A Certain Level Of Comfort
Stories
Object:
Contents
"A Certain Level of Comfort" by Keith Hewitt
"The Pumpkin Prayer" by John Fitzgerald
A Certain Level of Comfort
by Keith Hewitt
2 Timothy 3:14--4:5
“Since I’m here, I suppose I should let you know that your sermon last week made me a little uncomfortable.”
The sentence was uttered with a certain amount of hesitation -- almost as though the speaker wasn’t even sure she should say it... and as she spoke, John Randall glanced at the clock on the wall behind her, above the mimeograph machine. It was now 1:05 -- the dance had gone on for five minutes, as it always did with her, starting with vague pleasantries and a defensively-attributed complaint (“It doesn’t bother me, mind you, but I’ve heard other people complaining about some of the hats women are wearing to church, lately... ”)
And now, five minutes in, she got to the meat of the matter -- the issue that had been serious enough to drag her away from her Wednesday afternoon canasta club. The pattern was virtually set in stone, and once he’d figured it out, he learned to carry on a conversation while thinking about other things during that time, as conversation with Mrs. Chesley during those five minutes consisted of nodding in the right places, and uttering a few carefully placed “I sees” and “reallys.”
Five minutes, like clockwork... literally.
He tilted his head slightly, and smiled. “Really? I’m sorry to hear that. What made you uncomfortable?”
She hesitated -- a dramatic pause -- then said, “Well, if you must know, I think you spent all together too much time talking about sin, Reverend Randall. All that talk about people doing -- well, things no one would approve of -- I think it sets a bad example for some in our congregation. You know, glorifying that kind of behavior.” Another dramatic pause, while she gently dabbed a handkerchief to her nose and sniffed, then, “And I’m not sure it’s right for the children to hear such things. It gives them the wrong idea about what church is about.”
Randall leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk, and his chair creaked a minor protest while he seemed to think for a moment. After a beat or two, he said quietly, “So -- you think talking frankly about adultery and greed, and lying and murder, is me glorifying those things? I might be wrong, Mrs. Chesley, but if I went back and looked at my notes, I’m pretty sure I never said anything about any of those things being... glorious. In fact, I’m fairly sure I said they were contrary to God’s will for us -- to the Law.” He started to reach one hand for a desk drawer. “Would you like to pull out my sermon notes?”
She raised a hand, waved it briefly from side to side. “No, no -- I don’t think you need to do that, I’m sure you know what you said. But I’m not sure you know how it sounded -- how it might have sounded to some in the congregation. I mean, all that talk about lust, and adultery -- I don’t think people come to church to hear about their private peccadillos, put on display from the pulpit.” She sniffed again. “And then to hear all the lurid talk of judgment -- condemnation of people for doing these things... it’s unseemly. You’re turning Sunday morning into a Saturday matinee at the movies.”
John Randall sighed, and spread his hands in an open gesture. “Mrs. Chesley, those things -- all those things -- are in the Bible. As subject matter, I’d go so far as to say they’re pretty prominent in the Bible, in many places. It’s pretty hard to read very far in the Old Testament without tripping over one sin or another -- is it your contention that they aren’t fit to mention in church... that they’re not appropriate subjects for learning and reflection?”
“Well -- no-o... ” she said slowly, her expression perplexed. “I wouldn’t say they’re not appropriate. But maybe they’re unnecessary. I mean, Reverend Randall, you’re preaching in Joliet, Wisconsin, not Sodom and Gomorrah. The people -- the congregation -- are hardly the same class of sinners as the Sodomites, or David and Bathsheba, or whoever. We’re good, working class people who want to hear about... ” She paused, struggling for words. “... more pleasant things, I guess I’d say. How good God is, not how bad we are.”
“Tomayto-tomahto, Mrs. Chesley. The Bible was written by men -- by people -- as a way of expressing their revelation of God, their experience of God in their lives and the history of their people. Very human lives, and very human people, with all the flaws -- and sins -- that entails. In a very real sense, God’s grace -- God’s goodness -- is magnified by the faults and flaws of his people. We sin all the time, in ways great and small, and none of us measures up to the standards of the Law. Some of our Biblical predecessors were just a little more spectacular about it. But people need to understand the constant reality of sin, or they’ll never understand the concept of grace.”
His visitor sniffed again, gathered her gloves and purse. “I suppose you have your way of looking at it, Reverend. I just wanted you to know what I thought. And other people, as well. There’s entirely too much emphasis on sin, by our way of looking at it.”
