The Biggest Sinner
Stories
Contents
What's Up This Week
"The Biggest Sinner" by John Sumwalt
"I'm Safe" by Sandra Herrmann
"Is It the Lord Who Is Pronouncing Judgment on His People?" by Fanny Lee Seville
"Learn to Conserve" by Fanny Lee Seville
(Note: This installment was originally published in 2007.)
What's Up This Week
Is redemption available for anyone? Is there any point at which we are simply too far gone? That question is explored in this week's stories. Whether we are guilty of causing harm to others, such as in John Sumwalt's story, or to ourselves in Sandra Herrmann's story, or our family or even the world around us in Fanny Seville's two stories, we can still look for that glimmer of light that shines in our darkness.
* * * * * * * * *
The Biggest Sinner
John Sumwalt
The saying is sure and worthy of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners -- of whom I am the foremost.
1 Timothy 1:15
A handsome, clean-cut young man sat in the visiting room of the county jail one day looking out through the bars, waiting for his appointment with the volunteer chaplain from one of the area churches. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit; his hair looked like he had just gotten out of bed, which he had, if you can call a thin mattress on a cement slab a bed. When the deputies arrested him three days earlier, in the hallway outside of the classroom where he taught science at the local high school, he had been wearing a blue dress shirt, a brown paisley tie that matched his penny loafers, and tan slacks. His hair had been neatly combed and there had still been a hint of the Old Spice after-shave that he had splashed on his face just before leaving for school.
He sat there thinking about the 14-year-old freshman boy he had befriended, and what everyone would think when the story hit the newspapers. Sexual molestation charges against a teacher were always big news. He knew he would never teach again, and that going to the state penitentiary for 20 or 30 years was a good possibility. There was a knot in the pit of his stomach which had not left from the moment the handcuffs were clapped on his wrists.
Pastor Jack Pearson, a tall, thin man a little past middle age, with patches of gray in his beard that matched his wrinkled gray pastor's suit, made his way slowly up the steps to the county correctional facility. It just happened that he was on call, filling in for another pastor whose husband had been in an auto accident. As he stepped off the elevator he caught a glimpse of the young prisoner's profile across the lobby through the visiting room window. Suddenly he was filled with a deep, almost debilitating dread. He didn't know this young man, but he reminded him of someone he had pushed out of his memory for years and years.
It had only happened once and he had never done it again, but the reality that he had once molested a young boy came rushing into his consciousness. No wonder he had not wanted to come when he got the call. No one had ever found out about what he had done, but he had always lived with the fear that one day that boy, who would now be about the same age as the young prisoner in the orange jumpsuit, would come forward and identify him. The pastor was hit with the startling realization that this could and should have been him, that he had deserved the same fate and until now had somehow escaped even his own self-condemnation.
What would he say to this mirror image of his younger, darker self? What right did he have to pray and offer comfort and hope in the name of Christ when he carried the same stain on his soul? He whispered a prayer, "Oh God, help me," as he slowly opened the door to the visitation room. And before he introduced himself or offered his hand, he sat down at the table, looked straight into the young man's eyes, and said, "I have been where you are now, and I don't know what to say to you except that I believe in the mercy that Jesus offers to each one of us. I have experienced some of his grace, though I certainly never deserved it, and I know that if Jesus can forgive me and love me after what I did, he can and will forgive you too." Then he reached out and took the young man's hand, and the two of them wept together.
John E. Sumwalt is the lead pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in suburban Milwaukee. He is the author of ten books, including How to Preach the Miracles: Why People Don't Believe Them and What You Can Do About It, now available from CSS Publishing. John and his wife, Jo Perry-Sumwalt, were the editors of StoryShare from 2004-2006.
I'm Safe
Sandra Herrmann
Luke 15:1-10
April's hands were wet, slippery with sweat. She chewed her lips, picking off the crust that lined the place where they met. Her suitcase was getting heavier by the minute, but she was afraid to set it down. If she let go of it, that would mean she was staying, but she wasn't at all sure she wanted to stay. So she shifted, rebalancing her weight, and the weight of the bag.
Finally, a woman appeared behind the counter. "Hello, April," she said. "How are you doing?"
How do you think, I'm doing, you old cow? "Fine. It's hot in here, isn't it? I'm about ready to pass out. Don't you have any air?"
The woman looked April over from above her glasses. "Ah, good. A feisty start. That'll work well for you here," she replied drily.
April sighed and began studying the leaves of a tropical plant in the corner.
"I'll need your suitcase, April."
