All Earthly Fathers
Stories
Object:
Contents
"All Earthly Fathers" by David O. Bales
"A Private Talk in the School of Christ" by Sandra Herrmann
"A Wicked Way in Me" by John Sumwalt
* * * * * * * *
All Earthly Fathers
by David O. Bales
Romans 8:12-25
They saw her coming. Donna, Michelle, and Suzie waited in the hall inside the main door of Shelfton Wire. They saw Rosalind approaching. They shuffled toward the door to greet her as she stepped in. However, Michelle was in front of the other two and caught a glimpse of Rosalind's face as she pulled the big door open. Michelle was temporarily silenced but Donna and Suzie from behind piped up in serial, "How'd it go? What was he like?"
Rosalind pulled up short. Surprise and then disappointment registered on her face, "Not real great."
The three friends were kind enough (and wise enough) to say no more. They stepped aside and Rosalind continued past them without a word, sorrow drifting after her.
Half an hour later Michelle crept quietly behind Rosalind's cubicle and looked in. Rosalind had her head down on her desk on her folded arms. She looked like a first grader at nap time, in this case, a first grader who needed her daddy.
Rosalind had never met her real father. She'd always known that her mother's husband was her stepfather. Then, when she was 14, her mother told her about her biological father. "It was Rose Festival time in Portland. A lot of ships come to port then. I fell for a sailor. He got me drunk and that's where you came from." The couple had gotten married once the pregnancy was discovered but the marriage didn't last until Rosalind was born.
From the time she learned about her biological father, Rosalind became almost obsessed about fathers. She remembered the names of her friends' fathers better than the names of their mothers. She had asked Michelle about her father soon after they started working together in the office at Shelfton Wire.
As Michelle paused to peek in at Rosalind, she felt guilty because she'd suggested Rosalind locate her birth father, which she'd done a year before. Michelle then encouraged her to go visit him, which she'd done over the long weekend. Rosalind went after taking counsel with her mother, stepfather, and especially her Uncle Ty. Uncle Ty in his quiet, brief, and utterly wise manner tipped her decision: "You won't be happy until you do." He also said he trusted Rosalind to make her own decision and he'd back her no matter what.
Rosalind was late to the lunchroom. She and her three friends knew this would be the time -- if at all -- to report the weekend's reunion. Rosalind slapped down her tray at the space saved for her and pushed some of her brown hair behind her ear. "Okay," she spoke to the eager faces, "flight and rental car went well. But to begin with, he met me at the door and offered his hand. I hugged him."
She ate a few spoonfuls of yogurt then held her lips closed tightly. No one spoke for two minutes. "And, after he told me the gruesome details of meeting mom and 'knocking her up' -- as the old-sailor boy put it -- he got around to saying what most concerned him since I'd first contacted him. He wanted me to know he didn't consider me his heir and in no way would I get a cent from him."
"Oooh," the three let out in unison and began spouting descriptions of such a person. Their adjectives quickly descended to full-blown sailor speech.
"I laughed as though it didn't bother me and said I'd never thought of that. At least my saying I'd never thought of it was honest."
Rosalind wasn't productive during the afternoon and at the late break Michelle stepped in and asked, "Have you talked to your Uncle Ty?" It was the nudge Rosalind needed to make a quick call. Uncle Ty was always good for sympathy and like his sister -- Rosalind's mother -- he didn't waste words.
Rosalind felt like crying but she didn't. She briefly described to her Uncle Ty her encounter with her birth father. He didn't say much. He asked a few questions and said "uh huh." He had his own words for the kind of person who'd say such things to a daughter who'd spent all the effort to find and meet him.
At the end of the seven minute conversation Rosalind paused and said, "I've got to get back to work." It was the signal that she expected Uncle Ty to say something. He did. "I can't remember if I've told you before but you can take this to the bank: All earthly fathers -- biological, adoptive, step, or otherwise -- will disappoint you." He said no more. She knew he expected her to figure it out.
David Bales was a Presbyterian pastor for 33 years, a graduate of San Francisco Theological Seminary. In addition to his ministry he also has taught college: World Religions, Ethics, Biblical Hebrew and Biblical Greek (lately at College of Idaho, Caldwell). He has been a freelance writer for Stephen Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Interpretation, Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching the Great Texts and other publications. For a year he wrote the online column "In The Original: Insights from Greek and Hebrew for the Lectionary Passages." His books include: Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace, Toward Easter and Beyond, Scenes of Glory: Subplots of God's Long Story, and To the Cross and Beyond: Cycle A Sermons for Lent and Easter. Dave has been a writer for StoryShare for five years. He can be reached at dobales.com.
