Bubbles
Stories
Object:
Contents
"Bubbles" by Keith Hewitt
"Christian Humility" by Peter Andrew Smith
* * * * * * *
Bubbles
by Keith Hewitt
Jeremiah 2:4-13
"Some days," Aaron said wistfully, "I feel like an old man." He murmured the observation as he sat behind a desk and studied the screen that seemed to grow out of it, curving up seamlessly near the far edge, like the crest of a wave on a calm sea. Discrete bubbles flowed across the screen in slow lines, running counter to one another -- the top from left to right, the next down right to left, then the next left to right and so on.
Within the bubbles were words -- a phrase, possibly a short, punchy sentence -- and a graphic... either a photo or a drawing, sometimes a stylized chart or other symbol.
The rows were set up as he had asked them to be years before, when the desk was delivered: top, international news; second, national news; third, economy; fourth, political news; fifth, social news; sixth, spirituality. He had originally asked for that row to feed stories on religion, but the provider had not been able to do so they informed him, politely, that there was no such thing as a "religion" feed, and stories that might have fallen into that category in years past were simply tagged with a more generic "spirituality" tag.
It was then that his suspicions had begun to coalesce. Years of patient watching, of marking trends and studying the past as prelude to the future, had done nothing to dissuade him.
"You are an old man," a voice said ironically, behind him.
One eyebrow climbed, arching over a clear blue eye -- his only physical reaction to the voice. Methodically, he finished scanning the story that was open in the corner of the screen, tapped the screen to file the metadata in one of the folders he had set up years before, then made a squeezing motion with thumb and forefinger in the open story and reduced it to a headline floating in a bubble; it hung there for a moment, then seemed to turn into a streak of light flying off to the left to find its place in line.
"Thank you for the affirmation," he said, then, as his fingers tapped virtual keys on a keyboard projected onto the desktop. "It's always good to have one's suspicions confirmed by an outsider."
A hand lay on his shoulder, then, and he looked up to his left. Iona Bentley didn't look down at him, instead watched the bubbles in countermarch parade for several long, silent moments. "So tell me," she said finally, "you've been doing this for half a dozen years, now, at least --"
"Longer," he grunted. "I've just become more systematic in the last half-decade."
"So... a long time. But what do you see? What are you watching? Now that you've left teaching, any time I see you -- if we're not at dinner, or going to a movie -- you're sitting at that desk, watching stories flow by with infinite patience. But even you can't be reading more than a small percentage of them."
"I read pretty quickly, for a senile old man --"
Iona smiled. "I never said 'senile.' "
"-- but you're right, it is a small proportion. Because the truth is, I don't need to see more than what I see, here, to get my data."
"Data?"
"Tell me, Iona, did you take any advanced physical science in high school?"
She shook her head, a single side to side motion. "Social science... information science. One year of computer applications."
"How about at that cow college you went to?"
"Champaign-Urbana, you mean?" He nodded, eyes tracking clouds on the screen as she spoke. "I took an astronomy survey, environmental studies, and a history of medicine. They didn't require anything more, then, so I stuck to useful courses."
"Like philosophy," Aaron countered, clicking on one cloud, then grunting after the reading the lead, dispatching it back to the line with a twist of his fingers, saving no data. "If you had ever taken an actual science course, in high school or college, you would have studied the action of waves -- sound waves, light waves, gravity waves --"
"Wait -- there are gravity waves?"
"Well -- no, not so much. They used to think there were, but then found out there weren't, years ago. But that's beside the point. The point is, in the process of learning about waves and frequency, you would have seen a video clip of the Tacoma Narrows bridge. Ring any bells?"
She shrugged.
"Back about eighty years or so, there was this suspension bridge over the Tacoma Narrows, out in Washington State. Everything seemed fine, at first, but then they noticed when the wind came whipping through the valley, it struck the bridge and caused a harmonic event. The bridge started to vibrate... it began to move. First the oscillations were long and slow, hard to observe. Then they became more and more pronounced, until this modern steel suspension bridge is moving up and down like an old rope bridge in a Tarzan movie -- only the bridge deck is pitching up and down in a perfect reproduction of a sound wave." He raised his hand and made a gesture like something running over a hilly surface.
