The Cornerstone
Stories
Object:
Contents
"The Cornerstone" by Sandra Herrmann
"The Wall" by Sandra Herrmann
"New Math" by Frank Ramirez
* * * * * * *
The Cornerstone
by Sandra Herrmann
1 Peter 2:2-10
"Watch your shadow!"
Elise spun around, looking for whomever had shouted the warning. There didn't seem to be anyone else around, look though she might.
"I said, 'Watch your shadow!" This time with more emphasis. She finally looked up, and there, in the tractor of the giant scoop that had been digging a hole alongside the road, was a man leaning out and looking directly at her.
"What's wrong with my shadow?" Elise shouted back. She now, at last, actually looked at her shadow. It was long in the afternoon sun, stretching from where she stood to the fence that had been erected around the new construction site.
The man grinned. "Nothing. May you wear it a long time. But don't let it touch the cornerstone, there." He pointed at the front corner of the hole.
Elise looked at the man, the hole, her shadow. Peered closely. "I don't get it," she called back. "Is this some kind of a joke?"
The man climbed down from the cab of the shovel and ambled toward the fence. "Don't you know you must never let your shadow touch a new cornerstone?" When Elise shook her head, he went on. "It's an ancient custom. To make sure the cornerstone will support the building for a long time. It used to be that an animal sacrifice would be made at the start of the building process. And then the cornerstone would be set on the carcass of the animal. Some of the blood of the beast would be poured over the cornerstone, to ask the gods to bless the construction."
"And that relates to my shadow how?"
"Well," he leered at her, leaning in a bit, "sometimes, depending on the religion, they would sacrifice a human being, instead. They thought that the angry ghost would guard the building."
"Oh, that's ridiculous!" Elise was really scandalized by his story. "I've never heard of such a thing!" But despite her denial, she felt uneasy. "Anyway, as I said, that relates to my shadow how?"
"Well, eventually, instead of killing somebody or some animal, those in charge of such building projects decided that it would be good enough to measure the shadow of some person who might, in the past, have been killed to seal the cornerstone, and to put the measurements of the shadow under – or in – the cornerstone. Sometimes it was some big muckety-muck, sometimes it was some fair virgin." His smile got bigger as he added, "It was expected that the one whose shadow had been measured would die within the year, or in about 40 days, depending on which culture you're talking about."
Elise shook herself. This was more than creepy – it was edging toward gruesome. It was even worse that she thought she could see that this guy was enjoying every minute of grossing her out. She flipped back her hair and started to walk away.
"Hey, wait, girl. You don't get it – I warned you! Don't let your shadow touch the cornerstone. Stay safe!"
She looked back over her shoulder as she continued to walk away. He could tell she was angry, but scared too. He liked the way she walked. Yep, she would have been perfect for such a sacrifice. Beautiful, small enough to fit under the stone, and with an attitude. If you wanted an angry ghost to protect your building, she would have been perfect. He shook his head. Sometimes his esoteric knowledge scared even him.
Elise stopped at a little coffee shop she particularly liked. They had lovely scones, muffins, and bagels to go with an afternoon espresso break. She greeted the barista with a smile. He smiled back at her and told her to pick a table. Since the place was essentially empty, he would bring her treat and cuppa to her table.
Elise got out her tablet and signed on. "Cornerstone… cornerstone…" she mumbled as she signed in and opened her search. The arrival of her coffee coincided with her search popping up.
"Oh, cornerstone. Like Jesus."
Elise looked up. She had been concentrating on the idea of sacrifices being laid under a cornerstone, not on anything religious. "What did you say?"
"Cornerstone," he said, pointing at the screen. "Like Jesus. You know, 'the stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone of our faith.' "
Something clicked. Elise looked at the barista's eyes. He didn't flinch.
"And Jesus had to die," Elise said. She hadn't thought about church or Sunday school in a long time. Forever, in fact. "Like the sacrifice for a new building, Jesus had to die, so that the building would stand firm."
The barista frowned slightly, tilting his head to one side. "What building?"