April turned and looked at the woman. Oh, right, here we go. Do you think I'd be stupid enough to stash my stuff in the pockets? Roll it up in my nightie? What a scag. But she lifted it onto the counter. The woman reached over and set it on the ground behind the counter.
"Empty your pockets. Put everything on the counter."
"Right." She turned her side pockets inside out.
"The pocket in your sweater, too. And the back pockets."
"There's nothing in them," April replied. Nothing. No money, no I.D., no pills, nothing.
"Okay, then, step over to the door." She pointed at a door with a metal detector surround.
April sulked as she went through the detector, which remained silent. The door opened with a click. The short hallway she found herself in was painted a mustard yellow. Straight ahead was another door which opened as she stepped forward and clicked behind her, letting her know she was locked in.
The room she was in was empty of people. Sofas and chairs were all facing in a square in the middle of a blue carpet. Along the walls were small tables with two chairs apiece. The windows threw long bright bars across the tables and floor on the left. All of the doors that opened off the room were closed. The woman who had let her in came through one of the doors, but April's suitcase was nowhere to be seen.
"Right this way, April," she said, indicating another hallway April hadn't seen. She followed her, keeping her eyes on the doorknobs, not looking at the woman. You think you're in charge of me, don't you? Lock me down, take everything away from me. But it doesn't matter. Seamus will wait for me. He's been through this. He told me, you can't make me think anything I don't want to think.
The woman unlocked a door, pushing it open. "Here you go. Everyone's in lockdown right now, but a buzzer will tell you when it's unlocked. You're free to do whatever you want when the doors open. The other girls will show you to the drink machines."
April looked at the window in her room. At least there's no bars on these. "Do the windows open?"
The woman went across the room and cranked open the window about three inches. "That's all the farther it goes," she announced. Turning back to April, she said, "Bathroom is in here, closet's there. Your suitcase will be brought to you when lockdown is over. Have a nice afternoon." She swept through the door, and it clicked loudly when it shut.
April learned several things over the next three weeks. She learned that other girls, not first-timers here, knew how to sneak things in. She learned that they sold those things when they wanted something else. She learned that she had nothing they wanted. So she learned to face the days cold sober, with only her anger to sustain her. She learned to pretend to listen, pretend to agree. But she could not make her face pretend.
"You say yes, April," one of the counselors said, "but your face says 'go away.' It's not going to do you any good to pretend to get it. You'll get out of here and go back to using. And using is what got you in here, April. Using drugs, using others, led to stealing -- and that put you in here. Stop pretending."
She had simply shrugged. Like you care a bit, she thought to herself. All you want is a job where you don't have to work, just pick on girls like me. She had slid a little lower in the couch.
Latreesha had become sort of a friend to April. She was lounging in one of the chairs, her long legs dangling over the arm. "April be like that. But she listening even when she sulking." Her huge white teeth smiled. "But ain't nobody showed her that God you always avoiding. You know," she wrinkled her face, "her HIGHer POWer." The girls all giggled, avoiding the counselor's eye, avoiding April's as well.
"Yeah," April nodded. "that great, all-loving, wonderful God who watched my stepfather and mother get drunk and start fighting every Friday night. That's the one. SHE will protect me and keep me from the evil ones." April was by now mocking Latreesha's way of speaking. "Those evil, evil friends who get me high. Only difference is my folks use booze, and I like a higher thrill."
Later, Latreesha had taken April aside. "You know, April, God really be real," she whispered. "I know that, even though I don't say it. He's the only one who's getting me through this place. I don't ever, never want to come back here. You know what I mean?"
"Yeah, yeah, you plan to never use again. But when your momma starts beating on you again, how are you going to stand it? A few pills, and it all goes away."
"No, it don't. It just goes to sleep, and comes back as soon as you're straight again."
April nodded. That was true. "But what about your invisible God? When has he ever helped you?"
Latreesha looked out the window. "Yeah, I used to say that if God loved me, why did He put me in here? But then one day, I thought, 'You know, it might be that I'm in here so He could keep be from being beat up again. Nobody in here beat me like my momma did. And I can talk to Him anytime I want. And I get three meals a day. In a way, this place is a blessing."
April thought, He put me in here to keep me SAFE? Could it be? I'm here because God loves me and wants me to be safe?
She'd have to think about that one.
Sandra Herrmann is pastor of Memorial United Methodist Church in Greenfield, Wisconsin. She is the author of Ambassadors of Hope (CSS); her articles and sermons have also appeared in Emphasis and The Circuit Rider, and her poetry has been published in Alive Now and So's Your Old Lady.
