Being Richly Alive
Stories
Contents
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "Keeping Watch" by John Sumwalt and Jo Perry-Sumwalt
Good Stories: "Being Richly Alive" by Frank R. Fisher
"A Different Hunger" by Constance Berg
"At the Gate" by Dallas A. Brauninger
Scrap Pile: "You Can't Tell a Book by Its Cover" by Sil Galvan
What's Up This Week
In this week's StoryShare, each of the authors wants us to be careful about which hunger we think is more important: physical or spiritual hunger. Frank Fisher wants us to remember to reach out to those in need. Constance Berg will alarm you with a story about physical hunger. Dallas Brauninger's tale about fear will really hit home. Physically reaching out to those in need will truly keep your spiritual church alive.
A Story to Live By
Keeping Watch
Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God, who made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them; who keeps faith forever; who executes justice for the oppressed; who gives food to the hungry.... The Lord watches over the strangers; he upholds the orphan and the widow...
Psalm 146:5-7, 9a
A little boy named Jacob was getting ready for bed. He had brushed his teeth and washed his face; he had put on his favorite red pajamas with a picture of a panda bear on the front; he had fed his goldfish named Herbie and his hamster named Fred; he had hugged all of the stuffed animals at the foot of the bed; his mom had read him one of his favorite stories; and now it was time to say his prayers. He knelt down beside the bed and was about to bow his head and close his eyes, when he remembered to ask his mom a question that he had been thinking about for a long time.
"Mom," Jacob said, "what does God do all day?"
"God watches over us," she replied.
"What does God do at night, when I'm asleep? Does God sleep too?"
"God is always watching over us, even at night while we are sleeping," Jacob's mom said as she gave him a hug.
"God must get tired of watching sometimes," Jacob said. "I wonder if God ever needs any help?"
Then he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and prayed, "Dear God, if you ever get tired and want to take a break, it's okay. I'll help you watch."
(From Lectionary Tales From The Pulpit, Series II, Cycle B by John Sumwalt and Jo Perry-Sumwalt)
Good Stories
Being Richly Alive
by Frank R. Fisher
James 2:1-10 (11-13) 14-17
Once there was a tiny town... and in the tiny town was a tiny church, which housed a tiny congregation. Everything about the church, and the congregation, was tiny. The sanctuary seated 50 people -- or at least it did when the aisles were packed with folding chairs. It was thought the pastor's study was too small to swing a cat. But of course that could never be proven -- after all, no self-respecting cat would ever try to squeeze into such a tiny place. Somehow even the congregation's people were tiny; not one of them could reach the top shelves in the Sunday school rooms.
But there was one thing about the congregation and its members that wasn't tiny -- they were known far and wide as giants in faith. Each of them spent many hours communicating with God in prayer and connecting to God through scripture. Those who visited the tiny congregation told everyone they met about the depth of the members' faith. In fact, they told so many people that the folding chairs always filled the aisles, enabling them to seat all their visitors.
Now, one would think with a reputation for great faith, and with a constant stream of visitors, the tiny congregation wouldn't remain tiny for very long. But somehow it not only remained tiny, it also gradually became smaller and smaller.
The members of the tiny congregation were sometimes puzzled by their constant decrease in membership. They were also puzzled when visitors asked them about what their faith led them to do. "Do?" they answered with a blank look. "Our faith leads us to get ever closer to God."
"But what about mission?" the members were asked in return. "Who do you reach out to when you show Christ's love? After all, without works your great faith is greatly dead!"
"We'll just let God worry about that," the members answered with a smile. And they then returned to prayer and scripture, never noticing how their congregation was dwindling away to nothing. In time, no one was left to pray or to reach deeply into scripture.
Once there was a very large town... and in the large town was a huge church, which housed an enormous congregation. Everything about the church, and the congregation, was big. The sanctuary seated 1,000 people. The pastor's study was not only big enough to swing a cat, it was thought one could easily swing a hippopotamus there. And as for the size of the congregation's members... well, let's just say swinging a hippopotamus wasn't entirely an impossibility.
The congregation's faith was as big as their size. And their faith drove them out from their walls to serve God's people in their community. They served in soup kitchens, helped out at homeless shelters, and stocked food pantries. At times it was impossible to count how many ways they were serving others.
But once in a while new members asked some awkward questions. "Why don't we bring the people we're serving to our worship gatherings?" they asked. "Aren't we called to not only help them but also to welcome them into Christ's church?"
"I'm sure they'd be more happy worshiping with their own kind," the older members answered quietly. "Oh look," they then added, "there's those visitors who came in a brand-new Lexus! They'd certainly be a good addition to our church family." These older members continued to do good works. But with their noses (their big noses, one might add) held high in the air, they never noticed the way their newer members kept drifting away.
Eventually the church closed. It seemed that all their good works couldn't overcome the way they didn't welcome all of Christ's people.
