A Born Leader
Stories
Object:
Contents
What's Up This Week
"A Born Leader" by Sandra Herrmann
"Who's the Real Boss?" by Argile Smith
"A New Covenant" by David O. Bales
"Free Indeed" by Craig Kelly
What's Up This Week
What makes a leader? Is it the one who simply talks the loudest or barks out the most orders? Sandra Herrmann takes a closer look at the life of one of the Bible's greatest leaders in "A Born Leader." Argile Smith, however, gives us a modern example of leadership through servanthood in "Who's the Real Boss?"
For Reformation Sunday, David O. Bales takes one of the central tenets of the Reformation -- grace -- and shows it in action in "A New Covenant." Craig Kelly examines what it is to be truly free in Christ while also reminding us that the advancement of the Reformation -- as well as the advancement of Christianity today -- often came at a heavy cost.
* * * * * * * * *
A Born Leader
By Sandra Herrmann
Deuteronomy 34:1-12; 1 Thessalonians 2:1-8
He had been born to be a leader. At least that's what his sister had told him. Born in a place and time when most boys were dead by the age of one. If disease or fever didn't carry them off, the government would kill them, because boys like him were deemed to be dangerous and therefore disposable.
His mother abandoned him in order to save him. A paradox, even to her, even in those circumstances. She loved him enough to allow him to die, if that's what happened. But she did her best to protect him. Covered him well, arms bound to his sides. Bundled him into a boat, one that would be watertight and float well. Put him into the water, and gave the boat a push so that the current would carry him far. Perhaps some childless woman would see him and want him. Her tears were silent for her beautiful child. No one must know of her loss.
The little boat floated several miles downstream. Far from the blank desert where the men were building a city, it soon found itself in reedy waters, full of silt and nutrients. Eventually, it lodged itself in a small pool, pushed to the bank by the press of floodwater. And it was here that a woman found him and claimed him as her own. His sister had followed the boat, worrying that her mother's hopes were foolish. So she had seen him scooped from the flood and carried to a pavilion above the river. Saw him cuddled against her, heard the lullaby the woman sang to make him stop crying.
His sister had come forward, then. "My mother's child died, and she aches with milk. Do you need a wet nurse?" And that was how her mother's hope was answered. She nurtured her baby until his new mother said it was enough, and she returned to her home, calm at the prospect of her son in that great house, living a life of ease the rest of the family would never know.
She feared that such riches would spoil him, but she need not have worried. The blood of his fathers was in his veins, and it bred truth and righteousness in him. He grew strong, sturdy, and compassionate -- all of which conspired to form his destiny. Though he had grown up in the house of a powerful man, he had compassion on a slave mistreated, and wound up having to leave the only home he had ever known.
Out to the high desert he ran, and there in the mountains learned to herd sheep. His hands, once smooth, became calloused, and he oiled them with the wool from the sheep. His skin became dark from long hours in the sun, and his strength was tested by the wild animals and poachers who sought to feed on the flock.
At last, he was ready. As so many others who work in the arid highlands, he heard the voice of God. He followed it, unwillingly at first, but more and more closely. It took him to the most unlikely places. To breadlines and slave quarters, to the houses of power and corruption, and eventually into the place God had prepared for him: at the head of a nation, a new nation born of slaves. A nation for whom God had prepared a new place to be, a land rich enough that their labor would allow them some leisure. No longer would they labor for others to eat. No longer would they plant trees and crops that others would take away. No longer would they live in slave quarters, but in their own homes, built from the stone on which they stood, surrounded by grape arbors and olive trees. No longer would they work day after day without rest. At every phase of the moon, they would rest and feast and make love and play with their children and worship the God who had supplied all of this.
Not that all of this was easy. He had to leave a second family behind while he agitated people into action. He had to endure mockery and harassment just like any other visionary. He had to rouse the people and then herd them just like the sheep he had tended. He had to listen to their complaints about how hard all this was, and worry that they would return to the old life simply because that pain was familiar. He had to get people who were used to living under the authority of others to take responsibility for themselves and each other.
He found it all very difficult. He, too, wanted to go back to his old life. Herding sheep was simple compared to herding this nation. He also was as dismayed as they were that the journey proved far longer than anticipated. Just when he thought he had them ready to settle the new land, God drove them back out to the desert, saying they were not ready for the blessings of the land.
The people suspected that he wanted them to die in the desert. He despaired, knowing that this was in fact what God had in mind. The only ones who would complete this journey would be the strong, the willing, those who caught the vision. In fact, all those who constantly complained and mocked the journey and his leadership died in the desert.
Now Moses was about to become one of those who would die just outside the Promised Land. He sat on the top of a bluff, looking out across the green land below. He watched his people, with whom he had struggled and argued, setting up camp on the near bank of the river, and he longed to go down to them. He wanted to say, "What did I tell you? Isn't this land everything I said it would be? Can you see, now, what a good thing God has done for us all?" He wanted them to know that he had been right. That God had in fact talked to him, guided him, provided for the people beyond their dreams.