Is It the Lord Who Is Pronouncing Judgment on His People?
Fanny Lee Seville
Jeremiah 4:11-12
Consider two completely different stories, and then ask: "Is it the Lord who is pronouncing judgment on his people?"
Sarah and Susan were born on the same day. They were next-door neighbors. They played together, celebrated birthdays together, went to church and school together. They were best friends until high school, when Susan began to run with a delinquent group. Drugs and alcohol were her constant companions. She often skipped classes and her grades dropped drastically. Her health deteriorated.
One evening while on a date, Susan and her boyfriend became intoxicated. Still, they hopped into her car and drove to a friend's house. Driving at great speeds, Susan lost control and slammed into a tree. Her boyfriend was unharmed. But Susan was not so lucky. An ambulance rushed her to a nearby hospital. She was critically injured and badly in need of surgery. The doctors placed Susan into a medically induced coma.
While asleep, Susan remembered that dreadful night when her father was taken away. She was at the vulnerable age of 13, and from her bed she saw red lights flashing and circling around her window. Peeping through the shades, she saw two policemen, one on each side of her father. His hands were handcuffed behind him. Fearfully, she watched as they shoved him inside the patrol car and pulled away.
Her father had embezzled money from a non-profit organization. He would be able to post bail, but he would not be able to save his marriage. Susan's mother sold all their possessions, and the two moved into a one-bedroom apartment. When her father was released from prison, he lived alone. At school Susan was teased furiously about her father being in prison and stealing money that was supposed to go to persons with disabilities. Unable to cope with life, she turned to drugs and alcohol.
Seated beside Susan's bed, rubbing her arm and hand ever so gently, sat a man whose facial expression spoke a thousand words. In a soft, quiet voice he prayed, "Please God, forgive me for destroying my family. Please let my daughter live."
One could ask: "Is it the Lord who is pronouncing judgment on his people?"
Many persons oppose war; few do anything about their beliefs. During the Vietnam War, the powerful act of civil disobedience against the United States government was used by many who opposed the war. They believed that killing, even in war, was wrong, and they set out to save America's young men. Their mission was to break into Selective Service offices across the nation and destroy draft board records of males old enough to join the military.
One such group, referred to by the United States government as the "Camden 28," included four Roman Catholic priests and one Lutheran minister. The rest were laymen and women. Father Michael Doyle recalled his participation in the group while being interviewed for National Public Radio.
Often the group would meet and plan for their break-in to the draft board office in Camden, New Jersey. Many hours were spent making sure that everything was in order. Father Doyle remembered one evening when, to his surprise, one of his parishioners had joined the group. Bob Hardy confessed that his conscience bothered him, and he needed to become involved in this non-violent anti-war demonstration. Father Doyle tried to talk Bob out of a dangerous situation, reminding him to think of his family. Bob had children and a wife that depended upon him for survival. If he were to be caught, what would become of his family? No amount of talking could dissuade Bob from participating. So Father Doyle reluctantly agreed to let Bob join the group.
Bob's electrical knowledge proved valuable to the group. He offered to survey the building that housed the draft board office. After investigating, Bob reported that an electronic camera was positioned to photograph anyone using the back staircase. He then measured and built a tripod, and placed it in such a way that the camera would not capture the intruders.
The morning of the break-in finally arrived. Early Sunday morning, August 22, 1971, all were ready for their mission. Being as careful as possible, each one climbed the tripod and stepped onto the staircase. They entered the draft board office without any delay. As quickly as possible, some stuffed files into sacks; others simply began to tear files with their bare hands. Then without any warning, recalled Father Doyle, a hand touched his shoulder. There before them was the FBI. All were arrested immediately. Looking around to determine who the informant was, Father Doyle noticed that Bob Hardy, his parishioner, was not in the group.
While out on bail, Father Doyle visited Bob. Not one word was spoken of the break-in or of Bob's informing the FBI. Attorney General John Mitchell had placed many informants among anti-war groups during the Vietnam War era -- so Bob's involvement was not per chance.
Not long after the break-in and arrests, Bob's wife died suddenly from an unknown cause. Later, one of his sons died as the result of an accidental fall in their backyard. Bob grieved the passing of his loved ones so much that at the trial of the Camden 28, he testified that he was a paid informant of the FBI and that because of his skills he was able to provide the tools necessary to carry out their mission.
All of the Camden 28 admitted their guilt -- no one pleaded innocent. The judge informed the jury members that they could either find the defendants guilty, or they could acquit them if they felt that the government had interfered, allowing the break-in. The jury returned with a verdict of not guilty on all charges against the Camden 28. Until that time, all former anti-war activists who were prosecuted had been convicted.