A Private Talk in the School of Christ
by Sandra Herrmann
Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43
"Whoever has ears, let them hear." Jesus uses this line over and over in the gospels. It's far more poetic than "Listen up." But do we listen? Here's a possible follow-up conversation between Jesus and his disciples:
Peter is a fisherman, not a farmer. But he can see a problem with Jesus' teaching right away. "You know, Lord, that that's not a very practical story you told. I mean, I've watched my mother and my wife in the garden. The least little weed and they're on it right away. My wife says the weeds eat up the plants you want if you don't pull them up as soon as their first leaves are open."
Nathaniel, the fellow Jesus "saw" before he met him, says, "Yeah, that's right. Now I know you said it was a field of wheat, and that is different, the plants are much weaker than squash vines but even with hardy crops, you have to get those weeds out right away."
Jesus sighed and shook his head. "The story isn't about wheat fields and weeds. It's about people. Don't you get it? That's what the parables are all about. People."
James squinted his eyes as he furrowed his brow. Sometimes Jesus confused even him and James wasn't stupid. Finally, he said, "Okay, it's about people. But even then, it doesn't make sense to me, Bro. You know that Mom and Dad always told us that if you lie down with dogs, you'll rise up with fleas. They kept us away from the troublemakers as we grew up. And rightfully so! Kids can get into a lot of trouble on their own. You don't want your kids hanging around with bad influences."
John listened with his head to one side. "Well, but you don't kill the troublemakers. You just keep your kids as far away from them as possible. And teach them not to behave like those others." He turned to Jesus with his sweet smile. "That's what you mean, isn't it, Lord?"
Jesus had to admit that of all the boys, John was the closest to what he wanted to say but even so they were all off the mark.
"Boys," Jesus said, "you're doing pretty well with this story. You're thinking it through, which is the point of me telling stories. But you still don't have it quite right. Listen, what do I hope to do for people in the long haul?"
They were all quiet for awhile. Andrew was busy trying to get hold of a bug that had gotten into his hair. But he wasn't ignoring Jesus. This was just his way when thoughts got too deep for words. Finally, he looked at John, and said, "This is what I think. I think sometimes you really cannot tell the good guys from the bad guys. Not at first, anyway. Look at Simon here. When he first became a disciple, I couldn't figure him out."
Simon squirmed. He knew what was coming. He was a Zealot, a member of a patriot organization. He wore a knife at his hip at all times. He had taken a pledge that if he saw the opportunity to kill a Roman soldier, he would slip that knife in under the man's armor and leave him to die. He still wore the knife but Jesus was showing them all other ways to undo the power of these foreign oppressors. He shifted his knife a bit farther back on his hip.
Andrew went on. "Now, if Jesus hadn't seen something valuable in Simon, we would have avoided him at all costs. We wouldn't have wanted the reputation of associating with him. And then there's Matthew," Andrew nodded toward Matthew, who also squirmed a bit.
"I was outraged when Jesus invited Matt to join our band. Didn't he know what kind of a man this was? Sure, he left his tax-counting house, but he didn't give back any of the money he'd charged above and beyond the proper tax..."
"Now just a minute," Matthew said, anger rising in his voice. "You know full well I didn't keep track of that money. But I walked away from it. My gracious home. My comfortable bed. My fine linen clothes." He reached down to touch the homespun robe he now wore. "I left behind more than any of you...."
Jesus interrupted. "Stop. All of you. Now you're finding out what the story of the wheat and tares is all about."
The disciples stopped in their verbal tracks. Some of them raised an eyebrow. A couple of them just gaped at Jesus. There was an uneasy shuffle of feet.
"What do you mean, Jesus?" asked Simon. "We're on the verge of having a real fight here. That surely isn't what the story is about. Is it?"
"Yes," Jesus said. "That is exactly what the story is about. It's about living shoulder to shoulder with those you do not trust, those you don't like, even those you think are dead wrong. The world is full of any number of people you disapprove of. And there are many who will criticize you for following me rather than staying in the family business or giving up your finery and living off the offerings of those who want to help us spread our message. Simon is looked down upon now that he uses his knife primarily for cutting fish and bread. Matthew's old friends just shake their heads when his name is mentioned. Nathaniel used to have the leisure of reading the scripture and thinking about it in peace. But our little school isn't a peaceful place, is it? There's always someone watching us, commenting on what we do, criticizing us as being like a bunch of minstrels instead of sober, steady members of the temple.