John Randall smiled and stood up, extended his hand as his guest rose. “Well, I appreciate your opinion, as always, Mrs. Chesley.”
She shook his hand without enthusiasm. “Thank you for your time, Reverend.”
“My door is always open.” And you know where I live -- unfortunately, he thought.
He saw her out, glanced at the clock again and pondered whether he had enough time to walk over to The Mill to get a cup of coffee and a piece of pie before his noon meeting with the School Superintendent. That question was answered by a knock at the door, and one of his parishioners sticking his head in and saying, “Have you got a minute, Reverend Randall?”
Maybe later, he thought, and issued himself a raincheck for blueberry pie. “Sure, Joe. What can I do for you?”
The visitor stepped inside, then, and seemed a little uncertain. “Well, I was in town at the feed store, and I got to thinking, I really should come in here and talk to you for a minute, while I can. It’s about last Sunday -- about your sermon.”
John’s eyebrows raised, as he gestured for the visitor to sit down. “Yes? Was there something you wanted to ask?”
“Not really ask, so much as tell,” Joe said, as he sat down. “I didn’t know quite what was bothering me about Sunday, and then over dinner it came to me.” He paused. “I’m thinking you were spending way too much time talking about forgiveness, instead of just sticking to what people should be doing.” He shrugged. “You know, you just give people an out, when you talk so much about grace and forgiveness -- you’re giving them a pass to do whatever they want. Maybe you should tone it down, and talk more about what happens if you don’t do what you’re supposed to.” He smiled conspiratorially. “You know -- throw in a little hellfire and damnation, just to keep ‘em on their toes.”
“So,” Randall said slowly, “you don’t think I talk enough about sin... ?”
“Right. Sin and punishment, anyway. You seem to spend all your time talking about forgiveness, and I don’t think that does people any good. Fear of God, that’s what they need!”
Randall glanced at the clock, and forced a smile. “I see. Interesting idea, Joe... ”
# # #
“This is why I could never do what you do,” Randall’s friend said, chasing the last bit of pot roast around on her plate, with her fork.
He shrugged, dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “You teach. It can’t be any worse than what happens to you.”
“It’s not the same. Everybody thinks they know how to teach, because they learned whatever they learned while they were in school -- and they figure if they know the learning side of the equation, they know the teaching side, so some of them are very free with their advice.”
“And what do you do?”
“I listen, I nod politely like a good little girl, and then I close my door, forget everything they said, and do it the best way I know how. It’s worked so far -- nobody’s ridden me out of town on a rail.”
“OK. So?”
“I get where people are coming from, why they think they know what they’re talking about. But they ought to know that you -- you’re an expert. You spent years studying the Bible, honing your skills, learning that exe-stuff -- “
“Exegesis,” he added helpfully.
“ -- exegesis, but none of that means anything, as far as they’re concerned. They think they know what you should be teaching, every Sunday.”
“It’s not so different, really. In my case, it’s because most of these people -- most of the people who have been going to church for awhile, now -- they’ve heard a lot, and they’ve reached a certain level of comfort with the Bible -- as they’ve encountered it. Some things resonate more with them than others, some things hit chords that others don’t. And the natural assumption, sometimes, is that whatever hits home with them is what everybody else needs to hear.”
She looked at him quizzically.
“Look,” he said after a moment, “you teach science to seventh graders, right?”
She smiled. “I’m flattered you remember.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah -- whatever. But you teach science to seventh graders. How many different units do you teach in a year?”
“It’s a survey course, so -- let’s see -- we hit physics, chemistry, biology, geology, scientific method -- “ she ticked them off on her fingers as she went through the list.
“So, a lot of stuff. Does every student like every unit?”
“You can’t tell by looking at their test scores. Or their homework. I have one child who -- “
Randall held up his finger, to pause her. “So, no. I remember when I took seventh grade Science -- “
“A long time ago,” she interrupted, smiling mischievously.
“Yes, back when our name for the Stone Age was ‘last week.’ But I remember absolutely loving physics, and hating chemistry. If I’d had my way, Mr. Schmidt would have spent the whole year teaching us physics. But he couldn’t, because that wouldn’t have been fair to us, and it wouldn’t have given us all the information we would need later.”
“So the Bible is seventh grade Science?”