One could ask, "Is it the Lord who is pronouncing judgment on his people?"
What do you think?
Learn to Conserve
Fanny Lee Seville
Jeremiah 4:22-28
"Rags! Rags! Rags!" called the ragman as he trudged through alleyways and narrow streets. Women and children of all ages ran outside when they heard the ragman's call. They placed their rags in his cart as they greeted him a good day.
Children of the depression vividly remember the ragman. They remember recycling tin cans and soda pop bottles, newspapers and magazines, rags and grease. They remember their grandmothers making soap from the grease that was left in the skillet after dinner. They remember women washing their families' clothes in scrub tubs, using their homemade soap. They remember clothes hanging on lines in backyards or back porches. They remember the sweet, fresh smell of bed linens on a newly changed bed.
Children of the depression remember organizing neighborhood games of baseball, football, and basketball. They remember playing cards, playing board games, and listening to the radio.
Children of the depression remember using their feet to transport them to church, school, work, and shops. They remember having no family car, and car-pooling with friends. They remember falling asleep on hot, humid summer nights. They remember their bodies were not cooled by air conditioners but by a gentle breeze from a nearby window, flowing softly across their faces, arms, and legs.
Children of the depression remember the iceman who brought 50 to 100 pounds of ice once or twice a week to keep their food from perishing. They remember sitting down and eating family meals together. And they remember that at the center of their lives was the church with worship on Sunday mornings and Sunday evenings and Wednesday evenings as well. They remember that all of life begins and ends with God.
Perhaps twenty-first-century folk need to reflect on the 1930s, place God first in their lives, and learn to conserve.
During the oil crisis of the 1970s, the United States government lowered the speed limit to 55 miles an hour across the nation. Drivers with license plates having an odd number as the last digit were allowed to purchase gasoline for their cars only on odd-numbered days of the week. Drivers with even-numbered license plates were allowed to buy fuel only on even-numbered days. Some service stations used colored flags to denote when gasoline could be purchased. A red flag signaled that no gasoline was available.
No talk show hosts were on the radio or television, spinning their views pro or con. The speed limit was set at 55 miles an hour and three days a week were allowed for purchasing gas. That was that! Like it or not, people obeyed. Americans learned to sacrifice; they learned to conserve.
Perhaps twenty-first-century folk need to reflect on the 1970s, place God first in their lives, and learn to conserve.
Today, no one wants to sacrifice; no one wants the United States government telling them what to do. Some maintain a driving speed of 65 miles an hour while on interstate highways; others travel much faster than the stated limit. Some recycle as many items as possible; others use every disposable product available.
Al Gore's documentary and companion book An Inconvenient Truth has stirred much conversation about his views regarding global warming. Some believe that it's just a hoax. They believe that it's only Al Gore, trying to call attention to himself, trying to scare the American people. Others believe that global warming is a reality... that humanity is sitting on a ticking time bomb... that if something is not done soon, a catastrophe will without a doubt occur. They speculate what could happen: more devastating hurricanes, more disastrous diseases such as malaria spreading throughout the world, more glaciers melting at a very rapid rate, more species of plants and animals moving closer to the poles, many deaths occurring specifically from global warming, more sea levels rising leading to the destruction of coastal areas, and more frequent and intense heat waves occurring worldwide.
Does this description sound like Jeremiah's vision of the earth's destruction? It should. Listen to what Jeremiah says:
I looked at the earth -- it was a barren waste;
I looked at the mountains -- they were shaking,
and the hills were rocking back and forth.
I saw that there were no people; even the birds had flown away.
The fertile land had become a desert;
its cities were in ruins because of the Lord's fierce anger.
This was the bad news as proclaimed by Jeremiah. But Jeremiah also reported some very good news:
The Lord has said that the whole earth will become a wasteland,
but that he will not completely destroy it.
Perhaps twenty-first-century folk need to reflect on the 1930s and 1970s, place God first in their lives, and learn to conserve.
Fanny Lee Seville is a retired educator who devoted her entire career to teaching children with disabilities and "at risk" high school students. She is a lifelong member of the United Church of Christ, and has served in many capacities at the local, conference, and national levels. Fanny is married to Jack Seville, Conference Minister Emeritus of the UCC's Northern Plains Conference. She is the author of Sing Stories of Jesus, a children's music book of 25 biblical stories in song.
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StoryShare, September 16, 2007, issue.