Once there was an average-sized town... and in the average town was an average-sized church, which housed an average-sized congregation. It seemed everything about the church, and the congregation, was average. The sanctuary seated 150 people -- or at least it did when the balcony was opened. The pastor's study was average in size, just right for a small study group. Somehow even the congregation's people were average in size; none of them was very small, and none of them was very big.
But there was something about them that made everyone overlook their averageness. No one who visited the average-sized church for the first time could ever put a finger on what they liked about the congregation. They emphasized prayer and sought God in scripture. But they didn't do those things constantly. All the members were engaged in some kind of outreach to God's people. Their favorite, it seemed, was the homeless shelter housed in their building's east wing. But they didn't spend all their time working. What they did do all the time was to welcome everyone who came through the door -- welcome them as if they were Jesus.
Over time, visitors began to realize the congregation wasn't average at all. Instead, it was balanced. They sought God, reached out to Christ's people, and lived out their entire lives in a way showing a balance of faith and works -- all overlaid with the warmth of their welcome. And as visitors joined the average congregation they told the members, "We've found places more rich in money and faith. We've found places that seemed more alive. But in your balance, you've found a way to walk Christ's path. You've found a way to be richly alive in our Lord and Savior."
Frank R. Fisher, Obl OSB, is a second-career interim/transitional pastor in the Presbyterian Church (USA). He currently serves as the interim pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Fairbury, Illinois. During the final years of his first career as a paramedic and administrator for the Chicago Fire Department, Fisher graduated from McCormick Theological Seminary and was ordained. He is an Oblate of the ecumenical Abbey of John the Baptist and Saint Benedict in Bartonville, Illinois, where he has joined the rapidly growing number of those who are called to follow Saint Benedict's rule.
A Different Hunger
by Constance Berg
...but a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him, and she came and bowed down at his feet.
Mark 7:25
Marsha and Richard had a beautiful home on a wooded lot just outside the suburbs. They worked hard to keep it to their standards, and they entertained often. A large staff maintained the grounds and the house. Everything ran quite smoothly.
Marsha was a director of a hospice agency; Richard was the president of a prestigious bank. They had a comfortable life, although they didn't spend much time in their home. They preferred to be on the go.
Vacations were usually trips to the Cayman Islands, the French Riviera, or Spain. Richard loved the nightlife in Acapulco and the deep-sea fishing in Hawaii. But Marsha's favorite was Paris. She could shop to her heart's desire and they could stroll for hours down the boulevards. And the jewelry bargains were impossible to pass up!
Richard loved to golf and often made time for it on the weekends, except during the summer when he frequently took the yacht out. They loved to have friends on their boat and throw lavish parties. Richard and Marsha enjoyed their life. Both came from middle-class families and both were determined that their children would never feel a hunger for anything.
Their three daughters were very successful. The girls weren't each other's best friends, but they got along whenever the family was together, which was rarely.
Each had her own interests and her own set of friends. Each had her own life. The oldest was a first-year resident at a major hospital. The middle daughter had just started studying communications at an Ivy League school, and the youngest was a junior in high school and an accomplished pianist.
Debra, the youngest, played piano from the moment she got home from school until suppertime. Nothing made her happier than playing -- and being thin. She loved it when people would say, "You're so talented -- and thin!" She loved it when she could brag that she had to shop in special boutiques which carried size one. She looked at herself in the mirror everyday. She would never allow one ounce of fat on her body. She would never want to lose her figure.
She was a beanpole, her best friend would tell her. Tommy had loved Debra since fourth grade and they were each other's confidants. They would share details of dates with each other and try to solve each other's problems. They were inseparable. Tommy loved being with Debra -- she made him feel needed. But he hated her obsession with thinness. She talked about food and dieting constantly. She was becoming a bore. She was also making Tommy nervous.
She didn't look right lately. She seemed different, as if she were gasping for air sometimes. She didn't have energy to do anything but play the piano. And those fingers! They seemed to be a mile long, they were so bony!
Debra died just before her 17th birthday. She was alone in the house, playing the piano. The doctors told Richard and Marsha she had died of a heart attack. She had starved her heart for too long. The daughter who would never hunger for anything never ate anything. She weighed only 83 pounds when she died.
Constance Berg is a former missionary to Chiapas, Mexico. She is currently based in Bakersfield, California, where she serves as the director of 18 nursing homes for handicapped individuals. Berg is the author of three volumes of the CSS series Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit.
At the Gate
by Dallas A. Brauninger
Those who are generous are blessed, for they share their bread with the poor.
Proverbs 22:9
When Carla learned about the forest fires in Montana later that summer, she wondered about Jimmy. According to the road atlas she and Jimmy had studied at the kitchen table, the area he was heading toward was now burned over.
Carla had liked the red-headed young man... no, he was still pretty much of a boy -- that was the problem. Had a man hinting of hardened look or slick story presented himself at her door, she would have dispatched him to the church office. The ministerial association could provide him with the requested food or gas voucher.
Carla didn't care so much about the usual transients with their alcohol-breath manipulation and shifty eyes. The best thing to do was give them the handout and send them on their way.