“Sure. The point is this: when you study the Bible -- when you depend on the Bible for guidance -- you have to take it all into account. Even the parts you don’t like. Some days, I think even especially the parts you don’t like, because it probably means you haven’t come to terms with what those parts are telling you. Some people don’t want to hear about sin, because they haven’t come to grips with their own sins, and it makes them uncomfortable. Others, maybe, are uncomfortable with grace, because they haven’t found it in their own lives... or they don’t like that it’s open to everyone. It’s my job to teach it all, regardless of their likes and dislikes.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So what do you do on a day like today?”
He sighed, and spread his hands. “What can I do? I nod politely, and then I close my study door and write my sermons the best way I know how.” He smiled as he stood up to clear the table. “It’s advice I heard from a wise old teacher, once. But sometimes I wonder.”
She held her plate when he reached for it, and looked him in the eye. “You better watch who you’re calling old, Reverend, or there will be no blueberry pie for you.”
“Then I take it back,” he said instantly, and she released the plate.
She smiled. “The joke’s on you. I made angel food cake for dessert.”
“You’re a cruel woman,” he said bitterly, and set the dishes in the sink, while conversation turned to other things. They had cake and ice cream for dessert, and after “Kraft Theatre,” he walked her home. The subject of sermons, and what he preached, didn’t come up for the rest of the evening.
All the more surprising, then, when he opened his door to leave for work in the morning, and found a still-warm blueberry pie on the front porch, steaming under a starched white napkin. And pinned to the napkin was a note, in neat, but flowery handwriting:
To a caring teacher: “proclaim the message, be persistent whether
the time is favorable or unfavorable; convince, rebuke, and encourage,
with the utmost patience in teaching.” Teach from the book, preach
from your heart, and never fear sharing the truth, for it is the truth
that sets us free, and leads us home.
And the pie was delicious.
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). Keith's newest book NaTiVity Dramas: The Third Season will be published September 2012. He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
* * *
The Pumpkin Prayer
by John Fitzgerald
Luke 18:1-8
Dear God,
As I carve my pumpkin help me say this prayer:
Open my mind so I can learn about you; (Cut the top of the pumpkin)
Take away al my sin and forgive me for the wrong things I do. (Clean out the inside)
Open my eyes so your love I will see; (Cut eyes shaped like hearts)
I?m sorry for turning up my nose to all you?ve given me. (Cut a nose in the shape of the Cross)
Open my ears so your word I will hear; (Cut ears shaped like the Bible)
Open my mouth so I can tell others You?re near. (Cut the mouth in the shape of a fish)
Let your light shine in all I say and do! Amen. (Place a candle inside and light it)
As this prayer suggests, our walk with God involves both contemplation and action. Prayer is the dialogue or conversation Christians have with Jesus. Out of this interaction comes the action steps which our Lord instructs us to take.
The scriptures are filled with examples of people involved in prayer. I think it extraordinary that the Bible records no fewer than 650 prayers with 450 recorded answers coming from God.
The responses to our prayers are not always immediate. There are numerous incidents where individuals suffer for lengthy periods of time before discovering help from above and a response to their continual prayers. The practice of prayer is not as if we are talking to a magical genie who acts in accordance with our desires.
The One who gives us life and knows all about past, present, and future has a better idea of what lies ahead than we do. God is in control and realizes what is best for us. The Lord responds to our prayer needs with wisdom, love, and providential care.
In our scripture reading there is a woman described who realizes that the Lord rules and reigns. This is a lady who has faith to believe that Jesus will respond to her fervent prayer requests in the right time.
The widow in our Bible passage is a symbol for poor and vulnerable members of our society. These are folk who have no hope but a living Savior. The judge represents justice merited out in a sinful world. Sometimes our evil society hands out justice in an unfair manner. But there will come a time when God who is the bearer of truth and justice shall respond to prayers of his needy children.
Lasting peace and equality will be restored in this world when the Lord God intervenes for our sake. The key is to have persistence in prayer. We are not to give up in our devotional life even in the darkest hours. Jesus hears our prayers and is present with us in every situation.
As we carve our pumpkins this season may the victory our Savior gives in prayer be realized. Jesus says: "Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you." Luke 11:9
John Fitzgerald lives in Leesburg, Ohio, with his wife Carolyn and has served as pastor at the Leesburg Friends Meeting for the past 27 years. Cornfield Cathedral (Fairway Press, 2013) is the second book authored by Pastor Fitzgerald. John has earned a Master's of Ministry Degree from the Earlham School of Religion in Richmond, Indiana.
*****************************************
StoryShare, October 16, 2016, issue.