Copyright 2007 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
"The Biggest Sinner" by John Sumwalt
"I'm Safe" by Sandra Herrmann
"Is It the Lord Who Is Pronouncing Judgment on His People?" by Fanny Lee Seville
"Learn to Conserve" by Fanny Lee Seville
(Note: This installment was originally published in 2007.)
What's Up This Week
Is redemption available for anyone? Is there any point at which we are simply too far gone? That question is explored in this week's stories. Whether we are guilty of causing harm to others, such as in John Sumwalt's story, or to ourselves in Sandra Herrmann's story, or our family or even the world around us in Fanny Seville's two stories, we can still look for that glimmer of light that shines in our darkness.
* * * * * * * * *
The Biggest Sinner
John Sumwalt
The saying is sure and worthy of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners -- of whom I am the foremost.
1 Timothy 1:15
A handsome, clean-cut young man sat in the visiting room of the county jail one day looking out through the bars, waiting for his appointment with the volunteer chaplain from one of the area churches. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit; his hair looked like he had just gotten out of bed, which he had, if you can call a thin mattress on a cement slab a bed. When the deputies arrested him three days earlier, in the hallway outside of the classroom where he taught science at the local high school, he had been wearing a blue dress shirt, a brown paisley tie that matched his penny loafers, and tan slacks. His hair had been neatly combed and there had still been a hint of the Old Spice after-shave that he had splashed on his face just before leaving for school.
He sat there thinking about the 14-year-old freshman boy he had befriended, and what everyone would think when the story hit the newspapers. Sexual molestation charges against a teacher were always big news. He knew he would never teach again, and that going to the state penitentiary for 20 or 30 years was a good possibility. There was a knot in the pit of his stomach which had not left from the moment the handcuffs were clapped on his wrists.
Pastor Jack Pearson, a tall, thin man a little past middle age, with patches of gray in his beard that matched his wrinkled gray pastor's suit, made his way slowly up the steps to the county correctional facility. It just happened that he was on call, filling in for another pastor whose husband had been in an auto accident. As he stepped off the elevator he caught a glimpse of the young prisoner's profile across the lobby through the visiting room window. Suddenly he was filled with a deep, almost debilitating dread. He didn't know this young man, but he reminded him of someone he had pushed out of his memory for years and years.
It had only happened once and he had never done it again, but the reality that he had once molested a young boy came rushing into his consciousness. No wonder he had not wanted to come when he got the call. No one had ever found out about what he had done, but he had always lived with the fear that one day that boy, who would now be about the same age as the young prisoner in the orange jumpsuit, would come forward and identify him. The pastor was hit with the startling realization that this could and should have been him, that he had deserved the same fate and until now had somehow escaped even his own self-condemnation.
What would he say to this mirror image of his younger, darker self? What right did he have to pray and offer comfort and hope in the name of Christ when he carried the same stain on his soul? He whispered a prayer, "Oh God, help me," as he slowly opened the door to the visitation room. And before he introduced himself or offered his hand, he sat down at the table, looked straight into the young man's eyes, and said, "I have been where you are now, and I don't know what to say to you except that I believe in the mercy that Jesus offers to each one of us. I have experienced some of his grace, though I certainly never deserved it, and I know that if Jesus can forgive me and love me after what I did, he can and will forgive you too." Then he reached out and took the young man's hand, and the two of them wept together.
John E. Sumwalt is the lead pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in suburban Milwaukee. He is the author of ten books, including How to Preach the Miracles: Why People Don't Believe Them and What You Can Do About It, now available from CSS Publishing. John and his wife, Jo Perry-Sumwalt, were the editors of StoryShare from 2004-2006.
I'm Safe
Sandra Herrmann
Luke 15:1-10
April's hands were wet, slippery with sweat. She chewed her lips, picking off the crust that lined the place where they met. Her suitcase was getting heavier by the minute, but she was afraid to set it down. If she let go of it, that would mean she was staying, but she wasn't at all sure she wanted to stay. So she shifted, rebalancing her weight, and the weight of the bag.
Finally, a woman appeared behind the counter. "Hello, April," she said. "How are you doing?"
How do you think, I'm doing, you old cow? "Fine. It's hot in here, isn't it? I'm about ready to pass out. Don't you have any air?"
The woman looked April over from above her glasses. "Ah, good. A feisty start. That'll work well for you here," she replied drily.
April sighed and began studying the leaves of a tropical plant in the corner.
"I'll need your suitcase, April."