"With no proper anchors to secure it and dampen the oscillations, they became a self-reinforcing cycle, a feedback loop, and the bridge just moved more and more -- and, eventually, it went past the point of no return and collapsed. Millions of dollars, dumped right in the water."
"Interesting," she said, and was a little sorry for lying. "So all this has to do with what you're doing, how?"
"I study the oscillations. I look at the forces that are acting on society, and society's reaction to them, and I store that data... and when I have enough of it, I make long-term predictions. And then I look for more data, to double check my conclusions." He leaned back in his chair, then, pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "It's all I can do... I can't stop the oscillations, so I watch."
"And what do you see?"
"I don't exactly have to be a genius to see it -- but there are bad things coming. Actually, bad things are here -- and worse things are coming, because we are drowning in Koolaid®."
She frowned, thought rapidly. A Jonestown reference? That didn't make any sense -- but then he was a little obtuse, sometimes... "What do you mean?"
He started to speak... stopped... started... stopped... then shook his head and said, "That's just my way of saying it, Iona. It's something I realized in the last few years. Look -- do you think of yourself as a religious person?"
"Well... I'm a spiritual person, if that's what you're asking."
Aaron sighed, with a sour expression on his face. "Okay, look, that's part of the problem. Can we define our terms, here? Spiritual is a word that means whatever you want it to mean. Religious means that you believe in a supreme being, and adhere to some organized form of relating to that being. That can be Christian, Hindu, Buddhist, Democrat, Republican, or whatever. Are you religious?"
She shrugged. "Okay, I guess so."
"Like pulling teeth," he murmured, shaking his head, then looked up. "Here's the deal. I believe human beings are supposed to be connected to God -- we're supposed to be in a relationship. But we're not. We're born in a state of being separate from God and finding our way back into that relationship is a journey we each must take."
He paused, and she considered what he said, finally nodded. "Okay. Let's say that."
"We make that journey because we have a need -- a desperate need -- to be back in relationship with our Creator. I equate that need with a thirst, and the only way to quench that thirst is with water -- by coming into a genuine relationship with God. Water being the relationship, in this case. Follow me?"
"You mean 'living water'?" Iona asked, reaching back to some dim memory.
He shook his head. "I'm not getting biblical, here -- just using water as a metaphor for what we need in order to slake our thirst -- it's a stand-in for developing that genuine relationship with God. Okay?"
Again, she nodded.
"Now here's the problem -- with all of the distractions we have today, all of the things that are a part of this world, pulling us this way and that, trying to keep us away from God, a lot of us aren't willing or able to put in the time to develop that relationship, to make that journey -- we're not finding that water that we need to satisfy our thirst. So instead we substitute something like Koolaid®, which seems like the same thing, only maybe even better, because it tastes sweet, and we like that sugary goodness along with the vitamins. Understand? We skip the water and go for something more palatable."
"So what does that mean? I follow you -- I think -- but what do you mean?"
"Spirituality replaces religion -- it's more amorphous, it can be squeezed into any convenient shape or size, it can mean what we want it to mean and make us think our thirst is being quenched, even when it's not. Or materialism becomes our drink of choice, and we cling to it, hoping to be satisfied, hoping to fill that God-sized hole in our lives. But it never does."
Aaron leaned forward in his chair, swept his hand toward the monitor as icons flowed across it. "The evidence is there, if you care to see it. In ever increasing numbers, we are turning our back on religion, turning toward something less... hoping it will prove to be something more. And the more we turn away, the more society decays... and the thirst gets stronger, and we try to find a quick fix, instead of actually changing our lives. So more fruity drink, less real water."
"Well," Iona said slowly, "you are just a ray of sunshine today."
Aaron shrugged. "I've been studying this for some time now, and the answers just get clearer and clearer."
"Where does it end?"
Aaron looked at the screen thoughtfully, shook his head. "I don't know. But if I were God, I think I would be getting mighty tired of this stubbornness."
"Right. More cheery thoughts." Iona stood silently for a few moments, watching the bubbles flow across the screen, trying to imagine if it was all as endlessly disheartening as he painted it to be. She shook her head slightly and then smiled a half-smile. "I think I need a drink," she joked quietly -- or was it a joke?