Copyright 2016 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.
"A Certain Level of Comfort" by Keith Hewitt
"The Pumpkin Prayer" by John Fitzgerald
A Certain Level of Comfort
by Keith Hewitt
2 Timothy 3:14--4:5
“Since I’m here, I suppose I should let you know that your sermon last week made me a little uncomfortable.”
The sentence was uttered with a certain amount of hesitation -- almost as though the speaker wasn’t even sure she should say it... and as she spoke, John Randall glanced at the clock on the wall behind her, above the mimeograph machine. It was now 1:05 -- the dance had gone on for five minutes, as it always did with her, starting with vague pleasantries and a defensively-attributed complaint (“It doesn’t bother me, mind you, but I’ve heard other people complaining about some of the hats women are wearing to church, lately... ”)
And now, five minutes in, she got to the meat of the matter -- the issue that had been serious enough to drag her away from her Wednesday afternoon canasta club. The pattern was virtually set in stone, and once he’d figured it out, he learned to carry on a conversation while thinking about other things during that time, as conversation with Mrs. Chesley during those five minutes consisted of nodding in the right places, and uttering a few carefully placed “I sees” and “reallys.”
Five minutes, like clockwork... literally.
He tilted his head slightly, and smiled. “Really? I’m sorry to hear that. What made you uncomfortable?”
She hesitated -- a dramatic pause -- then said, “Well, if you must know, I think you spent all together too much time talking about sin, Reverend Randall. All that talk about people doing -- well, things no one would approve of -- I think it sets a bad example for some in our congregation. You know, glorifying that kind of behavior.” Another dramatic pause, while she gently dabbed a handkerchief to her nose and sniffed, then, “And I’m not sure it’s right for the children to hear such things. It gives them the wrong idea about what church is about.”
Randall leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk, and his chair creaked a minor protest while he seemed to think for a moment. After a beat or two, he said quietly, “So -- you think talking frankly about adultery and greed, and lying and murder, is me glorifying those things? I might be wrong, Mrs. Chesley, but if I went back and looked at my notes, I’m pretty sure I never said anything about any of those things being... glorious. In fact, I’m fairly sure I said they were contrary to God’s will for us -- to the Law.” He started to reach one hand for a desk drawer. “Would you like to pull out my sermon notes?”
She raised a hand, waved it briefly from side to side. “No, no -- I don’t think you need to do that, I’m sure you know what you said. But I’m not sure you know how it sounded -- how it might have sounded to some in the congregation. I mean, all that talk about lust, and adultery -- I don’t think people come to church to hear about their private peccadillos, put on display from the pulpit.” She sniffed again. “And then to hear all the lurid talk of judgment -- condemnation of people for doing these things... it’s unseemly. You’re turning Sunday morning into a Saturday matinee at the movies.”
John Randall sighed, and spread his hands in an open gesture. “Mrs. Chesley, those things -- all those things -- are in the Bible. As subject matter, I’d go so far as to say they’re pretty prominent in the Bible, in many places. It’s pretty hard to read very far in the Old Testament without tripping over one sin or another -- is it your contention that they aren’t fit to mention in church... that they’re not appropriate subjects for learning and reflection?”
“Well -- no-o... ” she said slowly, her expression perplexed. “I wouldn’t say they’re not appropriate. But maybe they’re unnecessary. I mean, Reverend Randall, you’re preaching in Joliet, Wisconsin, not Sodom and Gomorrah. The people -- the congregation -- are hardly the same class of sinners as the Sodomites, or David and Bathsheba, or whoever. We’re good, working class people who want to hear about... ” She paused, struggling for words. “... more pleasant things, I guess I’d say. How good God is, not how bad we are.”
“Tomayto-tomahto, Mrs. Chesley. The Bible was written by men -- by people -- as a way of expressing their revelation of God, their experience of God in their lives and the history of their people. Very human lives, and very human people, with all the flaws -- and sins -- that entails. In a very real sense, God’s grace -- God’s goodness -- is magnified by the faults and flaws of his people. We sin all the time, in ways great and small, and none of us measures up to the standards of the Law. Some of our Biblical predecessors were just a little more spectacular about it. But people need to understand the constant reality of sin, or they’ll never understand the concept of grace.”
His visitor sniffed again, gathered her gloves and purse. “I suppose you have your way of looking at it, Reverend. I just wanted you to know what I thought. And other people, as well. There’s entirely too much emphasis on sin, by our way of looking at it.”