Carla drew from the freezer a bag of last year's strawberries and a quart of stew to go with the biscuits. When had she become so cynical? She once fancied herself as mother earth, saving these strays with peanut butter sandwiches. Somehow, most of the transients had already become things to themselves as well as to her. She too felt shame. It was safer to avoid eye contact. To say she was helping them in the name of Christ seemed a mockery.
Jimmy was different. The boy who stood before her gate that day wanted to know if he could take the rake from her hands and finish the yard in exchange for a meal.
"Only if you take a good shower and let me run your clothes through the washer," she said, surprising herself. Her own son was only a few years younger.
Bringing Jimmy into the house had been a toss-up between allowing fear or hope to get the upper hand. Carla knew the personal risk. She knew she couldn't feed everyone who came to the door. Word of that sort of kindness spread quickly through a pipeline.
"Does your husband have a razor?" Jimmy asked from the bathroom. He emerged wrapped in her husband's plaid flannel robe. Standing in the yard, he looked like a cross between a '60s hippie and a harvester. Minus the layers of county road dust and the scruffy patches of chin fuzz, he was an ordinary kid.
He told her as he ate the stew and strawberries that he was making his way from his mother's house in Arkansas to his daddy's cabin in Montana. He had a summer job there cleaning out timber for the park service.
It was farther than he thought from Nebraska to Montana, but he didn't ask for money. Carla knew not to offer it. "Wait a minute," she said on the front porch. She went into the house, then put something into his hand. It was the cross of two old soldered flat-head nails she used to let her son keep in his pocket when she had to be away on trips.
"To go with you, Jimmy," she said, "for the journey."
Dallas A. Brauninger, a cum laude graduate of Albion College, holds M.Div. and honorary D.Div. degrees from Chicago Theological Seminary. She is the author of numerous CSS preaching and worship resources, including the Preaching The Miracles series and the Lectionary Worship Aids series. Co-pastor with her husband Robert of a congregation in Burwell, Nebraska, Brauninger is currently engaged in the Pastoral Excellence Program of the United Church of Christ's Nebraska Conference.
Scrap Pile
You Can't Tell a Book by Its Cover... or Unusual Things, Unusual People
by Sil Galvan
Mark 7:31-37; James 2:1-5
There's a strong relationship between each of this week's scripture lessons. In the Gospel, Jesus cures a deaf man, which is really fulfilling the prophecy of Isaiah mentioned in the [alternate] first reading: "the eyes of the blind shall be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped" (Isaiah 35:5). The psalmist says that "the Lord lifts up those who are bowed down" (Psalm 146:8). And we could very easily take our Lord's words to the deaf man -- "be opened" -- and append them to the second reading from the letter of James. Let's take a closer look at these passages from Mark and James.
If we look back through the Bible, we will see that God has accomplished his will in the most unexpected of ways. For instance, in 2 Kings we hear of the cure of Naaman, a leper. He was told by the prophet Elisha that if he washed seven times in the Jordan he would be cleansed. But Naaman would not do it at first, saying that there were many cleaner rivers in which to wash than the Jordan. However, he reluctantly went and did as Elisha had told him -- and he was cured. The waters may not have been the cleanest, but they were the means God had chosen to work his cure.
In the same way, Jesus uses spittle to heal the deaf man. Certainly our Lord could have healed the man without using it -- but I believe the message of his actions is the same as that communicated to Naaman: don't presume to know the ways that God will accomplish his will. The comedian Paul Reiser has an interesting bit about the use of saliva in everyday life.
Babies have to put up with some pretty disgusting practices. I saw a baby who had some dried-up food on his face. (Not since birth, mind you, just since lunch.) His mother took out a tissue, spat on it, and rubbed it into the child's face. Similar scenes take place in communities around our country on a daily basis. It's enough to break your heart. You know that if babies could talk, they'd be saying something like "Hey, cut that out, Mom. You wouldn't like it if I did that to you!" It is disgusting, but it sure does work. There's something in Mother Saliva that cleans like nobody's business. All women, once they give birth their enzymes change, and saliva becomes Ajax. It'll clean anything: a baby's face, a countertop, a Buick -- you get enough mothers, you could do a whole car in 30 or 40 minutes. And the best part is, it doesn't even have to be your mother. I go up to mothers I see on the street pushing their children along the sidewalk and say: "Excuse me, but could you spit on this sleeve for me? There's a spot on it which I just can't seem to get out." (Paul Reiser, Couplehood [Bantam, 1994], p. 330)
So as you can see, saliva is the stuff of which miracles are made. And so are muddy rivers (didn't John baptize in the Jordan?). And isn't common household olive oil blessed and used for anointing the sick? The idea is that through these symbols, we are submitting our own will to the will of God. And through these symbols, God works wonders.
But Christ does not come to us only through things -- he also comes to us through people. In the second reading, James discusses favoritism and the dangers it poses for the Church. In its early days, the Church predominantly consisted of the poor; therefore, if a rich man was converted, there must have been a very real temptation to make a fuss of him and treat him as a special trophy for Christ. However, James is emphasizing here that the Church must be the one place where all distinctions of rank and prestige are irrelevant. Everyone is created equal in the sight of God, and nowhere should that be more evident than around the table of the Lord.