Aaron sat still for a moment then turned to face her and smiled. He reached beneath the desk, pulled out a battered old book, and held it up for her to see. "I know you do," he answered and smiled as he opened the book to share with her.
But as he read, the bubbles flowed relentlessly across the screen.
Keith Hewitt is the author of three volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, former youth leader and Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He is currently serving as the pastor at Parkview UMC in Turtle Lake, Wisconsin. Keith is married to a teacher, and they have two children and assorted dogs and cats.
Christian Humility
by Peter Andrew Smith
Luke 14:1, 7-14
"I'm not really happy with our choices." John poured himself a cup of coffee and put it on his cafeteria tray.
Carl got in line behind him. "We could just skip it this year."
"It is the 50th anniversary since the congregation founded this school. We need to honor someone who lives up to the Christian values we try to instill in the students."
Carl shrugged. "You've seen the list of nominees."
John took a salad from the case and passed one to Carl. "All good people with more letters after their names than in them."
"Samuel has just published his fifth book, and Verna is speaking at that Christian ethics conference."
"Yes and Sara is receiving that huge grant from the foundation, and Bernard is now the chair of the local ecumenical council." John sighed. "I read the nomination forms. They're all good people who are doing great things."
"But?" Carl asked.
"I don't know. Somehow I think every time we honor someone for a great achievement or an accomplishment we lose sight of what we are supposed to be instilling in these young people." John pushed his tray forward to where a woman in a white apron was waiting. "What's good today, Viola?"
"Everything is always good, Pastor John." She flashed him a bright smile. "I would recommend the chicken and mashed potatoes for you."
"That sounds lovely."
She leaned in as she handed him his meal. "Have you talked to Brian Jennings this week?"
John shook his head. "Some reason I should?"
"His mother is having a rough time with chemo," she said. "I think he could use a quiet word and prayer."
John nodded. "I'll make a point of tracking him down."
Carl looked at the plate she handed to him. "Lasagna? I thought there was no more left."
Viola winked. "I saw you enjoying it last night and when there was a piece left over I thought of you, Pastor Carl."
"Viola, I think you have made my day."
Viola laughed and turned to serve the next person in line.
John and Carl took their trays to the nearest table. They nodded at some faculty a few seats away and paused to say grace. Carl dug into his meal eagerly. John ate a few bites and laid down his fork.
"Something wrong with the chicken?" Carl asked.
John shook his head. "No, it is excellent. Viola works wonders with everything she cooks."
"That she does." Carl looked over at the kitchen. "Something else the matter?"
"What do you see?" John asked.
Carl shrugged. "The students and staff having lunch. The same as they always do at this time."
"Close your eyes for a moment."
"What?"
"Humor me."
Carl closed his eyes. "Okay."
"What do you hear?" John asked.
"I hear conversation and laughter." Carl opened his eyes. "Meal times are always a happy time at school."
"Why?"
"I don't know. There are no classes. People are talking to friends. The food is good."
"All very true." John looked his friend in the eye. "I think there is something more than that as well. A key element that makes this school as warm and Christian as it is."
"What would that be?"
"Viola."
"Care to elaborate?"
John took a drink of his coffee. "She sets the tone for the school."
"But she doesn't teach the students anything."
"Really?" John reached over and tapped the shoulder of a student behind them.
"Jocelyn, your older sister went here, didn't she?"
"Yes, sir," the young woman answered.
"When you decided to attend this school what did your sister say to you?"
"She told me to study hard and to say hi to Viola."
"Did Viola remember her when you introduced yourself?"
"She sure did. She asked how Vicki was doing at City College and how she liked accounting."
"Is that all that happened?"
"She gave me a big hug that first day as well." Jocelyn grinned. "Well you know Viola, sir. She knows and cares about everybody here."
"Thank you." John turned back to Carl. "Well?"
"I think the Board is hoping for someone to be named who might attract donors."
John shook his head. "This year I think we will go for someone who shows Christ in their lives."
"Then personally I don't think there is a more worthy person in this place." Carl paused. "You realize she won't understand why we are making a fuss over her."
John picked up his fork and began to eat. "That simply confirms for me that she is the right person for us to honor."
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
*****************************************
StoryShare, September 1, 2013, issue.