But it was not to be. He was tired, tired in his bones. He had no idea how he had managed to climb up to this prospect. He was barely able to breathe. Climbing back down was not an option.
He was not afraid. He could feel the breath of God on his cheek. He could hear the whisper of that breath in his ear.
"Rest now, Moses. You have done well. I will not leave your bones to the wild animals, but I myself will bury you. Rest. Be at peace."
So he closed his eyes and again saw his Maker face to face.
Sandra Herrmann is pastor of Memorial United Methodist Church in Greenfield, Wisconsin. In 1980, she was in the first class ordained by Bishop Marjorie Matthews (the first female United Methodist bishop). Herrmann 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. She has trained lay speakers and led workshops and Bible studies throughout Wisconsin, Iowa, and Indiana. Sandra's favorite pastime is reading with her two dogs piled on her.
Who's the Real Boss?
By Argile Smith
Matthew 22:34-46
Ned's business seemed to be in serious trouble. He owned a small trucking company that showed great promise when he opened his doors for business ten years earlier. Back then, he couldn't keep up with the orders that came his way. He expanded a little sooner than he intended, but at the time he really didn't think that he had a choice. As he told himself and his employees at the time, he had to make hay while the sun was shining.
Those were the good old days for him and his trucking company. Now things were different. The number of orders had dropped to a frighteningly low level, and the cost of diesel fuel had gone through the ceiling. Some of his equipment needed serious attention. He could see costly maintenance bills peeking at him from around the corner, not to mention the bill he would receive for some necessary upgrades in some of his equipment.
Seeing that the company was in trouble, a number of his employees had moved on to other opportunities. In a way, Ned breathed a sigh of relief when his operation began to downsize by attrition, and he wondered about how long he could hold on to the remainder of his employees.
Although he hated to give up any of them, he had grown particularly fond of Brandon, a young man who worked part time for him. Brandon was a student at the local community college, and he approached Ned about working for his company while he studied business at college. Ned appreciated Brandon's willingness to work for not much more than minimum wage, and he admired the young man's eagerness to learn how to build a business "from the ground up."
The tough times forced Ned to make a decision about whether or not he could keep Brandon on the payroll. After determining that Brandon could learn from the experience of watching a business go belly-up, he decided not to dismiss him. Instead, he decided to talk to Brandon and tell him about the trouble the business had been facing and the poor prospects for keeping the doors open.
As he talked with Brandon, he commented on the building his company had leased. He explained that the landlord had been gracious in the past, always giving him a little more time to make his lease payments. Now he wondered if he ought to ask his landlord for a heavy dose of grace again in view of the fact that a little more time may not help the company's position.
Brandon listened to Ned, and after a while, he replied, "Ned, if you would like, I will be happy to talk to the landlord for you."
Ned chuckled and said, "Young man, you are kind, but I doubt that you should be placed in such a position. After all, you're a young man working part-time for me. With all due respect to your eagerness to help, the landlord wouldn't take you seriously."
"Oh, yes, she would." Brandon said confidently. "She's my aunt, and she's the person who told me to work with you so you could teach me how to build a business from the ground up." Brandon went on to say that some time ago she had decided to entrust her rather substantial business holdings to him. She wanted him to take her business interests and grow them. That's why she wanted him to get some practical business experience.
"My aunt appreciates you for what you are doing to help me. I am certain that she will work with you to help you through this tough time."
Surprised by what Brandon had just told him, Ned realized that the young man who referred to him as a boss actually had a great deal of authority over him. In the same way, the sovereign Lord to whom Moses prayed supervised his work from eternity (Psalm 90), and the Lord who was the son of David also supervised David's work from eternity as well (Matthew 22:34-46).
Argile Smith is vice president for advancement at William Carey University in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. He previously served at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary (NOBTS) as a preaching professor, chairman of the Division of Pastoral Ministries, and director of the communications center. While at NOTBS, Smith regularly hosted the Gateway to Truth program on the FamilyNet television network. He has also been the pastor of several congregations in Louisiana and Mississippi. Smith's articles have been widely published in church periodicals, and he is the author or editor of four books.
A New Covenant
By David O. Bales
Jeremiah 31:31-34
As Hallie stepped into the vestibule, the church smelled the same -- like her grade school 65 years ago, but combined with a furniture store full of shoppers.
Carol was waiting and saw her first. "Hallie," she said and rushed to give a hug. "You haven't changed a bit."
"After 40 years you can still lie with a straight face," Hallie said and they laughed, facing each other and holding hands. Hallie looked around but didn't see anyone else in the entryway that she knew.
"I wished you'd let me known earlier," Carol said. "We could've arranged something special."
"I didn't want to cause a problem. Only passing through," Hallie said; but they both knew it wasn't all the truth.
The acolytes shuffled into the crowded entryway. Hallie hadn't met the pastor but knew his name. She saw Pastor Iden with a hand behind the acolytes, "Come. Come. Hurry."
"Let's get into worship," Hallie said, "before we two old ladies get trampled."