Well, not a cathedral, Elise thought to herself. "Good question. Not a church, I don't think."
"Not a church," the young man replied, "the Church – the 'capital C' church." He grinned mischievously.
Eliza looked at him sideways. "The 'Capital C' church?"
"Yeah, the Capital C church means all the believers, worldwide, whether in a 'small c' church or not. If Jesus died to be the sacrifice for the cornerstone, it would have to be for the Capital C church. It's the one built out of believers rather than brick or wood, you know?'
At that instant, the bell over the door rang, and the barista hurried back to his post behind the counter.
"What can I do for you today?" he asked the couple who walked in.
The Wall
by Sandra Herrmann
1 Peter 2:2-10
Jerry's wife wanted a wall around two sides of the patio. Not a large wall, just tall and wide enough to provide extra seating for guests when they had a cookout. Maybe the wall could have concrete pots on the corners for some plant arrangements. Nothing too fancy.
So, off they went to the lumberyard. There they were confronted by what seemed to be an infinite selection of different kinds of brick, block, and stone to make Jerry weary with the thought of coming to a decision. Not Alison, though. She made a beeline for a brick with curved sides. Oh, goody, he thought, something simple!
The clerk who came to help them said it wasn't a problem at all and showed Jerry how to stack them so they would be sturdy enough for his brother -- who must weigh 300 pounds, at least -- to sit on them. And no mortar would be required, because the bricks were 8 inches deep, which made them hold quite nicely. So that was a plus.
Then there was the question of how many bricks would be required. Alison had been measuring the two sides where the wall would go, and Jerry had sneaked out and re-measured (his wife was highly irritable if she thought he was re-doing what she thought she'd already done) because he took seriously the mandate to always measure twice before beginning. Their measurements agreed, so they were ready for the math.
The problem, it turned out, was the weight of all those bricks. No way could they haul them home in their small van. The weight would have them bottoming out on every pothole between the lumberyard and home. The past winter in Wisconsin had caused every street to sprout potholes. So they had to negotiate about the price of delivery. Every penny counted on this project, because Alison no longer had a job. Which was why, Jerry thought to himself, he was doing this project. Alison had too much time on her hands... time to think of a wall around the patio. Maybe he could get Mike to pick up the brick with his pickup. Then the delivery fee would amount to Jerry mowing Mike's park-like backyard. But when the lumberman added up the cost of the brick, he decided he could deliver for just a small fee, and that sounded better than mowing for Mike!
Three days later, the brick was delivered to the driveway. No, they would not drive it around back. They did not drive their trucks over grass. No, they did not care that the pile would take up half the driveway. Did Alison want the brick taken back to the lumberyard? There would be a re-stocking fee. Finally, they dumped the load in the driveway and Alison signed the receipt, though her signature looked like it was written by a 90-year-old, she was shaking so much in anger. Now she supposed they would have to buy a wheelbarrow to get it all to the backyard. She stomped into the house and called Jerry. He was no more pleased than she, but what could he do? They should have asked before they signed the contract to where the brick would be delivered. He sighed as he hung up the phone. Alison nearly dissolved in tears as she contemplated the pile of bricks. She walked around it and decided Jerry could get his car into the driveway if he were careful. Then she went in the house and poured herself a cola before she did some frustration cleaning.
The next day, one of their neighbors came over to admire the pile of brick. "Just dumped it, did they?" he grinned at her. Alison was irritated at Dave's sense of humor. "Well, don't worry about it, dearie, I have a dolly you can use." And soon he was back with a mover's dolly draped with canvas. The two of them piled bricks on it, and he wheeled it around back, dumping the load on the grass. When Alison squeaked a little, Dave said, "Honey, you don't want me to dump it on the patio -- either the concrete or the bricks could chip or crack. Of course, you need to get at the project right away so the grass doesn't die." He cocked his head, peering at the load on the grass, and turned around and went back for another load.