Copyright 2013 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"Bubbles" by Keith Hewitt
"Christian Humility" by Peter Andrew Smith
* * * * * * *
Bubbles
by Keith Hewitt
Jeremiah 2:4-13
"Some days," Aaron said wistfully, "I feel like an old man." He murmured the observation as he sat behind a desk and studied the screen that seemed to grow out of it, curving up seamlessly near the far edge, like the crest of a wave on a calm sea. Discrete bubbles flowed across the screen in slow lines, running counter to one another -- the top from left to right, the next down right to left, then the next left to right and so on.
Within the bubbles were words -- a phrase, possibly a short, punchy sentence -- and a graphic... either a photo or a drawing, sometimes a stylized chart or other symbol.
The rows were set up as he had asked them to be years before, when the desk was delivered: top, international news; second, national news; third, economy; fourth, political news; fifth, social news; sixth, spirituality. He had originally asked for that row to feed stories on religion, but the provider had not been able to do so they informed him, politely, that there was no such thing as a "religion" feed, and stories that might have fallen into that category in years past were simply tagged with a more generic "spirituality" tag.
It was then that his suspicions had begun to coalesce. Years of patient watching, of marking trends and studying the past as prelude to the future, had done nothing to dissuade him.
"You are an old man," a voice said ironically, behind him.
One eyebrow climbed, arching over a clear blue eye -- his only physical reaction to the voice. Methodically, he finished scanning the story that was open in the corner of the screen, tapped the screen to file the metadata in one of the folders he had set up years before, then made a squeezing motion with thumb and forefinger in the open story and reduced it to a headline floating in a bubble; it hung there for a moment, then seemed to turn into a streak of light flying off to the left to find its place in line.
"Thank you for the affirmation," he said, then, as his fingers tapped virtual keys on a keyboard projected onto the desktop. "It's always good to have one's suspicions confirmed by an outsider."
A hand lay on his shoulder, then, and he looked up to his left. Iona Bentley didn't look down at him, instead watched the bubbles in countermarch parade for several long, silent moments. "So tell me," she said finally, "you've been doing this for half a dozen years, now, at least --"
"Longer," he grunted. "I've just become more systematic in the last half-decade."
"So... a long time. But what do you see? What are you watching? Now that you've left teaching, any time I see you -- if we're not at dinner, or going to a movie -- you're sitting at that desk, watching stories flow by with infinite patience. But even you can't be reading more than a small percentage of them."
"I read pretty quickly, for a senile old man --"
Iona smiled. "I never said 'senile.' "
"-- but you're right, it is a small proportion. Because the truth is, I don't need to see more than what I see, here, to get my data."
"Data?"
"Tell me, Iona, did you take any advanced physical science in high school?"
She shook her head, a single side to side motion. "Social science... information science. One year of computer applications."
"How about at that cow college you went to?"
"Champaign-Urbana, you mean?" He nodded, eyes tracking clouds on the screen as she spoke. "I took an astronomy survey, environmental studies, and a history of medicine. They didn't require anything more, then, so I stuck to useful courses."
"Like philosophy," Aaron countered, clicking on one cloud, then grunting after the reading the lead, dispatching it back to the line with a twist of his fingers, saving no data. "If you had ever taken an actual science course, in high school or college, you would have studied the action of waves -- sound waves, light waves, gravity waves --"
"Wait -- there are gravity waves?"
"Well -- no, not so much. They used to think there were, but then found out there weren't, years ago. But that's beside the point. The point is, in the process of learning about waves and frequency, you would have seen a video clip of the Tacoma Narrows bridge. Ring any bells?"
She shrugged.
"Back about eighty years or so, there was this suspension bridge over the Tacoma Narrows, out in Washington State. Everything seemed fine, at first, but then they noticed when the wind came whipping through the valley, it struck the bridge and caused a harmonic event. The bridge started to vibrate... it began to move. First the oscillations were long and slow, hard to observe. Then they became more and more pronounced, until this modern steel suspension bridge is moving up and down like an old rope bridge in a Tarzan movie -- only the bridge deck is pitching up and down in a perfect reproduction of a sound wave." He raised his hand and made a gesture like something running over a hilly surface.