Abraham Lincoln once said: "God must love the common people because he made so many of them." In fact, Christianity has always had a special message for the poor:
1) In Jesus' first sermon in the synagogue at Nazareth, he said: "God has anointed me to preach good news to the poor" (Luke 4:18).
2) His response to John's puzzled inquiries as to whether or not he was God's Chosen One was: "The poor have the good news preached to them" (Matthew 11:5).
3) The first of the Beatitudes was "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven" (Matthew 5:3).
4) And Luke is even more definite: "Blessed are you poor; for yours is the Kingdom of God" (Luke 6:20).
In fact, after the learned of the Jews rejected the teachings of Jesus and banished him from the synagogues, he took his message on the road to the common people. As he demonstrated time and again during his public ministry, those who mattered to no one else mattered intensely to God. (William Barclay, The Epistle of James [Westminster John Knox, 1975])
In the ancient world, people also believed that if a person was deaf, blind, or disabled in some way it was a sign of divine punishment -- that the individual was bad and getting what he or she deserved. The Jews believed such persons were unclean, and would shun them and avoid physical contact in order to prevent themselves from becoming unclean and unacceptable to God.
Now you may think that such treatment would not happen in today's modern society. But consider the following story:
A young married couple sat together on the city train heading home. They looked as if they hadn't slept in days, which matched their present moods precisely. It was only early afternoon, but it had already become a long day. It had not gone well, and not only because of the news they had just received. The two felt as though a huge door had just been slammed closed in their faces.
The man glanced over across the aisle and noticed a young boy sitting next to a woman who was napping. His gaze wandered absently, when he suddenly realized that the boy was wearing a hearing aid. The man was fluent in Sign Language; both his parents were deaf. His first language had been ASL, American Sign Language. He signed to the boy, "Are you deaf?"
The boy made no motion to answer, turning his head away towards the window. He pretended he was interested in the flat scenery that was going by. As the awkward silence stretched the man began to wonder whether he should have intruded, when the boy turned back to face the man who had signed to him. His downturned mouth and drooping shoulders sent a message: The child felt dejected.
"Something wrong?" the man's hands inquired.
"Yes, wrong with me," the boy responded in sign.
"What's wrong with you?"
"I'm a bad boy."
"Oh, who told you that?"
"My mommy told me. I always make trouble." The child stopped signing for a moment and shook his index finger as if he were scolding someone. "You will never amount to anything!"
"Your mom said that?"
"No, Daddy told me that -- and bad boys get punished!" With that, the silent conversation ended, as the child, quaking visibly, abruptly jumped to his feet and ran down the aisle to the bathroom.
Although the exchange had been brief, it disturbed the man. He wanted to learn more, so he tapped the lady on the shoulder. "Excuse me," he said.
Her eyes opened narrowly, and she yawned. "Yes? Oh, where's the boy?"
He pointed in the direction of the restroom. "Are you his mother?"
"His mother? Oh no, I'm with the Department for Children and Family Services. Both of his parents were recently killed in an automobile accident. So far, no family has been willing to accept him, so he will be placed in a temporary foster home."
Ironically, the news the couple had received that morning was that they couldn't conceive children of their own. After some time and reflection, they opened their hearts and home and adopted that boy from the train. They taught him he was special. They taught him that God loved him and that Jesus died for him. When he misbehaved, they corrected him. They also embraced him and taught him about forgiveness. It took a while for the damage to be repaired, but over time it happened. He stopped saying, "I'm bad," and started saying, "I'm good because I'm God's child." (Submitted by Dayton Williams, deaf ministries coordinator for the Chicago Synod of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. Williams may be contacted at daytonwilliams@comcast.net.)
Unfortunately, before their sudden deaths this boy's parents had made their son feel unloved. This treatment may not have been solely due to his disability, but we can be pretty sure that it didn't help. Fortunately, because one man reached out and wasn't afraid, this boy's life was turned around.
I believe the lesson we can derive from this week's gospel reading is that Christ comes to us in ways we least expect and through things and people we least expect. As James reminds us, the people through whom God works do not come to us in finery, but most often in rags and in poverty.
We are challenged every day of our lives to treat the poor, the homeless, and the handicapped as equals. We are challenged to welcome them as we would welcome members of our own family, because they are members of our family, members of our family in the Body of Christ. We need to take our Lord's words to the deaf man to heart and learn to "be open" to others. Christ comes to us every day. And as we have seen and heard in today's scripture passages, the Lord accomplishes his will through the most unusual things and the most unusual people.
Silverius "Sil" Galvan is a deacon at the Catholic Community of Saint Mary of the Lake in Lakewood, New Jersey. He has been involved in music ministry as an organist, guitarist, and sometime cantor for more than four decades. Galvan also operates www.deaconsil.com, a website offering extensive homiletic resources.