By the time they got all the bricks from the driveway to the backyard, Alison barely had the strength to sweep the dust and rubble from the driveway. Happily, Dave had a shop broom handy and the kindness to sweep all the leftovers and lift them into the dumpster for her. As for Alison, it was definitely time for a bath.
Over the next two days, Alison began placing the bricks on the edge of the patio. Considering that she had never done this kind of work before, it went quite well. After a few bricks, however, she began to notice that most of them needed trimming. A lot of them had little specks of something on their corners. Some of them had ridges all around the face of the brick. Some of them had chips knocked off the bottom or top edges. She blew a strand of hair out of her eye and sat back on her heels to contemplate her misery. Finally, she called the lumberyard.
"You need to build the wall on a footing, Ma'm," the clerk responded. "When you build a brick wall, the weight of the wall will press down on the grass and dirt. So you either need to dig a trench and lay a foundation, or you have to build the wall on the patio."
Alison sighed. "How do you lay a foundation?" Half an hour later, she was in the backyard, moving bricks from the grass to the edge of the patio. She had also learned that the bricks had to be tight up against one another. However, the work was going faster now that she wasn't trying to make the bricks sink into the grass. By the time Jerry got home, she had three courses of brick laid on one side of the patio.
Jerry admired her work. "I'm impressed, Alison," he admitted. It looks really good. The only problem is at the end where you want the two walls to meet and happily you aren't so far along as to be a serious problem." He got out a brochure he had printed from the lumberyard's website and pointed out that the two sides had to lock together if they were to stand properly. She sighed, but as they looked at the brochure and at the work she'd done, it was going all right. It was just the corner that needed to be disassembled so the bricks would interlock with the second wall.
"This bricklaying is nowhere near as simple as I thought it would be," Alison said.
Jerry agreed. "Imagine if we were trying to build a building! It says online that you can't build a building with just brick. We'd have to know how to mix mortar and apply it, to crack the bricks so they line up properly at the corners, and reinforce the walls. Happily, we don't live in earthquake country -- I saw pictures of a city that had a big one, and every brick building in the photo had fallen over! You have to have a firm foundation and plenty of reinforcement to have a wall that lasts."
When the project was over, they sent out invitations to everyone they knew. "Rejoice!" they said on the front. And inside, "Celebrate with us on the finishing of a new wall around our patio. Bring a dish to pass, and we'll provide the meat." Most of their friends came, and amid much harassment, they told their friends how they too could build a fine wall that would stand the test of time.
"Or, at least we hope so," they both admitted among much laughter.
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
New Math
by Frank Ramirez
John 14:1-14
In my Father's house there are many dwelling places.
-- John 14:2
Outside it was the year 1864. The American Civil War was grinding on, with no end in sight. It was not even clear if Abraham Lincoln would be re-elected. But one person had his eyes on eternal things instead of current events, although it's not clear if he could have used a pair of spiritual glasses.
William C. Thurman (c. 1830-1906) was a Virginia minister whose book, Our Bible Chronology Established: The Sealed Book of Daniel Opened; or, A Book of reference for those who wish to examine the "Sure Word of Prophecy," appeared only a year after the battle of Gettysburg. The page facing that imposing title included a drawing of a young girl sitting at her table with a vase full of flowers, and Thurman's book opened before her, with a little poem that began:
God's sacred book is opened now,
Hear it, O Earth, and humbly bow.
Thurman intended to demonstrate that the world's last day would take place on September 27, 1868, and he boldly asserted that "those who wish to understand the book of Daniel must bear in mind the two prominent points as presented in that book: First, it was to be sealed up until the time of the end. Second, at the time of the end the wise shall understand."
After the Civil War the book continued to attract attention and went through at least five printings. As the fateful day approached many sold their possessions. Then on September 27, 1868, a small group of Christians climbed a haystack to be closer to heaven as they waited for their Lord to descend from the clouds. Despite their fervent prayers nothing happened. Eventually some local rowdies set fire to the hay, forcing them to come down. They were severely disappointed.