Yes, as they entered, just the same: dim lighting, like her favorite aunt's living room. She sat next to Carol and patted her old friend again. She breathed deeply and realized she liked almost everything about this church building and the people she'd lived with and served here 50 years before. Few of them were here now -- moved away or died.
Hallie and Carol stood to sing to the same organ. They knelt for prayer. They recited the creed. Hallie felt herself worshiping both in the present and in the past. She was 25 when she and Clayton moved to Austin. It was his first pastorate after seminary. She remembered their excitement when they entered the building on their first day in town. This was the sanctuary in which he would do ministry for the Lord.
Hallie smiled as the scripture was read. She didn't listen. She was remembering the weddings and funerals, the baptisms and celebration, the Christmases and Easters. She was overwhelmed with good memories. During much of their ten years here, she'd never have expected good memories. She remained smiling as she recalled Clayton's depression starting during their fourth year in the congregation. She was pregnant with Emily. Grace was a toddler. Few parishioners knew of their pastor's difficulties, and at that time few doctors knew much about the workings of depression upon the human body and mind.
When the sermon began, Hallie recalled that in this sanctuary Bishop Singh and Doctor Shaw chose to meet with Clayton and Hallie. They'd arranged babysitting for the three children. Seven years in the pastorate and finally someone took a significant step toward helping him, and they did it at the right place.
Clayton wept and wept when asked how he honestly felt about himself. He could only mumble, "I've failed God. I've failed God." That was the bottom, Hallie thought. Might as well be in the sanctuary when you hit it, because those two skilled, merciful professionals were the lifeline God threw to Hallie and Clayton.
Pastor Iden's voice rose, "Every member," he said, clipping his words, "needs to contribute to the general fund and not just to special funds."
The congregation had granted Clayton a leave of absence and the denomination's emergency fund provided living expenses for Hallie and the children. Clayton began meeting with a Jungian therapist, which slowly granted him mental wholeness. Once a month for eleven months Clayton, Hallie, Bishop Singh, and Doctor Shaw met in this sanctuary. The place became more and more precious to Hallie as she experienced, along with Clayton, God's goodness through church leaders and a congregation that stood squarely in support of its pastor and his family. There aren't many churches like this, Hallie thought.
Pastor Iden was ending the sermon in a shrill voice, "We must be faithful. God will bless us if we're faithful."
Hallie looked around at faces she didn't know, most younger than her. Could these people realize the goodness that had been both experienced and reported here? Had they heard of the worship service welcoming Clayton back to ministry? He started working half time for a year and then slowly worked up to full time the next year, and then they moved to a church in Houston.
The worship service that welcomed him back was the highest point of their ministry. Bishop Singh spoke briefly, explaining that God's grace gives us a second chance -- and a third, and a fourth. He asserted that because God is God, God can start completely over with us and do it again and again. Why be God if you can't take some metaphysical privileges? "And our great privilege," he said as he turned to Clayton sitting again in the pastor's chair in the chancel, "is to receive the gift of a new agreement of grace. God makes the offer in love, stipulates the details of mercy, and we accept it. Such a deal!
"And you as the church," the bishop faced the congregation, "are acting out God's grace with this new agreement. You've made a new contract with Clayton, a relationship prompted by God and affirmed by your concern for Clayton and his for you. It's a bond in faith, hope, and love. Consider it a new covenant, one of grace, straight from God. Amen."
After worship, Carol led Hallie by the arm as they walked to the back of the sanctuary to greet the pastor. Carol introduced her and Pastor Iden expressed his pleasure to meet her. Hallie smiled, shook his hand, and said, "Such grace here."
David O. Bales has been a Presbyterian pastor for 30 years. Currently the pastor of Bethany Presbyterian Church in Ontario, Oregon, he is also a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching Great Texts, and Interpretation, and he is the author of Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace (CSS). Bales is a graduate of the University of Portland and San Francisco Theological Seminary.
Free Indeed
By Craig Kelly
John 8:31-36
So Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, "If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free... So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed."
-- John 8:31-32, 36
He stood silent, trying to stay perfectly still while continually fighting the urge to shiver uncontrollably. True, the tiny, stone-walled room was filled with cold, damp, musty air, but that was only part of what gave his muscles the almost irresistible urge to spasm. Sweat poured down his face, the salty liquid stinging the open cuts on his forehead and cheek, dripping over the mottled skin that had swollen his left eye shut. His shoulders burned as his wrists were chained above his head to the cold, clammy stones. He reeked of sweat, stale urine, and fear.
* * *
Her shoulders protested bitterly at being held in such an unnatural position. However, with her wrists tied together behind her back, there was little she could do to offer his shoulders any relief. Her bare feet also ached, the pain migrating up her legs. Being forced to stand in place continually for days would do that. She thanked God when her extremities numbed.
* * *
His lips moved rapidly, yet soundless, as he mumbled ancient prayers that bubbled up in his memory, anything he could think of to call for divine deliverance. But none had yet come, and he had been standing there for... for... four days? Five? Maybe a week. He wasn't sure. One minute, one hour seemed to blend into the next, distorting any perception of passing time. The only breaks in his intolerable solitude was when a guard would come in and either beat him or stuff a hard crust of bread in his mouth, cutting the inside of his cheek. When the guard dumped a cup of water in his mouth, he almost choked to death.