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StoryShare, September 10, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2006 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., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "Keeping Watch" by John Sumwalt and Jo Perry-Sumwalt
Good Stories: "Being Richly Alive" by Frank R. Fisher
"A Different Hunger" by Constance Berg
"At the Gate" by Dallas A. Brauninger
Scrap Pile: "You Can't Tell a Book by Its Cover" by Sil Galvan
What's Up This Week
In this week's StoryShare, each of the authors wants us to be careful about which hunger we think is more important: physical or spiritual hunger. Frank Fisher wants us to remember to reach out to those in need. Constance Berg will alarm you with a story about physical hunger. Dallas Brauninger's tale about fear will really hit home. Physically reaching out to those in need will truly keep your spiritual church alive.
A Story to Live By
Keeping Watch
Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God, who made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them; who keeps faith forever; who executes justice for the oppressed; who gives food to the hungry.... The Lord watches over the strangers; he upholds the orphan and the widow...
Psalm 146:5-7, 9a
A little boy named Jacob was getting ready for bed. He had brushed his teeth and washed his face; he had put on his favorite red pajamas with a picture of a panda bear on the front; he had fed his goldfish named Herbie and his hamster named Fred; he had hugged all of the stuffed animals at the foot of the bed; his mom had read him one of his favorite stories; and now it was time to say his prayers. He knelt down beside the bed and was about to bow his head and close his eyes, when he remembered to ask his mom a question that he had been thinking about for a long time.
"Mom," Jacob said, "what does God do all day?"
"God watches over us," she replied.
"What does God do at night, when I'm asleep? Does God sleep too?"
"God is always watching over us, even at night while we are sleeping," Jacob's mom said as she gave him a hug.
"God must get tired of watching sometimes," Jacob said. "I wonder if God ever needs any help?"
Then he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and prayed, "Dear God, if you ever get tired and want to take a break, it's okay. I'll help you watch."
(From Lectionary Tales From The Pulpit, Series II, Cycle B by John Sumwalt and Jo Perry-Sumwalt)
Good Stories
Being Richly Alive
by Frank R. Fisher
James 2:1-10 (11-13) 14-17
Once there was a tiny town... and in the tiny town was a tiny church, which housed a tiny congregation. Everything about the church, and the congregation, was tiny. The sanctuary seated 50 people -- or at least it did when the aisles were packed with folding chairs. It was thought the pastor's study was too small to swing a cat. But of course that could never be proven -- after all, no self-respecting cat would ever try to squeeze into such a tiny place. Somehow even the congregation's people were tiny; not one of them could reach the top shelves in the Sunday school rooms.
But there was one thing about the congregation and its members that wasn't tiny -- they were known far and wide as giants in faith. Each of them spent many hours communicating with God in prayer and connecting to God through scripture. Those who visited the tiny congregation told everyone they met about the depth of the members' faith. In fact, they told so many people that the folding chairs always filled the aisles, enabling them to seat all their visitors.
Now, one would think with a reputation for great faith, and with a constant stream of visitors, the tiny congregation wouldn't remain tiny for very long. But somehow it not only remained tiny, it also gradually became smaller and smaller.
The members of the tiny congregation were sometimes puzzled by their constant decrease in membership. They were also puzzled when visitors asked them about what their faith led them to do. "Do?" they answered with a blank look. "Our faith leads us to get ever closer to God."
"But what about mission?" the members were asked in return. "Who do you reach out to when you show Christ's love? After all, without works your great faith is greatly dead!"
"We'll just let God worry about that," the members answered with a smile. And they then returned to prayer and scripture, never noticing how their congregation was dwindling away to nothing. In time, no one was left to pray or to reach deeply into scripture.
Once there was a very large town... and in the large town was a huge church, which housed an enormous congregation. Everything about the church, and the congregation, was big. The sanctuary seated 1,000 people. The pastor's study was not only big enough to swing a cat, it was thought one could easily swing a hippopotamus there. And as for the size of the congregation's members... well, let's just say swinging a hippopotamus wasn't entirely an impossibility.
The congregation's faith was as big as their size. And their faith drove them out from their walls to serve God's people in their community. They served in soup kitchens, helped out at homeless shelters, and stocked food pantries. At times it was impossible to count how many ways they were serving others.
But once in a while new members asked some awkward questions. "Why don't we bring the people we're serving to our worship gatherings?" they asked. "Aren't we called to not only help them but also to welcome them into Christ's church?"
"I'm sure they'd be more happy worshiping with their own kind," the older members answered quietly. "Oh look," they then added, "there's those visitors who came in a brand-new Lexus! They'd certainly be a good addition to our church family." These older members continued to do good works. But with their noses (their big noses, one might add) held high in the air, they never noticed the way their newer members kept drifting away.
Eventually the church closed. It seemed that all their good works couldn't overcome the way they didn't welcome all of Christ's people.
Once there was an average-sized town... and in the average town was an average-sized church, which housed an average-sized congregation. It seemed everything about the church, and the congregation, was average. The sanctuary seated 150 people -- or at least it did when the balcony was opened. The pastor's study was average in size, just right for a small study group. Somehow even the congregation's people were average in size; none of them was very small, and none of them was very big.
