at the right places. He caught sight of Ida and watched for a look of disapproval or approval. She was his meter and his true critic, and she didn't let Jim get away with much. She nodded and smiled. He hoped someone would be moved and someone would understand how much God loves them.
The special music was indeed special, and Pastor Jim said so. Chelsea was only twelve years old, but the music she made with her viola moved even his 55--year--old heart. He reminded the children how important they were in their church and what special gifts God had given each of them. He raised his hand to bless the church.
Pastor Jim caught sight of Peter, and he smiled at him. Peter. Who was he? Was he transient? Was he traveling? What was his story? His eyes stayed a second longer as he pronounced the benediction. "... The Lord look upon you with favor and give you peace."
Pastor Jim once again stood at the back, shaking hands with his parishioners and their visitors. He met Julie's boyfriend, the Hanson family's great--uncle, a doll named Betsy, and several members who were returning from their winter stay down south. He couldn't blame them; a warm climate could be so inviting at times when there were several inches of snow around! He shook hands again with Peter as he walked out of the church.
"That was a good message, Pastor. It warmed my heart." Pastor Jim and Ida chatted with Peter a while and invited him to lunch. Ida was thinking a hot meal might be good for Peter. Pastor Jim was thinking that Peter might be craving company. It would be good for all of them.
They went to a nearby restaurant and had what amounted to a Thanksgiving feast: turkey, dressing, potatoes, yams, vegetables, a salad bar, even several pies to choose from. What a banquet it was. They spoke about superficial things at first: Jim befriending his beloved Ida after World War II, their life on the missionary field, and the adventures as parents in Madegascar. They shared of their loneliness for their children when they were sent off to England for high school. There were plenty of stories about their younger son's two children: the twins. Soon their conversation turned deeper, with Peter sharing stories of his own travels across the world and the suffering he saw in many war--torn countries. Peter said that he was sorry to learn in his travels that so many people didn't know about Jesus. He only briefly mentioned that his wife died in childbirth, and he never talked about it again.
When they went to pay, it was Peter who handed the money to the waitress, much to the shock of Pastor Jim, who insisted that he had invited Peter and he expected to pay. But Peter would have none of it. "Maybe in the next few days or weeks we'll eat together again and it'll be on you. Right now I need to go home, I have a very special visitor coming."
And so began their friendship. Jim and Peter met several times at the caf . Peter hardly ever talked about himself, though. He was adept at turning the conversation to Jim and evaded many direct questions. He loved it when Ida came to join them. He encouraged Ida's idea for a quilt design for the back wall of the church. He even felt free enough to debate points that Jim made in his sermons or in adult Bible study. Peter was an honest, seemingly carefree person, interested in others and his relationship with God - it turned out he also had a keen interest in the Bible. Jim bounced ideas off of Peter several times in preparation for a sermon or class. Their friendship was deepening.
It was quite a shock when Pastor Jim received a phone call from the hospital: Peter was in Intensive Care and was not expected to live much longer. Jim and Ida hurried to the hospital to be with their friend. Peter was on oxygen and had IVs in place. He looked ghostly pale, yet he smiled when he saw his friends.
Jim tried to make the moment lighter and kidded Peter about not even knowing him for six months and already it seemed like a lifetime. But Jim also could see Peter was tired, and Jim wanted to make the most of the moment. They held hands and sat together. Jim prayed with Peter, asking God to give comfort and peace.
The nurse came in and told them she would miss Peter. He had come to the University Hospital many times in the last seven years that he had this illness, but now he knew his time on earth was ending and he had wanted to be closer to the hospital. He had taken an apartment to be close by. Jim was so surprised. Never once in all their conversations had Peter mentioned he was ill. He had said he had traveled quite a bit, but Jim had never known if it was because he was transient or what the exact story was. It seemed although he had come to care deeply for Peter, he didn't really know who Peter was at all.
Peter's granddaughter came to visit. Her father had died of this same disease when she was only eighteen years old, and Peter was like a second father rather than a grandfather to her. She was his only family and she would miss him very, very much. She lived about an hour away and had come to visit him every Sunday afternoon without fail. She laughed when her grandfather rushed home one Sunday, was sorry he was late, but so excited about the pastor he had met! She knew all about Jim and Ida. Peter had told her everything about his new friends. He had been so happy to know them.
Peter died while holding Jim's hand. Jim wept for his friend and felt grief that he couldn't know Peter better. He admitted honestly to Ida he had cried for himself, too. He asked Peter's granddaughter if there was anything he could do with planning his funeral. She showed Jim the beautifully outlined worship service that Peter had planned. The music was beautiful; the texts were upbeat and confident. The tone of the service was one of faithfulness and celebration. Everything was ready. Peter had even penciled in Jim's name to do the benediction. Jim would do anything that she and Peter would want. "Just come to the church in our hometown, and please honor us by doing the blessing," was all she said. They parted with a hug.
Jim spent much time sitting with Peter, remembering their conversations, their pure and honest debates, the bond they had been building. He would indeed miss his friend.
When Jim and Ida set out for the funeral, they found the streets packed with cars. People were filing into Zion Church. Was this all for Peter? Their "simple" friend?
But Peter wasn't so simple at all. Peter had been a friend to hundreds in his home town. He was a philosophy professor who also had gone to seminary, not to be ordained but to give another focus to his philosophy studies. He spent every summer traveling in different parts of the world, traveling only with a small suitcase and relying on the goodness of people he met along the way. He in turn shared his faith with the people. Peter had only gotten in trouble once in his travels. He was in Pakistan, where Christianity is not something that is admitted to or shared with anyone. He was innocently sharing about Christ when he was arrested and jailed. He was beaten to the point of blackout until a guard felt pity on him and let him go. Peter had been to South America, Europe, Asia, Africa, the Scandinavian countries, and Russia. He had missed very few countries. Peter, this man who could debate so deeply with Jim. Peter, this man who so deeply loved Jesus that he was willing to risk his life sharing his faith story with others throughout the world. The pastor of Zion asked how many people could add such stories to their resume.
A fellow professor got up to speak. Peter was an activist, joining in protest against the unfair treatment of minority groups. He had been a beloved professor on campus, often letting students use his guest cottage if they had no place to go. He was a trusted colleague who was not afraid to challenge professors in their thinking. Jim nodded in understanding.
The congregation laughed when a young man shared how Peter had loaned him his only suit: a hopelessly outdated suit that the young man politely turned down. So Peter gave him a hundred dollars to buy a new suit. Peter, this simple man, who spoke, dressed, and acted simply. Many people spoke at the funeral about how he had given them money to buy food, clothing, or cars. He had even sponsored several young people with college funds.
Peter would be missed. He had given all his earthly possessions away about a year before when he knew his illness was progressing. He didn't want or need much anymore. He just wanted to be himself.
Jim got up to give the benediction. It was all he could do to keep from crying as he looked out over the large church. "And now may the Lord bless you...." It was packed with others who truly loved Peter. He turned to the casket: "... The Lord look upon you with favor and give us peace. Amen."
