Bucking The System
Stories
Object:
Contents
"Bucking the System" by C. David McKirachan
"Surprising Wholeness" by Sandra Herrmann
* * * * * * *
Bucking the System
by C. David McKirachan
Jeremiah 1:4-10
Nelson Mandella is dying. His life has been so full of threat and abuse, it's a miracle he lived this long. But his life cannot be measured in days. He's a giant of history. He was imprisoned for years for standing up for justice. He refused to believe what he'd been told by the powerful people who had been telling such things to black Africans long before he'd been born. The whites had told them to keep their place, to give up their rights to vote, to stop wanting a good education, to marry who they wanted, or to get a good job. They were told to give up their dreams for themselves and their children. They were beaten and killed. They were like lambs led to the slaughter.
In spite of all the horror and ugliness, Mandella refused to back down. He insisted on maintaining his dignity, his humanity, and his faith. And his faith and his dignity pushed him beyond all the ugliness that had been heaped on him and his people. He said, "Don't let your past determine your future." He lived by those words and by the dignity and faith of his Lord and Savior. And because of his courage and witness he became an incarnation of the power of the good news that guided his life, refusing to trade violence for violence, refusing to be determined by the ugliness offered to him.
Every time I get the feeling this faith business, this preaching business has little power or importance, I read the call of Jeremiah. He was told that the words he spoke would "... destroy and overthrow... build and plant."
If we are to believe in the promises of God and remember the cloud of witnesses that have lived by those promises down through the ages, we will never be able to denigrate the calling that has brought us to the ministry and the pulpit. We should never believe the statements of the smart and intelligent people who tell us we are wasting our time in this religion business, who tell us to take our Lord's vision of love and justice back to the dark corner where all ideals should be kept.
Nelson Mandella is dying, but he will never die. His life rests in the hands and in the heart of his crucified and risen Lord, as does each of ours.
Thanks be to God.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
Surprising Wholeness
by Sandra Herrmann
Luke 13:10-17
Sigh. Another day, another dollar. Garth rolled over and turned off the alarm clock. He raised the shade and looked outside. A clear day, small white clouds puffing their way across the rising sun. Looked to be a perfect day after two days of rain. He log-rolled his legs off the bed and sat up, sighing again. He reached for his glass of water on the bedside table and his pill case. He swallowed some water, gargled slightly, and swallowed more. Then the pills: one big white one, two smallish red ones, three white capsules. He cupped them in his hand, tossed them in his mouth, and gulped the water. He hated it when the pills stuck in his throat, or worse, in the back of his mouth. That's why he drank water first.
His mouth was always dry in the morning. His doctor wanted him to go for a sleep study, said the snoring his wife had complained about was probably a sign of apnea, and that's why his mouth was so dry too. Garth snorted slightly. Just what he needed... another condition to add to his list. Wasn't there something they could do about it without the sleep lab and some machine? A pill, maybe one of those things they sell on TV -- something to keep his nose open, a strap around his chin? His wife's snort ended that conversation. But Garth had put it off again. Maybe he did need the machine. He seemed to be tired all the time, and the doc had said the machine might help with that.
Finally, the dizziness had passed, and Garth stood up, held on to the walker by the bed, and aimed for the bathroom. He hated the way his feet shuffled. You'd think he was an old man, the way his feet moved. But he was only 51, for pity's sake! His back was all bent out of shape, he had given up trying to stand straight. If his drill sergeant could see him now! How many times had he slapped Garth across the back, shouting, "Stand up, soldier! Shoulders back! Chin tucked!"? The other guys would sneer at him as the sergeant passed, his back slowly curving again.
That was when he learned what was wrong with him. Scoliosis, they called it -- bent spine. He'd been born with something wrong with him. It just hadn't shown up till he was in high school gym class. "What's wrong with you, boy?" his Phys. Ed. teacher had barked at him. "Stand tall! You can do it, with practice." But nobody had diagnosed him then. He'd joined the service right out of high school. He'd wanted to prove to everyone that he was a man. But then came the diagnosis, and he was out on his ear. No physical problems allowed in the Army. Even though he had thought to be a System Analyst, he had to be combat-ready. So that was that.
Back home, no insurance, he hadn't been in the service long enough to have Veterans' Benefits, so he put off doing anything about his back problem. But his dad and teacher had been right -- employers wanted a man who could sit tall, walk tall. His rounded shoulders and slight stoop made him look sickly. It took a lot of interviews for him to figure out that he didn't stand a chance until he had an education.