* * *
She was taken two weeks ago, dragged from her bed in the middle of the night. As the wife of an underground pastor, it was thought that seeing her suffer would force her husband to give the police the names of other leaders in the illegal church. As much as she suffered, she thanked God every day she remained in captivity, knowing that her imprisonment meant that her brothers and sisters in the faith were safe. The horrors she was forced to endure were a small price to pay for the advancement of the gospel.
* * *
More time passed. Just him, the cold, and his prayers. Finally the bolted door opened, letting in a piercing light that made him recoil, a reflexive reaction that sent fire through his stiff muscles. His knees buckled, allowing his body to tumble helplessly toward the frigid stone floor, stretching his already stressed shoulder, pulling it out of joint. He let out a cry, but in his weakened condition, it was more of a whimper. The guard, clad in his tarnished armor, laughed at this pathetic display. He slowly walked up to the prisoner, stooping down one on knee to look at him directly, their faces only inches apart.
" 'Aving a good morning, are we?" he sneered, his breath reeking of ale. "I hope so, because when the inquisitor gets 'ere, your day will get a lot worse. Course, if you are ready to recant and put this foolishness be'ind you, I'm sure things would look much better for you." He snickered again, inching his face even closer. As if relaying a closely guarded secret, the guard whispered, "Between you and me, I 'ope you don't. More fun for me."
The prisoner tried to hold back the tears. He knew what the guard meant, and he knew what he was in for if he didn't recant. Every cell in his body seemed to scream at him, begging him to do whatever it took to avoid that torture. The phrase, "I will recant" even seemed to begin to make its way up his throat, just waiting for the mouth to open.
* * *
The guard left smirking, chuckling as he finished another "session" with his prisoner. After having his way with her, he, in his "mercy," left her huddled in a corner of the cell, rather than forcing her to stand. He must have been in a good mood; he even untied her hands before he left. Pity, perhaps? After everything he had done to her, it was hard to imagine him as the sympathetic type.
As the cell door slammed, the lock latching into place, she wept, desperately trying to keep silent so as to not give the guard another excuse to come in. "God, how much more of this can I take?" she whispered through her tears. "I'm trying so hard, but I don't think I can take this. I can't do it, Lord, I can't!" She leaned her head back against the stone wall, overwhelmed by grief and fear.
* * *
"Do you recant of your heresy?" the inquisitor asked. Clothed in fine purple and scarlet linens, he seemed grossly out of place in this dark dungeon colored in shades of black and gray. "Do you agree to acknowledge your sin publicly, putting aside these foolish notions of 'grace alone' and that the Bible is the only source of revelation for Christians? Put aside your folly, and come back to the church, and we will embrace you."
Barely able to move after the torture he was forced to endure, he slowly raised his head to speak.
* * *
As she sat in the corner of her cell, the tears finally slowing, she noticed a small gap between the stone bricks along the wall, and it appeared as though there was something stuffed inside. Desperate to think of anything other than the horrors she endured, she leaned over and peered in the hole, seeing what appeared to be a piece of paper that had been crumpled and forced into it. Using her little finger, the only one that could fit in the gap, she managed to work the paper out, watching it drop on the floor. Quickly she darted her eyes to the door to see if she aroused any attention. Finally confident that she was undetected, she picked up the paper and smoothed it out. It was a strip of paper from a Bible translated into her native language. It must have been left by whoever previously occupied that cell. She began to read:
* * *
"If you abide in my word, you truly are my disciples...."
* * *
"And you will know the truth...."
* * *
"And the truth shall set you...."
* * *
"Free...."
* * *
"...So if the Son sets you free...."
* * *
"You will be free indeed."
* * *
The prisoner met the inquisitor's disbelieving gaze, meeting it not with anger, fear, or panic, but with a calm resolve, even going so far as to feel love and empathy for his captors. He knew what his statement meant. He knew what would become of him. Yet he knew he could not be silent. He would not be silent.
"My lord, I know I am in chains, and I know that this answer will mean my death. But my heart is not chained. My spirit is not captive. I am already free. Whether I live or die, if I walk out of this cell to be released or to be burned, I am free. Praise God, I'm free."
* * *
Slowly, the tortured wife began to smile. Even though every muscle in her face ached, the smile did not dim. Instead, it grew until it was joined by a quiet giggle. She leaned her head back against the wall, no longer overwhelmed by fear, but now overcome by joy. Despite the pain, she began to clap her bruised, bloody hands together and, tears rolling down her cheeks, she began to sing.
Craig Kelly is the Editorial Assistant for CSS Publishing Company in Lima, Ohio. Hesitant to call himself an aspiring freelance writer, he is a self-proclaimed "dabbler" in writing. This is his first publication.
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StoryShare, October 26, 2008, issue.