"But here's the deal. God is letting the wheat and the weeds grow up in the same space. Eventually, anyone will be able to see who the good guys are and who are the weeds. Right now, day by day, it's not an easy thing to see. When you're talking about people, there's always the hope that a weed will become convicted in his heart and will strive to be wheat instead. But how are the weeds to hear the good news unless we admit them into our circle? It's only in the day to day living that this can happen."
"Well," answered Peter, "then I guess there might be hope for me. I know I talk before I think too many times, and I let my heart rule rather than my head. I'm impulsive, you say, Lord. I guess that's true. But maybe John's quiet ways will rub off on me someday."
Jesus smiled. "Yes, Peter, I do think that you're going to learn when to speak and how to speak. But I doubt you will ever be serene and quiet as John is." The group laughed out loud and those who could reach Peter slapped his shoulders and arms.
"A quiet Peter?" laughed Andrew, his eyes dancing in his brother's direction. "Now that would be a tare becoming wheat!"
"But it would be a fulfillment of my parable," Jesus said. "Don't judge one another and don't exclude anyone. You never know when you'd be denying that person's talents to the Kingdom of Heaven."
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
A Wicked Way in Me
by John Sumwalt
Psalm 139:1-12, 23-24
"Search me O God and know my thoughts. See if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting."
-- Psalm 139:23-24
"... in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow together until the harvest; and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn."
I remember a time in high school when someone was stealing from the football team's lockers while we were at practice. We would come back from the field to find money or jewelry missing almost every day. I lost three dollars one week and a gold colored watch with an alligator leather band the next. The watch was a gift from my aunt and uncle. Uncle Milt was a Lt. Colonel in the army. He and Aunt Kathryn were stationed all over the world. When she sent it for my birthday my aunt wrote that they had bought the watch in Tokyo.
I cherished that watch more than anything else I could call my own. We didn't have much on the farm. Most of my clothes were hand me downs from cousins in the city. The watch was the nicest thing I had and one of the nicest things that had happened to me in my fifteen years. I felt like somebody when I wore that watch.
I was furious at the thief and at the universe. How could it be that something so precious could be taken away from someone who had so little? Yes, I overdid the self-pity but it seemed justified at the time.
One day the principal laid a trap for the locker room thief. He hid behind a wooden panel in what we called the rub down area of the locker room. After peering through a knot hole for over an hour he spotted the thief going through the pants pockets of a student who had left his locker unlocked. The boy must have died a thousand deaths when he saw the principal emerge from his blind.
We were all shocked when it was announced the next day that Nate, who we all knew very well and who none of us would have suspected had been the one caught stealing and been suspended for a week. He would also have to appear in juvenile court.
I felt relieved and it occurred to me that perhaps I would get my watch back. The fact that I never did seems inconsequential now because what will always be etched in my memory is the look on Nate's face when he returned to school the next week. He was ashen. Humiliation, guilt, and fear could be seen in his sunken eyes that looked away as he made his way down the crowded hallways at the sound of each bell. I looked away, too, not wanting to add to his suffering.
To this day, 45 years later, I still feel anguish at the thought of his pain. It was too much, more than anyone should have to bear. The anger about my stolen watch melted away as I watched Nate getting what he deserved and knowing that I deserved it as much as he did. It was my first fuzzy understanding of sin and my own sinful nature.
I had no words for that insight but I knew it to be true then as surely as I do now, after all these years, as I find myself praying the psalmist almost daily, "Search me O God and know my thoughts. See if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting."
Nate's family moved away the next year. I have always hoped and prayed that he recovered from that deep wound.
John Sumwalt is the pastor of Our Lord's United Methodist Church in New Berlin, Wisconsin, and a noted storyteller. He is the author of nine books, including the acclaimed Vision Stories series and How to Preach the Miracles: Why People Don't Believe Them and What You Can Do About It. John and his wife Jo Perry-Sumwalt served for three years as the co-editors of StoryShare. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), Sumwalt received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for parish ministry from UDTS in 1997.