April turned and looked at the woman. Oh, right, here we go. Do you think I'd be stupid enough to stash my stuff in the pockets? Roll it up in my nightie? What a scag. But she lifted it onto the counter. The woman reached over and set it on the ground behind the counter.
"Empty your pockets. Put everything on the counter."
"Right." She turned her side pockets inside out.
"The pocket in your sweater, too. And the back pockets."
"There's nothing in them," April replied. Nothing. No money, no I.D., no pills, nothing.
"Okay, then, step over to the door." She pointed at a door with a metal detector surround.
April sulked as she went through the detector, which remained silent. The door opened with a click. The short hallway she found herself in was painted a mustard yellow. Straight ahead was another door which opened as she stepped forward and clicked behind her, letting her know she was locked in.
The room she was in was empty of people. Sofas and chairs were all facing in a square in the middle of a blue carpet. Along the walls were small tables with two chairs apiece. The windows threw long bright bars across the tables and floor on the left. All of the doors that opened off the room were closed. The woman who had let her in came through one of the doors, but April's suitcase was nowhere to be seen.
"Right this way, April," she said, indicating another hallway April hadn't seen. She followed her, keeping her eyes on the doorknobs, not looking at the woman. You think you're in charge of me, don't you? Lock me down, take everything away from me. But it doesn't matter. Seamus will wait for me. He's been through this. He told me, you can't make me think anything I don't want to think.
The woman unlocked a door, pushing it open. "Here you go. Everyone's in lockdown right now, but a buzzer will tell you when it's unlocked. You're free to do whatever you want when the doors open. The other girls will show you to the drink machines."
April looked at the window in her room. At least there's no bars on these. "Do the windows open?"
The woman went across the room and cranked open the window about three inches. "That's all the farther it goes," she announced. Turning back to April, she said, "Bathroom is in here, closet's there. Your suitcase will be brought to you when lockdown is over. Have a nice afternoon." She swept through the door, and it clicked loudly when it shut.
April learned several things over the next three weeks. She learned that other girls, not first-timers here, knew how to sneak things in. She learned that they sold those things when they wanted something else. She learned that she had nothing they wanted. So she learned to face the days cold sober, with only her anger to sustain her. She learned to pretend to listen, pretend to agree. But she could not make her face pretend.
"You say yes, April," one of the counselors said, "but your face says 'go away.' It's not going to do you any good to pretend to get it. You'll get out of here and go back to using. And using is what got you in here, April. Using drugs, using others, led to stealing -- and that put you in here. Stop pretending."
She had simply shrugged. Like you care a bit, she thought to herself. All you want is a job where you don't have to work, just pick on girls like me. She had slid a little lower in the couch.
Latreesha had become sort of a friend to April. She was lounging in one of the chairs, her long legs dangling over the arm. "April be like that. But she listening even when she sulking." Her huge white teeth smiled. "But ain't nobody showed her that God you always avoiding. You know," she wrinkled her face, "her HIGHer POWer." The girls all giggled, avoiding the counselor's eye, avoiding April's as well.
"Yeah," April nodded. "that great, all-loving, wonderful God who watched my stepfather and mother get drunk and start fighting every Friday night. That's the one. SHE will protect me and keep me from the evil ones." April was by now mocking Latreesha's way of speaking. "Those evil, evil friends who get me high. Only difference is my folks use booze, and I like a higher thrill."
Later, Latreesha had taken April aside. "You know, April, God really be real," she whispered. "I know that, even though I don't say it. He's the only one who's getting me through this place. I don't ever, never want to come back here. You know what I mean?"
"Yeah, yeah, you plan to never use again. But when your momma starts beating on you again, how are you going to stand it? A few pills, and it all goes away."
"No, it don't. It just goes to sleep, and comes back as soon as you're straight again."
April nodded. That was true. "But what about your invisible God? When has he ever helped you?"
Latreesha looked out the window. "Yeah, I used to say that if God loved me, why did He put me in here? But then one day, I thought, 'You know, it might be that I'm in here so He could keep be from being beat up again. Nobody in here beat me like my momma did. And I can talk to Him anytime I want. And I get three meals a day. In a way, this place is a blessing."
April thought, He put me in here to keep me SAFE? Could it be? I'm here because God loves me and wants me to be safe?
She'd have to think about that one.
Sandra Herrmann is pastor of Memorial United Methodist Church in Greenfield, Wisconsin. She is the author of Ambassadors of Hope (CSS); her articles and sermons have also appeared in Emphasis and The Circuit Rider, and her poetry has been published in Alive Now and So's Your Old Lady.