"With no proper anchors to secure it and dampen the oscillations, they became a self-reinforcing cycle, a feedback loop, and the bridge just moved more and more -- and, eventually, it went past the point of no return and collapsed. Millions of dollars, dumped right in the water."
"Interesting," she said, and was a little sorry for lying. "So all this has to do with what you're doing, how?"
"I study the oscillations. I look at the forces that are acting on society, and society's reaction to them, and I store that data... and when I have enough of it, I make long-term predictions. And then I look for more data, to double check my conclusions." He leaned back in his chair, then, pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "It's all I can do... I can't stop the oscillations, so I watch."
"And what do you see?"
"I don't exactly have to be a genius to see it -- but there are bad things coming. Actually, bad things are here -- and worse things are coming, because we are drowning in Koolaid®."
She frowned, thought rapidly. A Jonestown reference? That didn't make any sense -- but then he was a little obtuse, sometimes... "What do you mean?"
He started to speak... stopped... started... stopped... then shook his head and said, "That's just my way of saying it, Iona. It's something I realized in the last few years. Look -- do you think of yourself as a religious person?"
"Well... I'm a spiritual person, if that's what you're asking."
Aaron sighed, with a sour expression on his face. "Okay, look, that's part of the problem. Can we define our terms, here? Spiritual is a word that means whatever you want it to mean. Religious means that you believe in a supreme being, and adhere to some organized form of relating to that being. That can be Christian, Hindu, Buddhist, Democrat, Republican, or whatever. Are you religious?"
She shrugged. "Okay, I guess so."
"Like pulling teeth," he murmured, shaking his head, then looked up. "Here's the deal. I believe human beings are supposed to be connected to God -- we're supposed to be in a relationship. But we're not. We're born in a state of being separate from God and finding our way back into that relationship is a journey we each must take."
He paused, and she considered what he said, finally nodded. "Okay. Let's say that."
"We make that journey because we have a need -- a desperate need -- to be back in relationship with our Creator. I equate that need with a thirst, and the only way to quench that thirst is with water -- by coming into a genuine relationship with God. Water being the relationship, in this case. Follow me?"
"You mean 'living water'?" Iona asked, reaching back to some dim memory.
He shook his head. "I'm not getting biblical, here -- just using water as a metaphor for what we need in order to slake our thirst -- it's a stand-in for developing that genuine relationship with God. Okay?"
Again, she nodded.
"Now here's the problem -- with all of the distractions we have today, all of the things that are a part of this world, pulling us this way and that, trying to keep us away from God, a lot of us aren't willing or able to put in the time to develop that relationship, to make that journey -- we're not finding that water that we need to satisfy our thirst. So instead we substitute something like Koolaid®, which seems like the same thing, only maybe even better, because it tastes sweet, and we like that sugary goodness along with the vitamins. Understand? We skip the water and go for something more palatable."
"So what does that mean? I follow you -- I think -- but what do you mean?"
"Spirituality replaces religion -- it's more amorphous, it can be squeezed into any convenient shape or size, it can mean what we want it to mean and make us think our thirst is being quenched, even when it's not. Or materialism becomes our drink of choice, and we cling to it, hoping to be satisfied, hoping to fill that God-sized hole in our lives. But it never does."
Aaron leaned forward in his chair, swept his hand toward the monitor as icons flowed across it. "The evidence is there, if you care to see it. In ever increasing numbers, we are turning our back on religion, turning toward something less... hoping it will prove to be something more. And the more we turn away, the more society decays... and the thirst gets stronger, and we try to find a quick fix, instead of actually changing our lives. So more fruity drink, less real water."
"Well," Iona said slowly, "you are just a ray of sunshine today."
Aaron shrugged. "I've been studying this for some time now, and the answers just get clearer and clearer."
"Where does it end?"
Aaron looked at the screen thoughtfully, shook his head. "I don't know. But if I were God, I think I would be getting mighty tired of this stubbornness."
"Right. More cheery thoughts." Iona stood silently for a few moments, watching the bubbles flow across the screen, trying to imagine if it was all as endlessly disheartening as he painted it to be. She shook her head slightly and then smiled a half-smile. "I think I need a drink," she joked quietly -- or was it a joke?