But there was something about them that made everyone overlook their averageness. No one who visited the average-sized church for the first time could ever put a finger on what they liked about the congregation. They emphasized prayer and sought God in scripture. But they didn't do those things constantly. All the members were engaged in some kind of outreach to God's people. Their favorite, it seemed, was the homeless shelter housed in their building's east wing. But they didn't spend all their time working. What they did do all the time was to welcome everyone who came through the door -- welcome them as if they were Jesus.
Over time, visitors began to realize the congregation wasn't average at all. Instead, it was balanced. They sought God, reached out to Christ's people, and lived out their entire lives in a way showing a balance of faith and works -- all overlaid with the warmth of their welcome. And as visitors joined the average congregation they told the members, "We've found places more rich in money and faith. We've found places that seemed more alive. But in your balance, you've found a way to walk Christ's path. You've found a way to be richly alive in our Lord and Savior."
Frank R. Fisher, Obl OSB, is a second-career interim/transitional pastor in the Presbyterian Church (USA). He currently serves as the interim pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Fairbury, Illinois. During the final years of his first career as a paramedic and administrator for the Chicago Fire Department, Fisher graduated from McCormick Theological Seminary and was ordained. He is an Oblate of the ecumenical Abbey of John the Baptist and Saint Benedict in Bartonville, Illinois, where he has joined the rapidly growing number of those who are called to follow Saint Benedict's rule.
A Different Hunger
by Constance Berg
...but a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him, and she came and bowed down at his feet.
Mark 7:25
Marsha and Richard had a beautiful home on a wooded lot just outside the suburbs. They worked hard to keep it to their standards, and they entertained often. A large staff maintained the grounds and the house. Everything ran quite smoothly.
Marsha was a director of a hospice agency; Richard was the president of a prestigious bank. They had a comfortable life, although they didn't spend much time in their home. They preferred to be on the go.
Vacations were usually trips to the Cayman Islands, the French Riviera, or Spain. Richard loved the nightlife in Acapulco and the deep-sea fishing in Hawaii. But Marsha's favorite was Paris. She could shop to her heart's desire and they could stroll for hours down the boulevards. And the jewelry bargains were impossible to pass up!
Richard loved to golf and often made time for it on the weekends, except during the summer when he frequently took the yacht out. They loved to have friends on their boat and throw lavish parties. Richard and Marsha enjoyed their life. Both came from middle-class families and both were determined that their children would never feel a hunger for anything.
Their three daughters were very successful. The girls weren't each other's best friends, but they got along whenever the family was together, which was rarely.
Each had her own interests and her own set of friends. Each had her own life. The oldest was a first-year resident at a major hospital. The middle daughter had just started studying communications at an Ivy League school, and the youngest was a junior in high school and an accomplished pianist.
Debra, the youngest, played piano from the moment she got home from school until suppertime. Nothing made her happier than playing -- and being thin. She loved it when people would say, "You're so talented -- and thin!" She loved it when she could brag that she had to shop in special boutiques which carried size one. She looked at herself in the mirror everyday. She would never allow one ounce of fat on her body. She would never want to lose her figure.
She was a beanpole, her best friend would tell her. Tommy had loved Debra since fourth grade and they were each other's confidants. They would share details of dates with each other and try to solve each other's problems. They were inseparable. Tommy loved being with Debra -- she made him feel needed. But he hated her obsession with thinness. She talked about food and dieting constantly. She was becoming a bore. She was also making Tommy nervous.
She didn't look right lately. She seemed different, as if she were gasping for air sometimes. She didn't have energy to do anything but play the piano. And those fingers! They seemed to be a mile long, they were so bony!
Debra died just before her 17th birthday. She was alone in the house, playing the piano. The doctors told Richard and Marsha she had died of a heart attack. She had starved her heart for too long. The daughter who would never hunger for anything never ate anything. She weighed only 83 pounds when she died.
Constance Berg is a former missionary to Chiapas, Mexico. She is currently based in Bakersfield, California, where she serves as the director of 18 nursing homes for handicapped individuals. Berg is the author of three volumes of the CSS series Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit.
At the Gate
by Dallas A. Brauninger
Those who are generous are blessed, for they share their bread with the poor.
Proverbs 22:9
When Carla learned about the forest fires in Montana later that summer, she wondered about Jimmy. According to the road atlas she and Jimmy had studied at the kitchen table, the area he was heading toward was now burned over.
Carla had liked the red-headed young man... no, he was still pretty much of a boy -- that was the problem. Had a man hinting of hardened look or slick story presented himself at her door, she would have dispatched him to the church office. The ministerial association could provide him with the requested food or gas voucher.
Carla didn't care so much about the usual transients with their alcohol-breath manipulation and shifty eyes. The best thing to do was give them the handout and send them on their way.