Is It the Lord Who Is Pronouncing Judgment on His People?
Fanny Lee Seville
Jeremiah 4:11-12
Consider two completely different stories, and then ask: "Is it the Lord who is pronouncing judgment on his people?"
Sarah and Susan were born on the same day. They were next-door neighbors. They played together, celebrated birthdays together, went to church and school together. They were best friends until high school, when Susan began to run with a delinquent group. Drugs and alcohol were her constant companions. She often skipped classes and her grades dropped drastically. Her health deteriorated.
One evening while on a date, Susan and her boyfriend became intoxicated. Still, they hopped into her car and drove to a friend's house. Driving at great speeds, Susan lost control and slammed into a tree. Her boyfriend was unharmed. But Susan was not so lucky. An ambulance rushed her to a nearby hospital. She was critically injured and badly in need of surgery. The doctors placed Susan into a medically induced coma.
While asleep, Susan remembered that dreadful night when her father was taken away. She was at the vulnerable age of 13, and from her bed she saw red lights flashing and circling around her window. Peeping through the shades, she saw two policemen, one on each side of her father. His hands were handcuffed behind him. Fearfully, she watched as they shoved him inside the patrol car and pulled away.
Her father had embezzled money from a non-profit organization. He would be able to post bail, but he would not be able to save his marriage. Susan's mother sold all their possessions, and the two moved into a one-bedroom apartment. When her father was released from prison, he lived alone. At school Susan was teased furiously about her father being in prison and stealing money that was supposed to go to persons with disabilities. Unable to cope with life, she turned to drugs and alcohol.
Seated beside Susan's bed, rubbing her arm and hand ever so gently, sat a man whose facial expression spoke a thousand words. In a soft, quiet voice he prayed, "Please God, forgive me for destroying my family. Please let my daughter live."
One could ask: "Is it the Lord who is pronouncing judgment on his people?"
Many persons oppose war; few do anything about their beliefs. During the Vietnam War, the powerful act of civil disobedience against the United States government was used by many who opposed the war. They believed that killing, even in war, was wrong, and they set out to save America's young men. Their mission was to break into Selective Service offices across the nation and destroy draft board records of males old enough to join the military.
One such group, referred to by the United States government as the "Camden 28," included four Roman Catholic priests and one Lutheran minister. The rest were laymen and women. Father Michael Doyle recalled his participation in the group while being interviewed for National Public Radio.
Often the group would meet and plan for their break-in to the draft board office in Camden, New Jersey. Many hours were spent making sure that everything was in order. Father Doyle remembered one evening when, to his surprise, one of his parishioners had joined the group. Bob Hardy confessed that his conscience bothered him, and he needed to become involved in this non-violent anti-war demonstration. Father Doyle tried to talk Bob out of a dangerous situation, reminding him to think of his family. Bob had children and a wife that depended upon him for survival. If he were to be caught, what would become of his family? No amount of talking could dissuade Bob from participating. So Father Doyle reluctantly agreed to let Bob join the group.
Bob's electrical knowledge proved valuable to the group. He offered to survey the building that housed the draft board office. After investigating, Bob reported that an electronic camera was positioned to photograph anyone using the back staircase. He then measured and built a tripod, and placed it in such a way that the camera would not capture the intruders.
The morning of the break-in finally arrived. Early Sunday morning, August 22, 1971, all were ready for their mission. Being as careful as possible, each one climbed the tripod and stepped onto the staircase. They entered the draft board office without any delay. As quickly as possible, some stuffed files into sacks; others simply began to tear files with their bare hands. Then without any warning, recalled Father Doyle, a hand touched his shoulder. There before them was the FBI. All were arrested immediately. Looking around to determine who the informant was, Father Doyle noticed that Bob Hardy, his parishioner, was not in the group.
While out on bail, Father Doyle visited Bob. Not one word was spoken of the break-in or of Bob's informing the FBI. Attorney General John Mitchell had placed many informants among anti-war groups during the Vietnam War era -- so Bob's involvement was not per chance.
Not long after the break-in and arrests, Bob's wife died suddenly from an unknown cause. Later, one of his sons died as the result of an accidental fall in their backyard. Bob grieved the passing of his loved ones so much that at the trial of the Camden 28, he testified that he was a paid informant of the FBI and that because of his skills he was able to provide the tools necessary to carry out their mission.
All of the Camden 28 admitted their guilt -- no one pleaded innocent. The judge informed the jury members that they could either find the defendants guilty, or they could acquit them if they felt that the government had interfered, allowing the break-in. The jury returned with a verdict of not guilty on all charges against the Camden 28. Until that time, all former anti-war activists who were prosecuted had been convicted.