*****************************************
StoryShare, July 17, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"All Earthly Fathers" by David O. Bales
"A Private Talk in the School of Christ" by Sandra Herrmann
"A Wicked Way in Me" by John Sumwalt
* * * * * * * *
All Earthly Fathers
by David O. Bales
Romans 8:12-25
They saw her coming. Donna, Michelle, and Suzie waited in the hall inside the main door of Shelfton Wire. They saw Rosalind approaching. They shuffled toward the door to greet her as she stepped in. However, Michelle was in front of the other two and caught a glimpse of Rosalind's face as she pulled the big door open. Michelle was temporarily silenced but Donna and Suzie from behind piped up in serial, "How'd it go? What was he like?"
Rosalind pulled up short. Surprise and then disappointment registered on her face, "Not real great."
The three friends were kind enough (and wise enough) to say no more. They stepped aside and Rosalind continued past them without a word, sorrow drifting after her.
Half an hour later Michelle crept quietly behind Rosalind's cubicle and looked in. Rosalind had her head down on her desk on her folded arms. She looked like a first grader at nap time, in this case, a first grader who needed her daddy.
Rosalind had never met her real father. She'd always known that her mother's husband was her stepfather. Then, when she was 14, her mother told her about her biological father. "It was Rose Festival time in Portland. A lot of ships come to port then. I fell for a sailor. He got me drunk and that's where you came from." The couple had gotten married once the pregnancy was discovered but the marriage didn't last until Rosalind was born.
From the time she learned about her biological father, Rosalind became almost obsessed about fathers. She remembered the names of her friends' fathers better than the names of their mothers. She had asked Michelle about her father soon after they started working together in the office at Shelfton Wire.
As Michelle paused to peek in at Rosalind, she felt guilty because she'd suggested Rosalind locate her birth father, which she'd done a year before. Michelle then encouraged her to go visit him, which she'd done over the long weekend. Rosalind went after taking counsel with her mother, stepfather, and especially her Uncle Ty. Uncle Ty in his quiet, brief, and utterly wise manner tipped her decision: "You won't be happy until you do." He also said he trusted Rosalind to make her own decision and he'd back her no matter what.
Rosalind was late to the lunchroom. She and her three friends knew this would be the time -- if at all -- to report the weekend's reunion. Rosalind slapped down her tray at the space saved for her and pushed some of her brown hair behind her ear. "Okay," she spoke to the eager faces, "flight and rental car went well. But to begin with, he met me at the door and offered his hand. I hugged him."
She ate a few spoonfuls of yogurt then held her lips closed tightly. No one spoke for two minutes. "And, after he told me the gruesome details of meeting mom and 'knocking her up' -- as the old-sailor boy put it -- he got around to saying what most concerned him since I'd first contacted him. He wanted me to know he didn't consider me his heir and in no way would I get a cent from him."
"Oooh," the three let out in unison and began spouting descriptions of such a person. Their adjectives quickly descended to full-blown sailor speech.
"I laughed as though it didn't bother me and said I'd never thought of that. At least my saying I'd never thought of it was honest."
Rosalind wasn't productive during the afternoon and at the late break Michelle stepped in and asked, "Have you talked to your Uncle Ty?" It was the nudge Rosalind needed to make a quick call. Uncle Ty was always good for sympathy and like his sister -- Rosalind's mother -- he didn't waste words.
Rosalind felt like crying but she didn't. She briefly described to her Uncle Ty her encounter with her birth father. He didn't say much. He asked a few questions and said "uh huh." He had his own words for the kind of person who'd say such things to a daughter who'd spent all the effort to find and meet him.
At the end of the seven minute conversation Rosalind paused and said, "I've got to get back to work." It was the signal that she expected Uncle Ty to say something. He did. "I can't remember if I've told you before but you can take this to the bank: All earthly fathers -- biological, adoptive, step, or otherwise -- will disappoint you." He said no more. She knew he expected her to figure it out.
David Bales was a Presbyterian pastor for 33 years, a graduate of San Francisco Theological Seminary. In addition to his ministry he also has taught college: World Religions, Ethics, Biblical Hebrew and Biblical Greek (lately at College of Idaho, Caldwell). He has been a freelance writer for Stephen Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Interpretation, Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching the Great Texts and other publications. For a year he wrote the online column "In The Original: Insights from Greek and Hebrew for the Lectionary Passages." His books include: Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace, Toward Easter and Beyond, Scenes of Glory: Subplots of God's Long Story, and To the Cross and Beyond: Cycle A Sermons for Lent and Easter. Dave has been a writer for StoryShare for five years. He can be reached at dobales.com.