Copyright 2008 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
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What's Up This Week
"A Born Leader" by Sandra Herrmann
"Who's the Real Boss?" by Argile Smith
"A New Covenant" by David O. Bales
"Free Indeed" by Craig Kelly
What's Up This Week
What makes a leader? Is it the one who simply talks the loudest or barks out the most orders? Sandra Herrmann takes a closer look at the life of one of the Bible's greatest leaders in "A Born Leader." Argile Smith, however, gives us a modern example of leadership through servanthood in "Who's the Real Boss?"
For Reformation Sunday, David O. Bales takes one of the central tenets of the Reformation -- grace -- and shows it in action in "A New Covenant." Craig Kelly examines what it is to be truly free in Christ while also reminding us that the advancement of the Reformation -- as well as the advancement of Christianity today -- often came at a heavy cost.
* * * * * * * * *
A Born Leader
By Sandra Herrmann
Deuteronomy 34:1-12; 1 Thessalonians 2:1-8
He had been born to be a leader. At least that's what his sister had told him. Born in a place and time when most boys were dead by the age of one. If disease or fever didn't carry them off, the government would kill them, because boys like him were deemed to be dangerous and therefore disposable.
His mother abandoned him in order to save him. A paradox, even to her, even in those circumstances. She loved him enough to allow him to die, if that's what happened. But she did her best to protect him. Covered him well, arms bound to his sides. Bundled him into a boat, one that would be watertight and float well. Put him into the water, and gave the boat a push so that the current would carry him far. Perhaps some childless woman would see him and want him. Her tears were silent for her beautiful child. No one must know of her loss.
The little boat floated several miles downstream. Far from the blank desert where the men were building a city, it soon found itself in reedy waters, full of silt and nutrients. Eventually, it lodged itself in a small pool, pushed to the bank by the press of floodwater. And it was here that a woman found him and claimed him as her own. His sister had followed the boat, worrying that her mother's hopes were foolish. So she had seen him scooped from the flood and carried to a pavilion above the river. Saw him cuddled against her, heard the lullaby the woman sang to make him stop crying.
His sister had come forward, then. "My mother's child died, and she aches with milk. Do you need a wet nurse?" And that was how her mother's hope was answered. She nurtured her baby until his new mother said it was enough, and she returned to her home, calm at the prospect of her son in that great house, living a life of ease the rest of the family would never know.
She feared that such riches would spoil him, but she need not have worried. The blood of his fathers was in his veins, and it bred truth and righteousness in him. He grew strong, sturdy, and compassionate -- all of which conspired to form his destiny. Though he had grown up in the house of a powerful man, he had compassion on a slave mistreated, and wound up having to leave the only home he had ever known.
Out to the high desert he ran, and there in the mountains learned to herd sheep. His hands, once smooth, became calloused, and he oiled them with the wool from the sheep. His skin became dark from long hours in the sun, and his strength was tested by the wild animals and poachers who sought to feed on the flock.
At last, he was ready. As so many others who work in the arid highlands, he heard the voice of God. He followed it, unwillingly at first, but more and more closely. It took him to the most unlikely places. To breadlines and slave quarters, to the houses of power and corruption, and eventually into the place God had prepared for him: at the head of a nation, a new nation born of slaves. A nation for whom God had prepared a new place to be, a land rich enough that their labor would allow them some leisure. No longer would they labor for others to eat. No longer would they plant trees and crops that others would take away. No longer would they live in slave quarters, but in their own homes, built from the stone on which they stood, surrounded by grape arbors and olive trees. No longer would they work day after day without rest. At every phase of the moon, they would rest and feast and make love and play with their children and worship the God who had supplied all of this.
Not that all of this was easy. He had to leave a second family behind while he agitated people into action. He had to endure mockery and harassment just like any other visionary. He had to rouse the people and then herd them just like the sheep he had tended. He had to listen to their complaints about how hard all this was, and worry that they would return to the old life simply because that pain was familiar. He had to get people who were used to living under the authority of others to take responsibility for themselves and each other.
He found it all very difficult. He, too, wanted to go back to his old life. Herding sheep was simple compared to herding this nation. He also was as dismayed as they were that the journey proved far longer than anticipated. Just when he thought he had them ready to settle the new land, God drove them back out to the desert, saying they were not ready for the blessings of the land.
The people suspected that he wanted them to die in the desert. He despaired, knowing that this was in fact what God had in mind. The only ones who would complete this journey would be the strong, the willing, those who caught the vision. In fact, all those who constantly complained and mocked the journey and his leadership died in the desert.
Now Moses was about to become one of those who would die just outside the Promised Land. He sat on the top of a bluff, looking out across the green land below. He watched his people, with whom he had struggled and argued, setting up camp on the near bank of the river, and he longed to go down to them. He wanted to say, "What did I tell you? Isn't this land everything I said it would be? Can you see, now, what a good thing God has done for us all?" He wanted them to know that he had been right. That God had in fact talked to him, guided him, provided for the people beyond their dreams.
But it was not to be. He was tired, tired in his bones. He had no idea how he had managed to climb up to this prospect. He was barely able to breathe. Climbing back down was not an option.
He was not afraid. He could feel the breath of God on his cheek. He could hear the whisper of that breath in his ear.