Carla drew from the freezer a bag of last year's strawberries and a quart of stew to go with the biscuits. When had she become so cynical? She once fancied herself as mother earth, saving these strays with peanut butter sandwiches. Somehow, most of the transients had already become things to themselves as well as to her. She too felt shame. It was safer to avoid eye contact. To say she was helping them in the name of Christ seemed a mockery.
Jimmy was different. The boy who stood before her gate that day wanted to know if he could take the rake from her hands and finish the yard in exchange for a meal.
"Only if you take a good shower and let me run your clothes through the washer," she said, surprising herself. Her own son was only a few years younger.
Bringing Jimmy into the house had been a toss-up between allowing fear or hope to get the upper hand. Carla knew the personal risk. She knew she couldn't feed everyone who came to the door. Word of that sort of kindness spread quickly through a pipeline.
"Does your husband have a razor?" Jimmy asked from the bathroom. He emerged wrapped in her husband's plaid flannel robe. Standing in the yard, he looked like a cross between a '60s hippie and a harvester. Minus the layers of county road dust and the scruffy patches of chin fuzz, he was an ordinary kid.
He told her as he ate the stew and strawberries that he was making his way from his mother's house in Arkansas to his daddy's cabin in Montana. He had a summer job there cleaning out timber for the park service.
It was farther than he thought from Nebraska to Montana, but he didn't ask for money. Carla knew not to offer it. "Wait a minute," she said on the front porch. She went into the house, then put something into his hand. It was the cross of two old soldered flat-head nails she used to let her son keep in his pocket when she had to be away on trips.
"To go with you, Jimmy," she said, "for the journey."
Dallas A. Brauninger, a cum laude graduate of Albion College, holds M.Div. and honorary D.Div. degrees from Chicago Theological Seminary. She is the author of numerous CSS preaching and worship resources, including the Preaching The Miracles series and the Lectionary Worship Aids series. Co-pastor with her husband Robert of a congregation in Burwell, Nebraska, Brauninger is currently engaged in the Pastoral Excellence Program of the United Church of Christ's Nebraska Conference.
Scrap Pile
You Can't Tell a Book by Its Cover... or Unusual Things, Unusual People
by Sil Galvan
Mark 7:31-37; James 2:1-5
There's a strong relationship between each of this week's scripture lessons. In the Gospel, Jesus cures a deaf man, which is really fulfilling the prophecy of Isaiah mentioned in the [alternate] first reading: "the eyes of the blind shall be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped" (Isaiah 35:5). The psalmist says that "the Lord lifts up those who are bowed down" (Psalm 146:8). And we could very easily take our Lord's words to the deaf man -- "be opened" -- and append them to the second reading from the letter of James. Let's take a closer look at these passages from Mark and James.
If we look back through the Bible, we will see that God has accomplished his will in the most unexpected of ways. For instance, in 2 Kings we hear of the cure of Naaman, a leper. He was told by the prophet Elisha that if he washed seven times in the Jordan he would be cleansed. But Naaman would not do it at first, saying that there were many cleaner rivers in which to wash than the Jordan. However, he reluctantly went and did as Elisha had told him -- and he was cured. The waters may not have been the cleanest, but they were the means God had chosen to work his cure.
In the same way, Jesus uses spittle to heal the deaf man. Certainly our Lord could have healed the man without using it -- but I believe the message of his actions is the same as that communicated to Naaman: don't presume to know the ways that God will accomplish his will. The comedian Paul Reiser has an interesting bit about the use of saliva in everyday life.
Babies have to put up with some pretty disgusting practices. I saw a baby who had some dried-up food on his face. (Not since birth, mind you, just since lunch.) His mother took out a tissue, spat on it, and rubbed it into the child's face. Similar scenes take place in communities around our country on a daily basis. It's enough to break your heart. You know that if babies could talk, they'd be saying something like "Hey, cut that out, Mom. You wouldn't like it if I did that to you!" It is disgusting, but it sure does work. There's something in Mother Saliva that cleans like nobody's business. All women, once they give birth their enzymes change, and saliva becomes Ajax. It'll clean anything: a baby's face, a countertop, a Buick -- you get enough mothers, you could do a whole car in 30 or 40 minutes. And the best part is, it doesn't even have to be your mother. I go up to mothers I see on the street pushing their children along the sidewalk and say: "Excuse me, but could you spit on this sleeve for me? There's a spot on it which I just can't seem to get out." (Paul Reiser, Couplehood [Bantam, 1994], p. 330)
So as you can see, saliva is the stuff of which miracles are made. And so are muddy rivers (didn't John baptize in the Jordan?). And isn't common household olive oil blessed and used for anointing the sick? The idea is that through these symbols, we are submitting our own will to the will of God. And through these symbols, God works wonders.
But Christ does not come to us only through things -- he also comes to us through people. In the second reading, James discusses favoritism and the dangers it poses for the Church. In its early days, the Church predominantly consisted of the poor; therefore, if a rich man was converted, there must have been a very real temptation to make a fuss of him and treat him as a special trophy for Christ. However, James is emphasizing here that the Church must be the one place where all distinctions of rank and prestige are irrelevant. Everyone is created equal in the sight of God, and nowhere should that be more evident than around the table of the Lord.