It wouldn't be the last time Thurman was wrong. Undeterred by the failure of his calculations he rescheduled the end of the world for a month later on October 28, 1868. Then October 17, 1869. Then April 19, 1875. Thurman continued to predict the end of the world until he died, penniless, in 1906, by which time he had recalculated the end of the world for 1917.
The flavor of Thurman's book can be guessed at by the way he calculated the number of rooms or mansions in the father's house that Jesus spoke about in today's passage from John 14.
And I, John, saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, come down from God out of heaven prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And the city was pure gold like unto clear glass. The length and the breadth and the height of it are equal; for the city lieth four square, being twelve thousand furlongs, or 1500 miles in length, breadth, and height. If leaving one-half for those golden streets, which are as "transparent glass," we divide the remaining portion of the city into rooms 16 feet square, and the same in height, it would contain, 60,643,687,500,000,000 rooms; therefore our Lord could well say: "In my Father's house are many mansions." If we allow but 25 years to a generation and could suppose that during each generation there had lived 1,2000,600,000 persons, we would have only 288,144,000,000; hence, if a room of the earth, there would yet remain in our Father's -- the new Jerusalem, the glorious city of our God -- more than 60,643,399,356,000,000 rooms unoccupied.
According to a helpful footnote, this works out to 60 quadrillions, 643 trillions, 399 billions, 356 millions.
There is no reason to suppose these calculations were any more accurate than Thurman's predictions about the last day of the world. But perhaps instead of quantifying God's rewards with precise measurements, limiting his bounty in the process, we might just want to trust in God's goodness.
Frank Ramirez has served as a pastor for nearly 30 years in Church of the Brethren congregations in Los Angeles, California; Elkhart, Indiana; and Everett, Pennsylvania. A graduate of LaVerne College and Bethany Theological Seminary, Ramirez is the author of numerous books, articles, and short stories. His CSS titles include Partners in Healing, He Took a Towel, The Bee Attitudes, three volumes of Lectionary Worship Aids, and Breakdown on Bethlehem Street.
*****************************************
StoryShare, May 18, 2014, issue.
Copyright 2014 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.
"The Cornerstone" by Sandra Herrmann
"The Wall" by Sandra Herrmann
"New Math" by Frank Ramirez
* * * * * * *
The Cornerstone
by Sandra Herrmann
1 Peter 2:2-10
"Watch your shadow!"
Elise spun around, looking for whomever had shouted the warning. There didn't seem to be anyone else around, look though she might.
"I said, 'Watch your shadow!" This time with more emphasis. She finally looked up, and there, in the tractor of the giant scoop that had been digging a hole alongside the road, was a man leaning out and looking directly at her.
"What's wrong with my shadow?" Elise shouted back. She now, at last, actually looked at her shadow. It was long in the afternoon sun, stretching from where she stood to the fence that had been erected around the new construction site.
The man grinned. "Nothing. May you wear it a long time. But don't let it touch the cornerstone, there." He pointed at the front corner of the hole.
Elise looked at the man, the hole, her shadow. Peered closely. "I don't get it," she called back. "Is this some kind of a joke?"
The man climbed down from the cab of the shovel and ambled toward the fence. "Don't you know you must never let your shadow touch a new cornerstone?" When Elise shook her head, he went on. "It's an ancient custom. To make sure the cornerstone will support the building for a long time. It used to be that an animal sacrifice would be made at the start of the building process. And then the cornerstone would be set on the carcass of the animal. Some of the blood of the beast would be poured over the cornerstone, to ask the gods to bless the construction."
"And that relates to my shadow how?"
"Well," he leered at her, leaning in a bit, "sometimes, depending on the religion, they would sacrifice a human being, instead. They thought that the angry ghost would guard the building."
"Oh, that's ridiculous!" Elise was really scandalized by his story. "I've never heard of such a thing!" But despite her denial, she felt uneasy. "Anyway, as I said, that relates to my shadow how?"