"Rest now, Moses. You have done well. I will not leave your bones to the wild animals, but I myself will bury you. Rest. Be at peace."
So he closed his eyes and again saw his Maker face to face.
Sandra Herrmann is pastor of Memorial United Methodist Church in Greenfield, Wisconsin. In 1980, she was in the first class ordained by Bishop Marjorie Matthews (the first female United Methodist bishop). Herrmann 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. She has trained lay speakers and led workshops and Bible studies throughout Wisconsin, Iowa, and Indiana. Sandra's favorite pastime is reading with her two dogs piled on her.
Who's the Real Boss?
By Argile Smith
Matthew 22:34-46
Ned's business seemed to be in serious trouble. He owned a small trucking company that showed great promise when he opened his doors for business ten years earlier. Back then, he couldn't keep up with the orders that came his way. He expanded a little sooner than he intended, but at the time he really didn't think that he had a choice. As he told himself and his employees at the time, he had to make hay while the sun was shining.
Those were the good old days for him and his trucking company. Now things were different. The number of orders had dropped to a frighteningly low level, and the cost of diesel fuel had gone through the ceiling. Some of his equipment needed serious attention. He could see costly maintenance bills peeking at him from around the corner, not to mention the bill he would receive for some necessary upgrades in some of his equipment.
Seeing that the company was in trouble, a number of his employees had moved on to other opportunities. In a way, Ned breathed a sigh of relief when his operation began to downsize by attrition, and he wondered about how long he could hold on to the remainder of his employees.
Although he hated to give up any of them, he had grown particularly fond of Brandon, a young man who worked part time for him. Brandon was a student at the local community college, and he approached Ned about working for his company while he studied business at college. Ned appreciated Brandon's willingness to work for not much more than minimum wage, and he admired the young man's eagerness to learn how to build a business "from the ground up."
The tough times forced Ned to make a decision about whether or not he could keep Brandon on the payroll. After determining that Brandon could learn from the experience of watching a business go belly-up, he decided not to dismiss him. Instead, he decided to talk to Brandon and tell him about the trouble the business had been facing and the poor prospects for keeping the doors open.
As he talked with Brandon, he commented on the building his company had leased. He explained that the landlord had been gracious in the past, always giving him a little more time to make his lease payments. Now he wondered if he ought to ask his landlord for a heavy dose of grace again in view of the fact that a little more time may not help the company's position.
Brandon listened to Ned, and after a while, he replied, "Ned, if you would like, I will be happy to talk to the landlord for you."
Ned chuckled and said, "Young man, you are kind, but I doubt that you should be placed in such a position. After all, you're a young man working part-time for me. With all due respect to your eagerness to help, the landlord wouldn't take you seriously."
"Oh, yes, she would." Brandon said confidently. "She's my aunt, and she's the person who told me to work with you so you could teach me how to build a business from the ground up." Brandon went on to say that some time ago she had decided to entrust her rather substantial business holdings to him. She wanted him to take her business interests and grow them. That's why she wanted him to get some practical business experience.
"My aunt appreciates you for what you are doing to help me. I am certain that she will work with you to help you through this tough time."
Surprised by what Brandon had just told him, Ned realized that the young man who referred to him as a boss actually had a great deal of authority over him. In the same way, the sovereign Lord to whom Moses prayed supervised his work from eternity (Psalm 90), and the Lord who was the son of David also supervised David's work from eternity as well (Matthew 22:34-46).
Argile Smith is vice president for advancement at William Carey University in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. He previously served at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary (NOBTS) as a preaching professor, chairman of the Division of Pastoral Ministries, and director of the communications center. While at NOTBS, Smith regularly hosted the Gateway to Truth program on the FamilyNet television network. He has also been the pastor of several congregations in Louisiana and Mississippi. Smith's articles have been widely published in church periodicals, and he is the author or editor of four books.
A New Covenant
By David O. Bales
Jeremiah 31:31-34
As Hallie stepped into the vestibule, the church smelled the same -- like her grade school 65 years ago, but combined with a furniture store full of shoppers.
Carol was waiting and saw her first. "Hallie," she said and rushed to give a hug. "You haven't changed a bit."
"After 40 years you can still lie with a straight face," Hallie said and they laughed, facing each other and holding hands. Hallie looked around but didn't see anyone else in the entryway that she knew.
"I wished you'd let me known earlier," Carol said. "We could've arranged something special."
"I didn't want to cause a problem. Only passing through," Hallie said; but they both knew it wasn't all the truth.
The acolytes shuffled into the crowded entryway. Hallie hadn't met the pastor but knew his name. She saw Pastor Iden with a hand behind the acolytes, "Come. Come. Hurry."
"Let's get into worship," Hallie said, "before we two old ladies get trampled."
Yes, as they entered, just the same: dim lighting, like her favorite aunt's living room. She sat next to Carol and patted her old friend again. She breathed deeply and realized she liked almost everything about this church building and the people she'd lived with and served here 50 years before. Few of them were here now -- moved away or died.