When he got that degree at the Milwaukee School of Engineering, employers paid more attention to that than to his appearance. He got a good job, regular pay increases, promotions, and finally a desk with his own name plate on it. And he didn't even have to wear a suit, which was a good thing, because even getting his arms into a shirt was getting to be a problem. He couldn't arch his back any more and getting into and out of a suit jacket required help from his wife.
Not that she minded. He was the only one who minded. Men ought not to need help getting dressed, for pity's sake! Especially not this man, he grumbled. He'd thought that once he had a good job, his own desk, his own home, a loving wife, a couple of kids, people would look up to him. He grimaced at the shaving mirror on the bathroom counter. NOBODY had to look up to him except little kids. He was so bent that he couldn't look up at the people at work either. He couldn't even see the bathroom mirror to shave or comb his hair. His wife combed his hair. Even when he had already combed it, she would go over it, making sure it looked good where he couldn't see it. So he hated that shaving mirror, the only one he could use to shave himself. He sighed again, shaking his head.
Down the stairs he went -- backward. It was the only way he could maintain his balance. Halfway down, he paused on the landing, catching his breath. With his spinal curve, he had a hard time breathing. He had learned that the best way to build up his oxygen was to puff through pursed lips. And that did help.
His days were like this every minute. A constant round of adjustments, dropped activities, compromises on the part of coworkers and family. His wife did it all with a smile on her face. He wondered how she did that. Especially when he was so often in pain, and when the pain was bad, he knew he was hard to get along with. But she put up with his short temper most of the time, and when she got fed up, she didn't yell at him. Even when he felt like yelling at himself, she was patient. Although sometimes she would put her foot down, suggest he go take a nap, or go play his favorite arcade games on the computer. Yeah, strange, isn't it, how the arcade games got his mind off the pain and feeling better?
Today, he knew, would be a harder day than most. Perversely, when the day was beautiful, the change from low barometric pressure that came with storms back to high pressure made his pain as bad as when the storms came in. So this beautiful day was one to prepare for. Extra anti-inflammatories would be necessary, so he got out his pocket pill carrier and added two more pills as he left. His wife got out the car and prepared for Garth to get in. He was moving slowly, more so than usual, so they left a little late.
And that's the way it went. All day, every day, some days more so than others. At work, he had to watch himself so that he would not bark at others in frustration. Happily, he had no contact with outside customers. His world was small, confined to the computer systems the company used. He never needed to worry about how others would see him, because they didn't.
Today was, however, different. A group of strangers walked in without warning. He was really irritated, but he swallowed it. He twisted his head sideways so he could see the people. They were all well dressed, he noted. So they'll be polite, at least. Garth's boss was making the introductions and explaining why this group was getting a tour of his area. Garth was trying to nod, just as most of the people in the group were. Suddenly, one of the women stepped forward.
"Mr. Stephens," she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder, "may I ask what is wrong with your back?"
Everyone froze. Garth nearly choked. It had been a long time since anyone other than his wife had touched him like that. Besides, he didn't know what to say. Why did she think she had the right to ask that question? Most people knew better.
"Uh, I have scoliosis," he responded.
"So this started when you were a boy," she said.
"Uh, yeah." He shrugged slightly, hoping that would dislodge her hand.
"Garth," she said softly, "would you like to be healed?"
Stupid question. She was making him really uncomfortable. The others in her group were shifting too, clearly embarrassed. Garth's boss's face was getting red. But nobody was doing anything to make her go away. Why would she come in here, in his place of business, and ask a question like that?
"Uh, ma'am, I don't know what you have in mind, but I'm not into faith healing," he said. He felt ashamed to just say it like that, but he frankly thought that anyone who claimed to have such powers was a fake, a poser, out to make a lot of money off the gullible. Even thinking about that, he found his temper rising.
"Oh, I'm not into faith healing either," the woman said. "I'm sorry if I came across that way." She adjusted her arm slightly and set down her purse. "This requires nothing on your part."
Now everyone was startled into absolute silence. Garth looked around, wishing someone would rescue him from this farce. Every face he could see was white, startled into stillness. He twisted around to see this woman's face, but she had long hair, and he was having a hard time seeing her.
"Lady, I don't know what's up with you," he started to say, but she had moved her hand onto his spine, and her hand was hot and getting hotter. It felt like the hot packs the physical therapist had used to relax his muscles before starting manipulation. He shrugged slightly, just like he did at the PT clinic, and the muscles smoothed out. What could be happening? She moved her hands down his spine and at first it felt fine, but then he could hear his vertebrae popping, could feel them moving. The woman put one of her hands on his chest, pushing him upward, and the other stayed on his back, smoothing the muscles downward. Then she pushed his chest to rotate. Impossibly, it did! Then back the other way. She moved him gently, but firmly, and though he expected to cry out at any moment with renewed pain, there was none. As she kept pushing him in directions he hadn't moved in years, he kept feeling his bones moving. What was happening here? He shook his head and realized that he had not been able to do that since grade school.