A Private Talk in the School of Christ
by Sandra Herrmann
Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43
"Whoever has ears, let them hear." Jesus uses this line over and over in the gospels. It's far more poetic than "Listen up." But do we listen? Here's a possible follow-up conversation between Jesus and his disciples:
Peter is a fisherman, not a farmer. But he can see a problem with Jesus' teaching right away. "You know, Lord, that that's not a very practical story you told. I mean, I've watched my mother and my wife in the garden. The least little weed and they're on it right away. My wife says the weeds eat up the plants you want if you don't pull them up as soon as their first leaves are open."
Nathaniel, the fellow Jesus "saw" before he met him, says, "Yeah, that's right. Now I know you said it was a field of wheat, and that is different, the plants are much weaker than squash vines but even with hardy crops, you have to get those weeds out right away."
Jesus sighed and shook his head. "The story isn't about wheat fields and weeds. It's about people. Don't you get it? That's what the parables are all about. People."
James squinted his eyes as he furrowed his brow. Sometimes Jesus confused even him and James wasn't stupid. Finally, he said, "Okay, it's about people. But even then, it doesn't make sense to me, Bro. You know that Mom and Dad always told us that if you lie down with dogs, you'll rise up with fleas. They kept us away from the troublemakers as we grew up. And rightfully so! Kids can get into a lot of trouble on their own. You don't want your kids hanging around with bad influences."
John listened with his head to one side. "Well, but you don't kill the troublemakers. You just keep your kids as far away from them as possible. And teach them not to behave like those others." He turned to Jesus with his sweet smile. "That's what you mean, isn't it, Lord?"
Jesus had to admit that of all the boys, John was the closest to what he wanted to say but even so they were all off the mark.
"Boys," Jesus said, "you're doing pretty well with this story. You're thinking it through, which is the point of me telling stories. But you still don't have it quite right. Listen, what do I hope to do for people in the long haul?"
They were all quiet for awhile. Andrew was busy trying to get hold of a bug that had gotten into his hair. But he wasn't ignoring Jesus. This was just his way when thoughts got too deep for words. Finally, he looked at John, and said, "This is what I think. I think sometimes you really cannot tell the good guys from the bad guys. Not at first, anyway. Look at Simon here. When he first became a disciple, I couldn't figure him out."
Simon squirmed. He knew what was coming. He was a Zealot, a member of a patriot organization. He wore a knife at his hip at all times. He had taken a pledge that if he saw the opportunity to kill a Roman soldier, he would slip that knife in under the man's armor and leave him to die. He still wore the knife but Jesus was showing them all other ways to undo the power of these foreign oppressors. He shifted his knife a bit farther back on his hip.
Andrew went on. "Now, if Jesus hadn't seen something valuable in Simon, we would have avoided him at all costs. We wouldn't have wanted the reputation of associating with him. And then there's Matthew," Andrew nodded toward Matthew, who also squirmed a bit.
"I was outraged when Jesus invited Matt to join our band. Didn't he know what kind of a man this was? Sure, he left his tax-counting house, but he didn't give back any of the money he'd charged above and beyond the proper tax..."
"Now just a minute," Matthew said, anger rising in his voice. "You know full well I didn't keep track of that money. But I walked away from it. My gracious home. My comfortable bed. My fine linen clothes." He reached down to touch the homespun robe he now wore. "I left behind more than any of you...."
Jesus interrupted. "Stop. All of you. Now you're finding out what the story of the wheat and tares is all about."
The disciples stopped in their verbal tracks. Some of them raised an eyebrow. A couple of them just gaped at Jesus. There was an uneasy shuffle of feet.
"What do you mean, Jesus?" asked Simon. "We're on the verge of having a real fight here. That surely isn't what the story is about. Is it?"
"Yes," Jesus said. "That is exactly what the story is about. It's about living shoulder to shoulder with those you do not trust, those you don't like, even those you think are dead wrong. The world is full of any number of people you disapprove of. And there are many who will criticize you for following me rather than staying in the family business or giving up your finery and living off the offerings of those who want to help us spread our message. Simon is looked down upon now that he uses his knife primarily for cutting fish and bread. Matthew's old friends just shake their heads when his name is mentioned. Nathaniel used to have the leisure of reading the scripture and thinking about it in peace. But our little school isn't a peaceful place, is it? There's always someone watching us, commenting on what we do, criticizing us as being like a bunch of minstrels instead of sober, steady members of the temple.