John Randall smiled and stood up, extended his hand as his guest rose. “Well, I appreciate your opinion, as always, Mrs. Chesley.”
She shook his hand without enthusiasm. “Thank you for your time, Reverend.”
“My door is always open.” And you know where I live -- unfortunately, he thought.
He saw her out, glanced at the clock again and pondered whether he had enough time to walk over to The Mill to get a cup of coffee and a piece of pie before his noon meeting with the School Superintendent. That question was answered by a knock at the door, and one of his parishioners sticking his head in and saying, “Have you got a minute, Reverend Randall?”
Maybe later, he thought, and issued himself a raincheck for blueberry pie. “Sure, Joe. What can I do for you?”
The visitor stepped inside, then, and seemed a little uncertain. “Well, I was in town at the feed store, and I got to thinking, I really should come in here and talk to you for a minute, while I can. It’s about last Sunday -- about your sermon.”
John’s eyebrows raised, as he gestured for the visitor to sit down. “Yes? Was there something you wanted to ask?”
“Not really ask, so much as tell,” Joe said, as he sat down. “I didn’t know quite what was bothering me about Sunday, and then over dinner it came to me.” He paused. “I’m thinking you were spending way too much time talking about forgiveness, instead of just sticking to what people should be doing.” He shrugged. “You know, you just give people an out, when you talk so much about grace and forgiveness -- you’re giving them a pass to do whatever they want. Maybe you should tone it down, and talk more about what happens if you don’t do what you’re supposed to.” He smiled conspiratorially. “You know -- throw in a little hellfire and damnation, just to keep ‘em on their toes.”
“So,” Randall said slowly, “you don’t think I talk enough about sin... ?”
“Right. Sin and punishment, anyway. You seem to spend all your time talking about forgiveness, and I don’t think that does people any good. Fear of God, that’s what they need!”
Randall glanced at the clock, and forced a smile. “I see. Interesting idea, Joe... ”
# # #
“This is why I could never do what you do,” Randall’s friend said, chasing the last bit of pot roast around on her plate, with her fork.
He shrugged, dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “You teach. It can’t be any worse than what happens to you.”
“It’s not the same. Everybody thinks they know how to teach, because they learned whatever they learned while they were in school -- and they figure if they know the learning side of the equation, they know the teaching side, so some of them are very free with their advice.”
“And what do you do?”
“I listen, I nod politely like a good little girl, and then I close my door, forget everything they said, and do it the best way I know how. It’s worked so far -- nobody’s ridden me out of town on a rail.”
“OK. So?”
“I get where people are coming from, why they think they know what they’re talking about. But they ought to know that you -- you’re an expert. You spent years studying the Bible, honing your skills, learning that exe-stuff -- “
“Exegesis,” he added helpfully.
“ -- exegesis, but none of that means anything, as far as they’re concerned. They think they know what you should be teaching, every Sunday.”
“It’s not so different, really. In my case, it’s because most of these people -- most of the people who have been going to church for awhile, now -- they’ve heard a lot, and they’ve reached a certain level of comfort with the Bible -- as they’ve encountered it. Some things resonate more with them than others, some things hit chords that others don’t. And the natural assumption, sometimes, is that whatever hits home with them is what everybody else needs to hear.”
She looked at him quizzically.
“Look,” he said after a moment, “you teach science to seventh graders, right?”
She smiled. “I’m flattered you remember.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah -- whatever. But you teach science to seventh graders. How many different units do you teach in a year?”
“It’s a survey course, so -- let’s see -- we hit physics, chemistry, biology, geology, scientific method -- “ she ticked them off on her fingers as she went through the list.
“So, a lot of stuff. Does every student like every unit?”
“You can’t tell by looking at their test scores. Or their homework. I have one child who -- “
Randall held up his finger, to pause her. “So, no. I remember when I took seventh grade Science -- “
“A long time ago,” she interrupted, smiling mischievously.
“Yes, back when our name for the Stone Age was ‘last week.’ But I remember absolutely loving physics, and hating chemistry. If I’d had my way, Mr. Schmidt would have spent the whole year teaching us physics. But he couldn’t, because that wouldn’t have been fair to us, and it wouldn’t have given us all the information we would need later.”
“So the Bible is seventh grade Science?”