Then he was standing up straight. He was sure that the astonishment he was seeing on the faces around him was reflected in his own. He was standing upright, and he was out of pain! He twisted around to look at the woman's face, but she had moved behind him, rubbing her hands up and down on either side of his spine. Then she leaned forward and whispered behind his ear, "There you go, Garth. Nice and straight, and you can twist around in another minute."
Garth started to do so, but she stopped him. "One more minute, Garth. Hang in there."
He stood there, flexing his muscles in small, minute movements, afraid that at any second he would feel the familiar pressure, the restriction, the pain. He didn't want to do anything to jeopardize his healing. He didn't want to do anything that would bring back the pain. He tried turning his head, and it moved effortlessly. He twisted around, and the woman stepped back. She cocked her head and just stood there watching him. He turned around completely and faced her. She smiled.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"Fine. I... uh... I feel fine!" he found himself laughing, then paused, afraid that the vibration would throw off his back. When nothing happened, he repeated, "I'm... fine. I'm... standing up, here, and I'm... fine!" He started laughing. "And I sure am glad you don't believe in faith healing, because... I had no faith that this could happen!" He realized that he was acting crazy and that everyone was looking at him, so he shut up. But inside, he kept saying, "O God, I never believed any of those stories in the Bible. I always thought those people were gullible. You know, they just thought those things had happened. But everyone here knows me. They'll know that this really happened." He looked around. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go home. I need to see my wife." He reached in his pocket for his car keys and hustled toward the door. Then he stopped.
"What's your name, lady?"
"Why?"
"What am I supposed to say when they ask me who did this? Who healed me?"
"You tell them God healed you, because that's what happened, Garth. Not me, or any other person, Garth. God healed you. I'm only the tool he used. Have a good life." And with that, she walked out the door the group had come in.
Garth walked out the other door, into the parking lot, and pulled out his cell phone to call his wife. He thought that they ought to go out to dinner to celebrate. Heck, maybe they should throw a backyard barbeque. But no, just the two of them right now. They could throw a party later.
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
*****************************************
StoryShare, August 25, 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.
"Bucking the System" by C. David McKirachan
"Surprising Wholeness" by Sandra Herrmann
* * * * * * *
Bucking the System
by C. David McKirachan
Jeremiah 1:4-10
Nelson Mandella is dying. His life has been so full of threat and abuse, it's a miracle he lived this long. But his life cannot be measured in days. He's a giant of history. He was imprisoned for years for standing up for justice. He refused to believe what he'd been told by the powerful people who had been telling such things to black Africans long before he'd been born. The whites had told them to keep their place, to give up their rights to vote, to stop wanting a good education, to marry who they wanted, or to get a good job. They were told to give up their dreams for themselves and their children. They were beaten and killed. They were like lambs led to the slaughter.
In spite of all the horror and ugliness, Mandella refused to back down. He insisted on maintaining his dignity, his humanity, and his faith. And his faith and his dignity pushed him beyond all the ugliness that had been heaped on him and his people. He said, "Don't let your past determine your future." He lived by those words and by the dignity and faith of his Lord and Savior. And because of his courage and witness he became an incarnation of the power of the good news that guided his life, refusing to trade violence for violence, refusing to be determined by the ugliness offered to him.
Every time I get the feeling this faith business, this preaching business has little power or importance, I read the call of Jeremiah. He was told that the words he spoke would "... destroy and overthrow... build and plant."
If we are to believe in the promises of God and remember the cloud of witnesses that have lived by those promises down through the ages, we will never be able to denigrate the calling that has brought us to the ministry and the pulpit. We should never believe the statements of the smart and intelligent people who tell us we are wasting our time in this religion business, who tell us to take our Lord's vision of love and justice back to the dark corner where all ideals should be kept.
Nelson Mandella is dying, but he will never die. His life rests in the hands and in the heart of his crucified and risen Lord, as does each of ours.
Thanks be to God.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
Surprising Wholeness
by Sandra Herrmann
Luke 13:10-17
Sigh. Another day, another dollar. Garth rolled over and turned off the alarm clock. He raised the shade and looked outside. A clear day, small white clouds puffing their way across the rising sun. Looked to be a perfect day after two days of rain. He log-rolled his legs off the bed and sat up, sighing again. He reached for his glass of water on the bedside table and his pill case. He swallowed some water, gargled slightly, and swallowed more. Then the pills: one big white one, two smallish red ones, three white capsules. He cupped them in his hand, tossed them in his mouth, and gulped the water. He hated it when the pills stuck in his throat, or worse, in the back of his mouth. That's why he drank water first.