"But here's the deal. God is letting the wheat and the weeds grow up in the same space. Eventually, anyone will be able to see who the good guys are and who are the weeds. Right now, day by day, it's not an easy thing to see. When you're talking about people, there's always the hope that a weed will become convicted in his heart and will strive to be wheat instead. But how are the weeds to hear the good news unless we admit them into our circle? It's only in the day to day living that this can happen."
"Well," answered Peter, "then I guess there might be hope for me. I know I talk before I think too many times, and I let my heart rule rather than my head. I'm impulsive, you say, Lord. I guess that's true. But maybe John's quiet ways will rub off on me someday."
Jesus smiled. "Yes, Peter, I do think that you're going to learn when to speak and how to speak. But I doubt you will ever be serene and quiet as John is." The group laughed out loud and those who could reach Peter slapped his shoulders and arms.
"A quiet Peter?" laughed Andrew, his eyes dancing in his brother's direction. "Now that would be a tare becoming wheat!"
"But it would be a fulfillment of my parable," Jesus said. "Don't judge one another and don't exclude anyone. You never know when you'd be denying that person's talents to the Kingdom of Heaven."
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
A Wicked Way in Me
by John Sumwalt
Psalm 139:1-12, 23-24
"Search me O God and know my thoughts. See if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting."
-- Psalm 139:23-24
"... in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow together until the harvest; and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn."
I remember a time in high school when someone was stealing from the football team's lockers while we were at practice. We would come back from the field to find money or jewelry missing almost every day. I lost three dollars one week and a gold colored watch with an alligator leather band the next. The watch was a gift from my aunt and uncle. Uncle Milt was a Lt. Colonel in the army. He and Aunt Kathryn were stationed all over the world. When she sent it for my birthday my aunt wrote that they had bought the watch in Tokyo.
I cherished that watch more than anything else I could call my own. We didn't have much on the farm. Most of my clothes were hand me downs from cousins in the city. The watch was the nicest thing I had and one of the nicest things that had happened to me in my fifteen years. I felt like somebody when I wore that watch.
I was furious at the thief and at the universe. How could it be that something so precious could be taken away from someone who had so little? Yes, I overdid the self-pity but it seemed justified at the time.
One day the principal laid a trap for the locker room thief. He hid behind a wooden panel in what we called the rub down area of the locker room. After peering through a knot hole for over an hour he spotted the thief going through the pants pockets of a student who had left his locker unlocked. The boy must have died a thousand deaths when he saw the principal emerge from his blind.
We were all shocked when it was announced the next day that Nate, who we all knew very well and who none of us would have suspected had been the one caught stealing and been suspended for a week. He would also have to appear in juvenile court.
I felt relieved and it occurred to me that perhaps I would get my watch back. The fact that I never did seems inconsequential now because what will always be etched in my memory is the look on Nate's face when he returned to school the next week. He was ashen. Humiliation, guilt, and fear could be seen in his sunken eyes that looked away as he made his way down the crowded hallways at the sound of each bell. I looked away, too, not wanting to add to his suffering.
To this day, 45 years later, I still feel anguish at the thought of his pain. It was too much, more than anyone should have to bear. The anger about my stolen watch melted away as I watched Nate getting what he deserved and knowing that I deserved it as much as he did. It was my first fuzzy understanding of sin and my own sinful nature.
I had no words for that insight but I knew it to be true then as surely as I do now, after all these years, as I find myself praying the psalmist almost daily, "Search me O God and know my thoughts. See if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting."
Nate's family moved away the next year. I have always hoped and prayed that he recovered from that deep wound.
John Sumwalt is the pastor of Our Lord's United Methodist Church in New Berlin, Wisconsin, and a noted storyteller. He is the author of nine books, including the acclaimed Vision Stories series and How to Preach the Miracles: Why People Don't Believe Them and What You Can Do About It. John and his wife Jo Perry-Sumwalt served for three years as the co-editors of StoryShare. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), Sumwalt received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for parish ministry from UDTS in 1997.
*****************************************
StoryShare, July 17, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