Hallie and Carol stood to sing to the same organ. They knelt for prayer. They recited the creed. Hallie felt herself worshiping both in the present and in the past. She was 25 when she and Clayton moved to Austin. It was his first pastorate after seminary. She remembered their excitement when they entered the building on their first day in town. This was the sanctuary in which he would do ministry for the Lord.
Hallie smiled as the scripture was read. She didn't listen. She was remembering the weddings and funerals, the baptisms and celebration, the Christmases and Easters. She was overwhelmed with good memories. During much of their ten years here, she'd never have expected good memories. She remained smiling as she recalled Clayton's depression starting during their fourth year in the congregation. She was pregnant with Emily. Grace was a toddler. Few parishioners knew of their pastor's difficulties, and at that time few doctors knew much about the workings of depression upon the human body and mind.
When the sermon began, Hallie recalled that in this sanctuary Bishop Singh and Doctor Shaw chose to meet with Clayton and Hallie. They'd arranged babysitting for the three children. Seven years in the pastorate and finally someone took a significant step toward helping him, and they did it at the right place.
Clayton wept and wept when asked how he honestly felt about himself. He could only mumble, "I've failed God. I've failed God." That was the bottom, Hallie thought. Might as well be in the sanctuary when you hit it, because those two skilled, merciful professionals were the lifeline God threw to Hallie and Clayton.
Pastor Iden's voice rose, "Every member," he said, clipping his words, "needs to contribute to the general fund and not just to special funds."
The congregation had granted Clayton a leave of absence and the denomination's emergency fund provided living expenses for Hallie and the children. Clayton began meeting with a Jungian therapist, which slowly granted him mental wholeness. Once a month for eleven months Clayton, Hallie, Bishop Singh, and Doctor Shaw met in this sanctuary. The place became more and more precious to Hallie as she experienced, along with Clayton, God's goodness through church leaders and a congregation that stood squarely in support of its pastor and his family. There aren't many churches like this, Hallie thought.
Pastor Iden was ending the sermon in a shrill voice, "We must be faithful. God will bless us if we're faithful."
Hallie looked around at faces she didn't know, most younger than her. Could these people realize the goodness that had been both experienced and reported here? Had they heard of the worship service welcoming Clayton back to ministry? He started working half time for a year and then slowly worked up to full time the next year, and then they moved to a church in Houston.
The worship service that welcomed him back was the highest point of their ministry. Bishop Singh spoke briefly, explaining that God's grace gives us a second chance -- and a third, and a fourth. He asserted that because God is God, God can start completely over with us and do it again and again. Why be God if you can't take some metaphysical privileges? "And our great privilege," he said as he turned to Clayton sitting again in the pastor's chair in the chancel, "is to receive the gift of a new agreement of grace. God makes the offer in love, stipulates the details of mercy, and we accept it. Such a deal!
"And you as the church," the bishop faced the congregation, "are acting out God's grace with this new agreement. You've made a new contract with Clayton, a relationship prompted by God and affirmed by your concern for Clayton and his for you. It's a bond in faith, hope, and love. Consider it a new covenant, one of grace, straight from God. Amen."
After worship, Carol led Hallie by the arm as they walked to the back of the sanctuary to greet the pastor. Carol introduced her and Pastor Iden expressed his pleasure to meet her. Hallie smiled, shook his hand, and said, "Such grace here."
David O. Bales has been a Presbyterian pastor for 30 years. Currently the pastor of Bethany Presbyterian Church in Ontario, Oregon, he is also a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching Great Texts, and Interpretation, and he is the author of Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace (CSS). Bales is a graduate of the University of Portland and San Francisco Theological Seminary.
Free Indeed
By Craig Kelly
John 8:31-36
So Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, "If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free... So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed."
-- John 8:31-32, 36
He stood silent, trying to stay perfectly still while continually fighting the urge to shiver uncontrollably. True, the tiny, stone-walled room was filled with cold, damp, musty air, but that was only part of what gave his muscles the almost irresistible urge to spasm. Sweat poured down his face, the salty liquid stinging the open cuts on his forehead and cheek, dripping over the mottled skin that had swollen his left eye shut. His shoulders burned as his wrists were chained above his head to the cold, clammy stones. He reeked of sweat, stale urine, and fear.
* * *
Her shoulders protested bitterly at being held in such an unnatural position. However, with her wrists tied together behind her back, there was little she could do to offer his shoulders any relief. Her bare feet also ached, the pain migrating up her legs. Being forced to stand in place continually for days would do that. She thanked God when her extremities numbed.
* * *
His lips moved rapidly, yet soundless, as he mumbled ancient prayers that bubbled up in his memory, anything he could think of to call for divine deliverance. But none had yet come, and he had been standing there for... for... four days? Five? Maybe a week. He wasn't sure. One minute, one hour seemed to blend into the next, distorting any perception of passing time. The only breaks in his intolerable solitude was when a guard would come in and either beat him or stuff a hard crust of bread in his mouth, cutting the inside of his cheek. When the guard dumped a cup of water in his mouth, he almost choked to death.