His mouth was always dry in the morning. His doctor wanted him to go for a sleep study, said the snoring his wife had complained about was probably a sign of apnea, and that's why his mouth was so dry too. Garth snorted slightly. Just what he needed... another condition to add to his list. Wasn't there something they could do about it without the sleep lab and some machine? A pill, maybe one of those things they sell on TV -- something to keep his nose open, a strap around his chin? His wife's snort ended that conversation. But Garth had put it off again. Maybe he did need the machine. He seemed to be tired all the time, and the doc had said the machine might help with that.
Finally, the dizziness had passed, and Garth stood up, held on to the walker by the bed, and aimed for the bathroom. He hated the way his feet shuffled. You'd think he was an old man, the way his feet moved. But he was only 51, for pity's sake! His back was all bent out of shape, he had given up trying to stand straight. If his drill sergeant could see him now! How many times had he slapped Garth across the back, shouting, "Stand up, soldier! Shoulders back! Chin tucked!"? The other guys would sneer at him as the sergeant passed, his back slowly curving again.
That was when he learned what was wrong with him. Scoliosis, they called it -- bent spine. He'd been born with something wrong with him. It just hadn't shown up till he was in high school gym class. "What's wrong with you, boy?" his Phys. Ed. teacher had barked at him. "Stand tall! You can do it, with practice." But nobody had diagnosed him then. He'd joined the service right out of high school. He'd wanted to prove to everyone that he was a man. But then came the diagnosis, and he was out on his ear. No physical problems allowed in the Army. Even though he had thought to be a System Analyst, he had to be combat-ready. So that was that.
Back home, no insurance, he hadn't been in the service long enough to have Veterans' Benefits, so he put off doing anything about his back problem. But his dad and teacher had been right -- employers wanted a man who could sit tall, walk tall. His rounded shoulders and slight stoop made him look sickly. It took a lot of interviews for him to figure out that he didn't stand a chance until he had an education.
When he got that degree at the Milwaukee School of Engineering, employers paid more attention to that than to his appearance. He got a good job, regular pay increases, promotions, and finally a desk with his own name plate on it. And he didn't even have to wear a suit, which was a good thing, because even getting his arms into a shirt was getting to be a problem. He couldn't arch his back any more and getting into and out of a suit jacket required help from his wife.
Not that she minded. He was the only one who minded. Men ought not to need help getting dressed, for pity's sake! Especially not this man, he grumbled. He'd thought that once he had a good job, his own desk, his own home, a loving wife, a couple of kids, people would look up to him. He grimaced at the shaving mirror on the bathroom counter. NOBODY had to look up to him except little kids. He was so bent that he couldn't look up at the people at work either. He couldn't even see the bathroom mirror to shave or comb his hair. His wife combed his hair. Even when he had already combed it, she would go over it, making sure it looked good where he couldn't see it. So he hated that shaving mirror, the only one he could use to shave himself. He sighed again, shaking his head.
Down the stairs he went -- backward. It was the only way he could maintain his balance. Halfway down, he paused on the landing, catching his breath. With his spinal curve, he had a hard time breathing. He had learned that the best way to build up his oxygen was to puff through pursed lips. And that did help.
His days were like this every minute. A constant round of adjustments, dropped activities, compromises on the part of coworkers and family. His wife did it all with a smile on her face. He wondered how she did that. Especially when he was so often in pain, and when the pain was bad, he knew he was hard to get along with. But she put up with his short temper most of the time, and when she got fed up, she didn't yell at him. Even when he felt like yelling at himself, she was patient. Although sometimes she would put her foot down, suggest he go take a nap, or go play his favorite arcade games on the computer. Yeah, strange, isn't it, how the arcade games got his mind off the pain and feeling better?
Today, he knew, would be a harder day than most. Perversely, when the day was beautiful, the change from low barometric pressure that came with storms back to high pressure made his pain as bad as when the storms came in. So this beautiful day was one to prepare for. Extra anti-inflammatories would be necessary, so he got out his pocket pill carrier and added two more pills as he left. His wife got out the car and prepared for Garth to get in. He was moving slowly, more so than usual, so they left a little late.
And that's the way it went. All day, every day, some days more so than others. At work, he had to watch himself so that he would not bark at others in frustration. Happily, he had no contact with outside customers. His world was small, confined to the computer systems the company used. He never needed to worry about how others would see him, because they didn't.