"Well, eventually, instead of killing somebody or some animal, those in charge of such building projects decided that it would be good enough to measure the shadow of some person who might, in the past, have been killed to seal the cornerstone, and to put the measurements of the shadow under – or in – the cornerstone. Sometimes it was some big muckety-muck, sometimes it was some fair virgin." His smile got bigger as he added, "It was expected that the one whose shadow had been measured would die within the year, or in about 40 days, depending on which culture you're talking about."
Elise shook herself. This was more than creepy – it was edging toward gruesome. It was even worse that she thought she could see that this guy was enjoying every minute of grossing her out. She flipped back her hair and started to walk away.
"Hey, wait, girl. You don't get it – I warned you! Don't let your shadow touch the cornerstone. Stay safe!"
She looked back over her shoulder as she continued to walk away. He could tell she was angry, but scared too. He liked the way she walked. Yep, she would have been perfect for such a sacrifice. Beautiful, small enough to fit under the stone, and with an attitude. If you wanted an angry ghost to protect your building, she would have been perfect. He shook his head. Sometimes his esoteric knowledge scared even him.
Elise stopped at a little coffee shop she particularly liked. They had lovely scones, muffins, and bagels to go with an afternoon espresso break. She greeted the barista with a smile. He smiled back at her and told her to pick a table. Since the place was essentially empty, he would bring her treat and cuppa to her table.
Elise got out her tablet and signed on. "Cornerstone… cornerstone…" she mumbled as she signed in and opened her search. The arrival of her coffee coincided with her search popping up.
"Oh, cornerstone. Like Jesus."
Elise looked up. She had been concentrating on the idea of sacrifices being laid under a cornerstone, not on anything religious. "What did you say?"
"Cornerstone," he said, pointing at the screen. "Like Jesus. You know, 'the stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone of our faith.' "
Something clicked. Elise looked at the barista's eyes. He didn't flinch.
"And Jesus had to die," Elise said. She hadn't thought about church or Sunday school in a long time. Forever, in fact. "Like the sacrifice for a new building, Jesus had to die, so that the building would stand firm."
The barista frowned slightly, tilting his head to one side. "What building?"
Well, not a cathedral, Elise thought to herself. "Good question. Not a church, I don't think."
"Not a church," the young man replied, "the Church – the 'capital C' church." He grinned mischievously.
Eliza looked at him sideways. "The 'Capital C' church?"
"Yeah, the Capital C church means all the believers, worldwide, whether in a 'small c' church or not. If Jesus died to be the sacrifice for the cornerstone, it would have to be for the Capital C church. It's the one built out of believers rather than brick or wood, you know?'
At that instant, the bell over the door rang, and the barista hurried back to his post behind the counter.
"What can I do for you today?" he asked the couple who walked in.
The Wall
by Sandra Herrmann
1 Peter 2:2-10
Jerry's wife wanted a wall around two sides of the patio. Not a large wall, just tall and wide enough to provide extra seating for guests when they had a cookout. Maybe the wall could have concrete pots on the corners for some plant arrangements. Nothing too fancy.
So, off they went to the lumberyard. There they were confronted by what seemed to be an infinite selection of different kinds of brick, block, and stone to make Jerry weary with the thought of coming to a decision. Not Alison, though. She made a beeline for a brick with curved sides. Oh, goody, he thought, something simple!
The clerk who came to help them said it wasn't a problem at all and showed Jerry how to stack them so they would be sturdy enough for his brother -- who must weigh 300 pounds, at least -- to sit on them. And no mortar would be required, because the bricks were 8 inches deep, which made them hold quite nicely. So that was a plus.
Then there was the question of how many bricks would be required. Alison had been measuring the two sides where the wall would go, and Jerry had sneaked out and re-measured (his wife was highly irritable if she thought he was re-doing what she thought she'd already done) because he took seriously the mandate to always measure twice before beginning. Their measurements agreed, so they were ready for the math.