* * *
She was taken two weeks ago, dragged from her bed in the middle of the night. As the wife of an underground pastor, it was thought that seeing her suffer would force her husband to give the police the names of other leaders in the illegal church. As much as she suffered, she thanked God every day she remained in captivity, knowing that her imprisonment meant that her brothers and sisters in the faith were safe. The horrors she was forced to endure were a small price to pay for the advancement of the gospel.
* * *
More time passed. Just him, the cold, and his prayers. Finally the bolted door opened, letting in a piercing light that made him recoil, a reflexive reaction that sent fire through his stiff muscles. His knees buckled, allowing his body to tumble helplessly toward the frigid stone floor, stretching his already stressed shoulder, pulling it out of joint. He let out a cry, but in his weakened condition, it was more of a whimper. The guard, clad in his tarnished armor, laughed at this pathetic display. He slowly walked up to the prisoner, stooping down one on knee to look at him directly, their faces only inches apart.
" 'Aving a good morning, are we?" he sneered, his breath reeking of ale. "I hope so, because when the inquisitor gets 'ere, your day will get a lot worse. Course, if you are ready to recant and put this foolishness be'ind you, I'm sure things would look much better for you." He snickered again, inching his face even closer. As if relaying a closely guarded secret, the guard whispered, "Between you and me, I 'ope you don't. More fun for me."
The prisoner tried to hold back the tears. He knew what the guard meant, and he knew what he was in for if he didn't recant. Every cell in his body seemed to scream at him, begging him to do whatever it took to avoid that torture. The phrase, "I will recant" even seemed to begin to make its way up his throat, just waiting for the mouth to open.
* * *
The guard left smirking, chuckling as he finished another "session" with his prisoner. After having his way with her, he, in his "mercy," left her huddled in a corner of the cell, rather than forcing her to stand. He must have been in a good mood; he even untied her hands before he left. Pity, perhaps? After everything he had done to her, it was hard to imagine him as the sympathetic type.
As the cell door slammed, the lock latching into place, she wept, desperately trying to keep silent so as to not give the guard another excuse to come in. "God, how much more of this can I take?" she whispered through her tears. "I'm trying so hard, but I don't think I can take this. I can't do it, Lord, I can't!" She leaned her head back against the stone wall, overwhelmed by grief and fear.
* * *
"Do you recant of your heresy?" the inquisitor asked. Clothed in fine purple and scarlet linens, he seemed grossly out of place in this dark dungeon colored in shades of black and gray. "Do you agree to acknowledge your sin publicly, putting aside these foolish notions of 'grace alone' and that the Bible is the only source of revelation for Christians? Put aside your folly, and come back to the church, and we will embrace you."
Barely able to move after the torture he was forced to endure, he slowly raised his head to speak.
* * *
As she sat in the corner of her cell, the tears finally slowing, she noticed a small gap between the stone bricks along the wall, and it appeared as though there was something stuffed inside. Desperate to think of anything other than the horrors she endured, she leaned over and peered in the hole, seeing what appeared to be a piece of paper that had been crumpled and forced into it. Using her little finger, the only one that could fit in the gap, she managed to work the paper out, watching it drop on the floor. Quickly she darted her eyes to the door to see if she aroused any attention. Finally confident that she was undetected, she picked up the paper and smoothed it out. It was a strip of paper from a Bible translated into her native language. It must have been left by whoever previously occupied that cell. She began to read:
* * *
"If you abide in my word, you truly are my disciples...."
* * *
"And you will know the truth...."
* * *
"And the truth shall set you...."
* * *
"Free...."
* * *
"...So if the Son sets you free...."
* * *
"You will be free indeed."
* * *
The prisoner met the inquisitor's disbelieving gaze, meeting it not with anger, fear, or panic, but with a calm resolve, even going so far as to feel love and empathy for his captors. He knew what his statement meant. He knew what would become of him. Yet he knew he could not be silent. He would not be silent.
"My lord, I know I am in chains, and I know that this answer will mean my death. But my heart is not chained. My spirit is not captive. I am already free. Whether I live or die, if I walk out of this cell to be released or to be burned, I am free. Praise God, I'm free."
* * *
Slowly, the tortured wife began to smile. Even though every muscle in her face ached, the smile did not dim. Instead, it grew until it was joined by a quiet giggle. She leaned her head back against the wall, no longer overwhelmed by fear, but now overcome by joy. Despite the pain, she began to clap her bruised, bloody hands together and, tears rolling down her cheeks, she began to sing.
Craig Kelly is the Editorial Assistant for CSS Publishing Company in Lima, Ohio. Hesitant to call himself an aspiring freelance writer, he is a self-proclaimed "dabbler" in writing. This is his first publication.
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How to Share Stories
You have good stories to share, probably more than you know: personal stories as well as stories from others that you have used over the years. If you have a story you like, whether fictional or "really happened," authored by you or a brief excerpt from a favorite book, send it to StoryShare for review. Simply email the story to us at storyshare@sermonsuite.com.
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StoryShare, October 26, 2008, issue.
Copyright 2008 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.