Today was, however, different. A group of strangers walked in without warning. He was really irritated, but he swallowed it. He twisted his head sideways so he could see the people. They were all well dressed, he noted. So they'll be polite, at least. Garth's boss was making the introductions and explaining why this group was getting a tour of his area. Garth was trying to nod, just as most of the people in the group were. Suddenly, one of the women stepped forward.
"Mr. Stephens," she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder, "may I ask what is wrong with your back?"
Everyone froze. Garth nearly choked. It had been a long time since anyone other than his wife had touched him like that. Besides, he didn't know what to say. Why did she think she had the right to ask that question? Most people knew better.
"Uh, I have scoliosis," he responded.
"So this started when you were a boy," she said.
"Uh, yeah." He shrugged slightly, hoping that would dislodge her hand.
"Garth," she said softly, "would you like to be healed?"
Stupid question. She was making him really uncomfortable. The others in her group were shifting too, clearly embarrassed. Garth's boss's face was getting red. But nobody was doing anything to make her go away. Why would she come in here, in his place of business, and ask a question like that?
"Uh, ma'am, I don't know what you have in mind, but I'm not into faith healing," he said. He felt ashamed to just say it like that, but he frankly thought that anyone who claimed to have such powers was a fake, a poser, out to make a lot of money off the gullible. Even thinking about that, he found his temper rising.
"Oh, I'm not into faith healing either," the woman said. "I'm sorry if I came across that way." She adjusted her arm slightly and set down her purse. "This requires nothing on your part."
Now everyone was startled into absolute silence. Garth looked around, wishing someone would rescue him from this farce. Every face he could see was white, startled into stillness. He twisted around to see this woman's face, but she had long hair, and he was having a hard time seeing her.
"Lady, I don't know what's up with you," he started to say, but she had moved her hand onto his spine, and her hand was hot and getting hotter. It felt like the hot packs the physical therapist had used to relax his muscles before starting manipulation. He shrugged slightly, just like he did at the PT clinic, and the muscles smoothed out. What could be happening? She moved her hands down his spine and at first it felt fine, but then he could hear his vertebrae popping, could feel them moving. The woman put one of her hands on his chest, pushing him upward, and the other stayed on his back, smoothing the muscles downward. Then she pushed his chest to rotate. Impossibly, it did! Then back the other way. She moved him gently, but firmly, and though he expected to cry out at any moment with renewed pain, there was none. As she kept pushing him in directions he hadn't moved in years, he kept feeling his bones moving. What was happening here? He shook his head and realized that he had not been able to do that since grade school.
Then he was standing up straight. He was sure that the astonishment he was seeing on the faces around him was reflected in his own. He was standing upright, and he was out of pain! He twisted around to look at the woman's face, but she had moved behind him, rubbing her hands up and down on either side of his spine. Then she leaned forward and whispered behind his ear, "There you go, Garth. Nice and straight, and you can twist around in another minute."
Garth started to do so, but she stopped him. "One more minute, Garth. Hang in there."
He stood there, flexing his muscles in small, minute movements, afraid that at any second he would feel the familiar pressure, the restriction, the pain. He didn't want to do anything to jeopardize his healing. He didn't want to do anything that would bring back the pain. He tried turning his head, and it moved effortlessly. He twisted around, and the woman stepped back. She cocked her head and just stood there watching him. He turned around completely and faced her. She smiled.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"Fine. I... uh... I feel fine!" he found himself laughing, then paused, afraid that the vibration would throw off his back. When nothing happened, he repeated, "I'm... fine. I'm... standing up, here, and I'm... fine!" He started laughing. "And I sure am glad you don't believe in faith healing, because... I had no faith that this could happen!" He realized that he was acting crazy and that everyone was looking at him, so he shut up. But inside, he kept saying, "O God, I never believed any of those stories in the Bible. I always thought those people were gullible. You know, they just thought those things had happened. But everyone here knows me. They'll know that this really happened." He looked around. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go home. I need to see my wife." He reached in his pocket for his car keys and hustled toward the door. Then he stopped.
"What's your name, lady?"
"Why?"
"What am I supposed to say when they ask me who did this? Who healed me?"
"You tell them God healed you, because that's what happened, Garth. Not me, or any other person, Garth. God healed you. I'm only the tool he used. Have a good life." And with that, she walked out the door the group had come in.
Garth walked out the other door, into the parking lot, and pulled out his cell phone to call his wife. He thought that they ought to go out to dinner to celebrate. Heck, maybe they should throw a backyard barbeque. But no, just the two of them right now. They could throw a party later.
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
*****************************************
StoryShare, August 25, 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.