Abraham Lincoln once said: "God must love the common people because he made so many of them." In fact, Christianity has always had a special message for the poor:
1) In Jesus' first sermon in the synagogue at Nazareth, he said: "God has anointed me to preach good news to the poor" (Luke 4:18).
2) His response to John's puzzled inquiries as to whether or not he was God's Chosen One was: "The poor have the good news preached to them" (Matthew 11:5).
3) The first of the Beatitudes was "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven" (Matthew 5:3).
4) And Luke is even more definite: "Blessed are you poor; for yours is the Kingdom of God" (Luke 6:20).
In fact, after the learned of the Jews rejected the teachings of Jesus and banished him from the synagogues, he took his message on the road to the common people. As he demonstrated time and again during his public ministry, those who mattered to no one else mattered intensely to God. (William Barclay, The Epistle of James [Westminster John Knox, 1975])
In the ancient world, people also believed that if a person was deaf, blind, or disabled in some way it was a sign of divine punishment -- that the individual was bad and getting what he or she deserved. The Jews believed such persons were unclean, and would shun them and avoid physical contact in order to prevent themselves from becoming unclean and unacceptable to God.
Now you may think that such treatment would not happen in today's modern society. But consider the following story:
A young married couple sat together on the city train heading home. They looked as if they hadn't slept in days, which matched their present moods precisely. It was only early afternoon, but it had already become a long day. It had not gone well, and not only because of the news they had just received. The two felt as though a huge door had just been slammed closed in their faces.
The man glanced over across the aisle and noticed a young boy sitting next to a woman who was napping. His gaze wandered absently, when he suddenly realized that the boy was wearing a hearing aid. The man was fluent in Sign Language; both his parents were deaf. His first language had been ASL, American Sign Language. He signed to the boy, "Are you deaf?"
The boy made no motion to answer, turning his head away towards the window. He pretended he was interested in the flat scenery that was going by. As the awkward silence stretched the man began to wonder whether he should have intruded, when the boy turned back to face the man who had signed to him. His downturned mouth and drooping shoulders sent a message: The child felt dejected.
"Something wrong?" the man's hands inquired.
"Yes, wrong with me," the boy responded in sign.
"What's wrong with you?"
"I'm a bad boy."
"Oh, who told you that?"
"My mommy told me. I always make trouble." The child stopped signing for a moment and shook his index finger as if he were scolding someone. "You will never amount to anything!"
"Your mom said that?"
"No, Daddy told me that -- and bad boys get punished!" With that, the silent conversation ended, as the child, quaking visibly, abruptly jumped to his feet and ran down the aisle to the bathroom.
Although the exchange had been brief, it disturbed the man. He wanted to learn more, so he tapped the lady on the shoulder. "Excuse me," he said.
Her eyes opened narrowly, and she yawned. "Yes? Oh, where's the boy?"
He pointed in the direction of the restroom. "Are you his mother?"
"His mother? Oh no, I'm with the Department for Children and Family Services. Both of his parents were recently killed in an automobile accident. So far, no family has been willing to accept him, so he will be placed in a temporary foster home."
Ironically, the news the couple had received that morning was that they couldn't conceive children of their own. After some time and reflection, they opened their hearts and home and adopted that boy from the train. They taught him he was special. They taught him that God loved him and that Jesus died for him. When he misbehaved, they corrected him. They also embraced him and taught him about forgiveness. It took a while for the damage to be repaired, but over time it happened. He stopped saying, "I'm bad," and started saying, "I'm good because I'm God's child." (Submitted by Dayton Williams, deaf ministries coordinator for the Chicago Synod of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. Williams may be contacted at daytonwilliams@comcast.net.)
Unfortunately, before their sudden deaths this boy's parents had made their son feel unloved. This treatment may not have been solely due to his disability, but we can be pretty sure that it didn't help. Fortunately, because one man reached out and wasn't afraid, this boy's life was turned around.
I believe the lesson we can derive from this week's gospel reading is that Christ comes to us in ways we least expect and through things and people we least expect. As James reminds us, the people through whom God works do not come to us in finery, but most often in rags and in poverty.
We are challenged every day of our lives to treat the poor, the homeless, and the handicapped as equals. We are challenged to welcome them as we would welcome members of our own family, because they are members of our family, members of our family in the Body of Christ. We need to take our Lord's words to the deaf man to heart and learn to "be open" to others. Christ comes to us every day. And as we have seen and heard in today's scripture passages, the Lord accomplishes his will through the most unusual things and the most unusual people.
Silverius "Sil" Galvan is a deacon at the Catholic Community of Saint Mary of the Lake in Lakewood, New Jersey. He has been involved in music ministry as an organist, guitarist, and sometime cantor for more than four decades. Galvan also operates www.deaconsil.com, a website offering extensive homiletic resources.
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StoryShare, September 10, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2006 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
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