The problem, it turned out, was the weight of all those bricks. No way could they haul them home in their small van. The weight would have them bottoming out on every pothole between the lumberyard and home. The past winter in Wisconsin had caused every street to sprout potholes. So they had to negotiate about the price of delivery. Every penny counted on this project, because Alison no longer had a job. Which was why, Jerry thought to himself, he was doing this project. Alison had too much time on her hands... time to think of a wall around the patio. Maybe he could get Mike to pick up the brick with his pickup. Then the delivery fee would amount to Jerry mowing Mike's park-like backyard. But when the lumberman added up the cost of the brick, he decided he could deliver for just a small fee, and that sounded better than mowing for Mike!
Three days later, the brick was delivered to the driveway. No, they would not drive it around back. They did not drive their trucks over grass. No, they did not care that the pile would take up half the driveway. Did Alison want the brick taken back to the lumberyard? There would be a re-stocking fee. Finally, they dumped the load in the driveway and Alison signed the receipt, though her signature looked like it was written by a 90-year-old, she was shaking so much in anger. Now she supposed they would have to buy a wheelbarrow to get it all to the backyard. She stomped into the house and called Jerry. He was no more pleased than she, but what could he do? They should have asked before they signed the contract to where the brick would be delivered. He sighed as he hung up the phone. Alison nearly dissolved in tears as she contemplated the pile of bricks. She walked around it and decided Jerry could get his car into the driveway if he were careful. Then she went in the house and poured herself a cola before she did some frustration cleaning.
The next day, one of their neighbors came over to admire the pile of brick. "Just dumped it, did they?" he grinned at her. Alison was irritated at Dave's sense of humor. "Well, don't worry about it, dearie, I have a dolly you can use." And soon he was back with a mover's dolly draped with canvas. The two of them piled bricks on it, and he wheeled it around back, dumping the load on the grass. When Alison squeaked a little, Dave said, "Honey, you don't want me to dump it on the patio -- either the concrete or the bricks could chip or crack. Of course, you need to get at the project right away so the grass doesn't die." He cocked his head, peering at the load on the grass, and turned around and went back for another load.
By the time they got all the bricks from the driveway to the backyard, Alison barely had the strength to sweep the dust and rubble from the driveway. Happily, Dave had a shop broom handy and the kindness to sweep all the leftovers and lift them into the dumpster for her. As for Alison, it was definitely time for a bath.
Over the next two days, Alison began placing the bricks on the edge of the patio. Considering that she had never done this kind of work before, it went quite well. After a few bricks, however, she began to notice that most of them needed trimming. A lot of them had little specks of something on their corners. Some of them had ridges all around the face of the brick. Some of them had chips knocked off the bottom or top edges. She blew a strand of hair out of her eye and sat back on her heels to contemplate her misery. Finally, she called the lumberyard.
"You need to build the wall on a footing, Ma'm," the clerk responded. "When you build a brick wall, the weight of the wall will press down on the grass and dirt. So you either need to dig a trench and lay a foundation, or you have to build the wall on the patio."
Alison sighed. "How do you lay a foundation?" Half an hour later, she was in the backyard, moving bricks from the grass to the edge of the patio. She had also learned that the bricks had to be tight up against one another. However, the work was going faster now that she wasn't trying to make the bricks sink into the grass. By the time Jerry got home, she had three courses of brick laid on one side of the patio.
Jerry admired her work. "I'm impressed, Alison," he admitted. It looks really good. The only problem is at the end where you want the two walls to meet and happily you aren't so far along as to be a serious problem." He got out a brochure he had printed from the lumberyard's website and pointed out that the two sides had to lock together if they were to stand properly. She sighed, but as they looked at the brochure and at the work she'd done, it was going all right. It was just the corner that needed to be disassembled so the bricks would interlock with the second wall.
"This bricklaying is nowhere near as simple as I thought it would be," Alison said.
Jerry agreed. "Imagine if we were trying to build a building! It says online that you can't build a building with just brick. We'd have to know how to mix mortar and apply it, to crack the bricks so they line up properly at the corners, and reinforce the walls. Happily, we don't live in earthquake country -- I saw pictures of a city that had a big one, and every brick building in the photo had fallen over! You have to have a firm foundation and plenty of reinforcement to have a wall that lasts."