One could ask, "Is it the Lord who is pronouncing judgment on his people?"
What do you think?
Learn to Conserve
Fanny Lee Seville
Jeremiah 4:22-28
"Rags! Rags! Rags!" called the ragman as he trudged through alleyways and narrow streets. Women and children of all ages ran outside when they heard the ragman's call. They placed their rags in his cart as they greeted him a good day.
Children of the depression vividly remember the ragman. They remember recycling tin cans and soda pop bottles, newspapers and magazines, rags and grease. They remember their grandmothers making soap from the grease that was left in the skillet after dinner. They remember women washing their families' clothes in scrub tubs, using their homemade soap. They remember clothes hanging on lines in backyards or back porches. They remember the sweet, fresh smell of bed linens on a newly changed bed.
Children of the depression remember organizing neighborhood games of baseball, football, and basketball. They remember playing cards, playing board games, and listening to the radio.
Children of the depression remember using their feet to transport them to church, school, work, and shops. They remember having no family car, and car-pooling with friends. They remember falling asleep on hot, humid summer nights. They remember their bodies were not cooled by air conditioners but by a gentle breeze from a nearby window, flowing softly across their faces, arms, and legs.
Children of the depression remember the iceman who brought 50 to 100 pounds of ice once or twice a week to keep their food from perishing. They remember sitting down and eating family meals together. And they remember that at the center of their lives was the church with worship on Sunday mornings and Sunday evenings and Wednesday evenings as well. They remember that all of life begins and ends with God.
Perhaps twenty-first-century folk need to reflect on the 1930s, place God first in their lives, and learn to conserve.
During the oil crisis of the 1970s, the United States government lowered the speed limit to 55 miles an hour across the nation. Drivers with license plates having an odd number as the last digit were allowed to purchase gasoline for their cars only on odd-numbered days of the week. Drivers with even-numbered license plates were allowed to buy fuel only on even-numbered days. Some service stations used colored flags to denote when gasoline could be purchased. A red flag signaled that no gasoline was available.
No talk show hosts were on the radio or television, spinning their views pro or con. The speed limit was set at 55 miles an hour and three days a week were allowed for purchasing gas. That was that! Like it or not, people obeyed. Americans learned to sacrifice; they learned to conserve.
Perhaps twenty-first-century folk need to reflect on the 1970s, place God first in their lives, and learn to conserve.
Today, no one wants to sacrifice; no one wants the United States government telling them what to do. Some maintain a driving speed of 65 miles an hour while on interstate highways; others travel much faster than the stated limit. Some recycle as many items as possible; others use every disposable product available.
Al Gore's documentary and companion book An Inconvenient Truth has stirred much conversation about his views regarding global warming. Some believe that it's just a hoax. They believe that it's only Al Gore, trying to call attention to himself, trying to scare the American people. Others believe that global warming is a reality... that humanity is sitting on a ticking time bomb... that if something is not done soon, a catastrophe will without a doubt occur. They speculate what could happen: more devastating hurricanes, more disastrous diseases such as malaria spreading throughout the world, more glaciers melting at a very rapid rate, more species of plants and animals moving closer to the poles, many deaths occurring specifically from global warming, more sea levels rising leading to the destruction of coastal areas, and more frequent and intense heat waves occurring worldwide.
Does this description sound like Jeremiah's vision of the earth's destruction? It should. Listen to what Jeremiah says:
I looked at the earth -- it was a barren waste;
I looked at the mountains -- they were shaking,
and the hills were rocking back and forth.
I saw that there were no people; even the birds had flown away.
The fertile land had become a desert;
its cities were in ruins because of the Lord's fierce anger.
This was the bad news as proclaimed by Jeremiah. But Jeremiah also reported some very good news:
The Lord has said that the whole earth will become a wasteland,
but that he will not completely destroy it.
Perhaps twenty-first-century folk need to reflect on the 1930s and 1970s, place God first in their lives, and learn to conserve.
Fanny Lee Seville is a retired educator who devoted her entire career to teaching children with disabilities and "at risk" high school students. She is a lifelong member of the United Church of Christ, and has served in many capacities at the local, conference, and national levels. Fanny is married to Jack Seville, Conference Minister Emeritus of the UCC's Northern Plains Conference. She is the author of Sing Stories of Jesus, a children's music book of 25 biblical stories in song.
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StoryShare, September 16, 2007, issue.
Copyright 2007 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.