Aaron sat still for a moment then turned to face her and smiled. He reached beneath the desk, pulled out a battered old book, and held it up for her to see. "I know you do," he answered and smiled as he opened the book to share with her.
But as he read, the bubbles flowed relentlessly across the screen.
Keith Hewitt is the author of three volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, former youth leader and Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He is currently serving as the pastor at Parkview UMC in Turtle Lake, Wisconsin. Keith is married to a teacher, and they have two children and assorted dogs and cats.
Christian Humility
by Peter Andrew Smith
Luke 14:1, 7-14
"I'm not really happy with our choices." John poured himself a cup of coffee and put it on his cafeteria tray.
Carl got in line behind him. "We could just skip it this year."
"It is the 50th anniversary since the congregation founded this school. We need to honor someone who lives up to the Christian values we try to instill in the students."
Carl shrugged. "You've seen the list of nominees."
John took a salad from the case and passed one to Carl. "All good people with more letters after their names than in them."
"Samuel has just published his fifth book, and Verna is speaking at that Christian ethics conference."
"Yes and Sara is receiving that huge grant from the foundation, and Bernard is now the chair of the local ecumenical council." John sighed. "I read the nomination forms. They're all good people who are doing great things."
"But?" Carl asked.
"I don't know. Somehow I think every time we honor someone for a great achievement or an accomplishment we lose sight of what we are supposed to be instilling in these young people." John pushed his tray forward to where a woman in a white apron was waiting. "What's good today, Viola?"
"Everything is always good, Pastor John." She flashed him a bright smile. "I would recommend the chicken and mashed potatoes for you."
"That sounds lovely."
She leaned in as she handed him his meal. "Have you talked to Brian Jennings this week?"
John shook his head. "Some reason I should?"
"His mother is having a rough time with chemo," she said. "I think he could use a quiet word and prayer."
John nodded. "I'll make a point of tracking him down."
Carl looked at the plate she handed to him. "Lasagna? I thought there was no more left."
Viola winked. "I saw you enjoying it last night and when there was a piece left over I thought of you, Pastor Carl."
"Viola, I think you have made my day."
Viola laughed and turned to serve the next person in line.
John and Carl took their trays to the nearest table. They nodded at some faculty a few seats away and paused to say grace. Carl dug into his meal eagerly. John ate a few bites and laid down his fork.
"Something wrong with the chicken?" Carl asked.
John shook his head. "No, it is excellent. Viola works wonders with everything she cooks."
"That she does." Carl looked over at the kitchen. "Something else the matter?"
"What do you see?" John asked.
Carl shrugged. "The students and staff having lunch. The same as they always do at this time."
"Close your eyes for a moment."
"What?"
"Humor me."
Carl closed his eyes. "Okay."
"What do you hear?" John asked.
"I hear conversation and laughter." Carl opened his eyes. "Meal times are always a happy time at school."
"Why?"
"I don't know. There are no classes. People are talking to friends. The food is good."
"All very true." John looked his friend in the eye. "I think there is something more than that as well. A key element that makes this school as warm and Christian as it is."
"What would that be?"
"Viola."
"Care to elaborate?"
John took a drink of his coffee. "She sets the tone for the school."
"But she doesn't teach the students anything."
"Really?" John reached over and tapped the shoulder of a student behind them.
"Jocelyn, your older sister went here, didn't she?"
"Yes, sir," the young woman answered.
"When you decided to attend this school what did your sister say to you?"
"She told me to study hard and to say hi to Viola."
"Did Viola remember her when you introduced yourself?"
"She sure did. She asked how Vicki was doing at City College and how she liked accounting."
"Is that all that happened?"
"She gave me a big hug that first day as well." Jocelyn grinned. "Well you know Viola, sir. She knows and cares about everybody here."
"Thank you." John turned back to Carl. "Well?"
"I think the Board is hoping for someone to be named who might attract donors."
John shook his head. "This year I think we will go for someone who shows Christ in their lives."
"Then personally I don't think there is a more worthy person in this place." Carl paused. "You realize she won't understand why we are making a fuss over her."
John picked up his fork and began to eat. "That simply confirms for me that she is the right person for us to honor."
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
*****************************************
StoryShare, September 1, 2013, issue.
Copyright 2013 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