“Sure. The point is this: when you study the Bible -- when you depend on the Bible for guidance -- you have to take it all into account. Even the parts you don’t like. Some days, I think even especially the parts you don’t like, because it probably means you haven’t come to terms with what those parts are telling you. Some people don’t want to hear about sin, because they haven’t come to grips with their own sins, and it makes them uncomfortable. Others, maybe, are uncomfortable with grace, because they haven’t found it in their own lives... or they don’t like that it’s open to everyone. It’s my job to teach it all, regardless of their likes and dislikes.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So what do you do on a day like today?”
He sighed, and spread his hands. “What can I do? I nod politely, and then I close my study door and write my sermons the best way I know how.” He smiled as he stood up to clear the table. “It’s advice I heard from a wise old teacher, once. But sometimes I wonder.”
She held her plate when he reached for it, and looked him in the eye. “You better watch who you’re calling old, Reverend, or there will be no blueberry pie for you.”
“Then I take it back,” he said instantly, and she released the plate.
She smiled. “The joke’s on you. I made angel food cake for dessert.”
“You’re a cruel woman,” he said bitterly, and set the dishes in the sink, while conversation turned to other things. They had cake and ice cream for dessert, and after “Kraft Theatre,” he walked her home. The subject of sermons, and what he preached, didn’t come up for the rest of the evening.
All the more surprising, then, when he opened his door to leave for work in the morning, and found a still-warm blueberry pie on the front porch, steaming under a starched white napkin. And pinned to the napkin was a note, in neat, but flowery handwriting:
To a caring teacher: “proclaim the message, be persistent whether
the time is favorable or unfavorable; convince, rebuke, and encourage,
with the utmost patience in teaching.” Teach from the book, preach
from your heart, and never fear sharing the truth, for it is the truth
that sets us free, and leads us home.
And the pie was delicious.
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). Keith's newest book NaTiVity Dramas: The Third Season will be published September 2012. He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
* * *
The Pumpkin Prayer
by John Fitzgerald
Luke 18:1-8
Dear God,
As I carve my pumpkin help me say this prayer:
Open my mind so I can learn about you; (Cut the top of the pumpkin)
Take away al my sin and forgive me for the wrong things I do. (Clean out the inside)
Open my eyes so your love I will see; (Cut eyes shaped like hearts)
I?m sorry for turning up my nose to all you?ve given me. (Cut a nose in the shape of the Cross)
Open my ears so your word I will hear; (Cut ears shaped like the Bible)
Open my mouth so I can tell others You?re near. (Cut the mouth in the shape of a fish)
Let your light shine in all I say and do! Amen. (Place a candle inside and light it)
As this prayer suggests, our walk with God involves both contemplation and action. Prayer is the dialogue or conversation Christians have with Jesus. Out of this interaction comes the action steps which our Lord instructs us to take.
The scriptures are filled with examples of people involved in prayer. I think it extraordinary that the Bible records no fewer than 650 prayers with 450 recorded answers coming from God.
The responses to our prayers are not always immediate. There are numerous incidents where individuals suffer for lengthy periods of time before discovering help from above and a response to their continual prayers. The practice of prayer is not as if we are talking to a magical genie who acts in accordance with our desires.
The One who gives us life and knows all about past, present, and future has a better idea of what lies ahead than we do. God is in control and realizes what is best for us. The Lord responds to our prayer needs with wisdom, love, and providential care.
In our scripture reading there is a woman described who realizes that the Lord rules and reigns. This is a lady who has faith to believe that Jesus will respond to her fervent prayer requests in the right time.
The widow in our Bible passage is a symbol for poor and vulnerable members of our society. These are folk who have no hope but a living Savior. The judge represents justice merited out in a sinful world. Sometimes our evil society hands out justice in an unfair manner. But there will come a time when God who is the bearer of truth and justice shall respond to prayers of his needy children.
Lasting peace and equality will be restored in this world when the Lord God intervenes for our sake. The key is to have persistence in prayer. We are not to give up in our devotional life even in the darkest hours. Jesus hears our prayers and is present with us in every situation.
As we carve our pumpkins this season may the victory our Savior gives in prayer be realized. Jesus says: "Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you." Luke 11:9
John Fitzgerald lives in Leesburg, Ohio, with his wife Carolyn and has served as pastor at the Leesburg Friends Meeting for the past 27 years. Cornfield Cathedral (Fairway Press, 2013) is the second book authored by Pastor Fitzgerald. John has earned a Master's of Ministry Degree from the Earlham School of Religion in Richmond, Indiana.
*****************************************
StoryShare, October 16, 2016, issue.
Copyright 2016 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.