When the project was over, they sent out invitations to everyone they knew. "Rejoice!" they said on the front. And inside, "Celebrate with us on the finishing of a new wall around our patio. Bring a dish to pass, and we'll provide the meat." Most of their friends came, and amid much harassment, they told their friends how they too could build a fine wall that would stand the test of time.
"Or, at least we hope so," they both admitted among much laughter.
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
New Math
by Frank Ramirez
John 14:1-14
In my Father's house there are many dwelling places.
-- John 14:2
Outside it was the year 1864. The American Civil War was grinding on, with no end in sight. It was not even clear if Abraham Lincoln would be re-elected. But one person had his eyes on eternal things instead of current events, although it's not clear if he could have used a pair of spiritual glasses.
William C. Thurman (c. 1830-1906) was a Virginia minister whose book, Our Bible Chronology Established: The Sealed Book of Daniel Opened; or, A Book of reference for those who wish to examine the "Sure Word of Prophecy," appeared only a year after the battle of Gettysburg. The page facing that imposing title included a drawing of a young girl sitting at her table with a vase full of flowers, and Thurman's book opened before her, with a little poem that began:
God's sacred book is opened now,
Hear it, O Earth, and humbly bow.
Thurman intended to demonstrate that the world's last day would take place on September 27, 1868, and he boldly asserted that "those who wish to understand the book of Daniel must bear in mind the two prominent points as presented in that book: First, it was to be sealed up until the time of the end. Second, at the time of the end the wise shall understand."
After the Civil War the book continued to attract attention and went through at least five printings. As the fateful day approached many sold their possessions. Then on September 27, 1868, a small group of Christians climbed a haystack to be closer to heaven as they waited for their Lord to descend from the clouds. Despite their fervent prayers nothing happened. Eventually some local rowdies set fire to the hay, forcing them to come down. They were severely disappointed.
It wouldn't be the last time Thurman was wrong. Undeterred by the failure of his calculations he rescheduled the end of the world for a month later on October 28, 1868. Then October 17, 1869. Then April 19, 1875. Thurman continued to predict the end of the world until he died, penniless, in 1906, by which time he had recalculated the end of the world for 1917.
The flavor of Thurman's book can be guessed at by the way he calculated the number of rooms or mansions in the father's house that Jesus spoke about in today's passage from John 14.
And I, John, saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, come down from God out of heaven prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And the city was pure gold like unto clear glass. The length and the breadth and the height of it are equal; for the city lieth four square, being twelve thousand furlongs, or 1500 miles in length, breadth, and height. If leaving one-half for those golden streets, which are as "transparent glass," we divide the remaining portion of the city into rooms 16 feet square, and the same in height, it would contain, 60,643,687,500,000,000 rooms; therefore our Lord could well say: "In my Father's house are many mansions." If we allow but 25 years to a generation and could suppose that during each generation there had lived 1,2000,600,000 persons, we would have only 288,144,000,000; hence, if a room of the earth, there would yet remain in our Father's -- the new Jerusalem, the glorious city of our God -- more than 60,643,399,356,000,000 rooms unoccupied.
According to a helpful footnote, this works out to 60 quadrillions, 643 trillions, 399 billions, 356 millions.
There is no reason to suppose these calculations were any more accurate than Thurman's predictions about the last day of the world. But perhaps instead of quantifying God's rewards with precise measurements, limiting his bounty in the process, we might just want to trust in God's goodness.
Frank Ramirez has served as a pastor for nearly 30 years in Church of the Brethren congregations in Los Angeles, California; Elkhart, Indiana; and Everett, Pennsylvania. A graduate of LaVerne College and Bethany Theological Seminary, Ramirez is the author of numerous books, articles, and short stories. His CSS titles include Partners in Healing, He Took a Towel, The Bee Attitudes, three volumes of Lectionary Worship Aids, and Breakdown on Bethlehem Street.
*****************************************
StoryShare, May 18, 2014, issue.
Copyright 2014 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
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