The Cost Of Standing Up For God
Stories
Object:
Contents
"The Cost of Standing Up for God" by Frank Ramirez
"They Didn't Have It in Them" by John Sumwalt
* * * * * * * *
The Cost of Standing Up for God
by Frank Ramirez
Acts 16:16-34
While (the slave girl) followed Paul and us, she would cry out, "These men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you a way of salvation."
-- Acts 16:17
In today's passage from the book of Acts the Apostle Paul rendered a slave useless through an action of healing in the name of Jesus, thus precipitating an economic crisis involving the merchants of Philippi who threatened Paul's life.
The stance on slavery adopted by the Dunkers, or German Baptist Brethren, a group of nonresistant Pennsylvania Germans, whose Meetinghouse near the town of Sharpsburg in Maryland would become a landmark in the ruinous battle of Antietam would lead to persecution and death for several members in the South during the American Civil War.
In the spring of 1861 many Dunkers wondered if it would be safe to travel south in late-May to the Beaver Creek Meetinghouse near Harrisonburg, Virginia, site of their Annual Meeting where they settled religious matters. The Dunkers had taken a firm stance against slavery from their founding, and insisted that slave owners who joined their church not only had to free their slaves, but train them into a trade and provide the proper clothing and cash for a fresh start.
Only four Dunkers traveled from the northern states to Virginia for the meeting, because of fears for their safety. The Dunkers met anyway, from May 19-22. The group decided, among other things, that men who chose to wear caps or women who wore hoops "should be admonished, and warmly too, to lay aside all superfluities, and conform to the order of the church."
The Elder John Kline, who would later be murdered by Confederate guerillas for refusing to recognize the Mason-Dixon line when it came to his traveling ministry, wrote in his diary "most of those present from the North as well as from the South carried away with them heavier hearts than they ever before have borne from a meeting of this kind. Many prayers were offered in the course of its progress in the behalf of our country. The Shekinah of God's care may be gloriously waving over our heads now, and we not able to see it."
One southerner, J.J. Wartman, senior editor of the Rockingham Register, reported on the Annual Meeting in his newspaper and misinterpreted the natural friendliness of Dunkers for agreement with slavery. Noting that even with the absence of Dunkers from the north up to 3,500 "Tunkers, or German Baptists" attended the meeting. In appreciation of the hospitality shown to outsiders and well as church members, he wrote in his newspaper: "We do not know when we have seen so much beautiful, well-baked bread; pure, sweet butter; well-boiled ham, beef, mutton, and so forth. We thought, as we sat at the table, how utterly astonished our Northern friends would be who talk about starvation in the South, if they could only drop in at this 'feast of fat things,' furnished by German Christians in the South. Whatever may occur elsewhere, we'll guarantee that famine's gaunt and hungry form will never make its appearance amongst the industrious, laborious Tunkers of the South."
Expressing his sorrow that the northerners stayed away "owing to the national troubles," he went on to say, "They ought to have come -- they could have come without danger of interruption. Religious liberty and tolerance still exists, thank God, in the South, whatever may be the state of things in the North." Wartman wondered if religious freedom might be curtailed in the north, but said "we hope never to see such a state of things in our 'sunny South,' where the rights of conscience are properly respected and where only white men are free."
Then he assured his general readers: "Let no man question the loyalty to their State and section of the Tunkers living in the South. As a matter of economy, their Church has nothing to do with our peculiar institution; but they interfere with nobody who sees proper to hold slaves. A better, truer, more industrious, provident and upright people than the Tunkers of the South, have no existence anywhere. They have no sympathy with abolitionists and abolitionism; and their brethren from the free States will have to let this delicate subject alone when they come to see them, or they will be keenly rebuked."
Dunker Editor James Quinter printed Wartman's article in full in the denomination's periodical, The Gospel Visitor, and while admitting, "we have the kindest feelings toward the writer of the above article," he protested, "If we have to suppress our religious convictions upon the evils of any institution, then we certainly do not enjoy 'religious freedom.' "
Quinter insisted that if "only white men" are free then one fourth of the population of the south was not free. He objected to the argument that Africans were an inferior race, and that if the Bible taught one should love thy neighbor as thyself then if one did not wish to be enslaved one should not enslave another.
But most of all he objected to Wartman's statement that Dunkers did not hold slaves as an economic matter. "Our reason then for having nothing to do with slavery is not merely a pecuniary one, but one of a moral character. We believe that when it is looked at in the undimmed light of the teachings of the gospel of Christ, it is an evil, and hence we do not hold slaves."
The cost of discipleship, of standing up for truth, turned out to be quiet high indeed. Many Dunkers were arrested in the South during the Civil War because of their stand against slavery. Some had all their property and possessions confiscated. And some were murdered.
What important issue are you willing to take a stand on, regardless of the consequences?
(For more information, and all citations of sources, see "Breaking Even: A Conversation in The Gospel Visitor and the Annual Meeting of 1861," by Frank Ramirez, Brethren Life and Thought, Vol. 57, Fall 2012, Number 2, pp. 28-43).
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.
They Didn't Have It in Them…
by John Sumwalt
John 17:20-26
I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me.
-- John 17:20-21
Unbeknownst to us, Pastor Charis came to our little church near the end of his life and what we all thought were the last years of our congregation. No one knew how ill the new pastor was until after his death. What we knew was that he was old, long past normal retirement age. I remember how disappointed we were.
The church had been in steady decline for years. Most of us who were left were retired. We had hoped for a young pastor with a family. How were we going to attract families with children with another old pastor?
Attendance dropped that first year. People who had been coming regularly appeared only once or twice a month. Some gave up altogether and started going to the "big box" church up the road. They didn't have it in them to keep hoping that things would get better. The rest of us didn't have it in us to do anything different.
We knew our days as a congregation were numbered. We would go the way of so many other once-thriving churches in places with declining populations. It wasn't that we hadn't made an effort to reach out to new people. There had been evangelism drives with printed brochures. We had "bring a friend" Sundays and had trained people to do follow-up visitations. We tried a soup kitchen and a food pantry. Our annual community dinner brought in over a hundred, but none of them ever came back on Sunday mornings. Even Christmas Eve and Easter had become dreary affairs with half-filled pews.
Looking back, I realize now that we were depressed. We had come to believe that there was nothing we could do to turn the church around. And it turns out we were right. There was nothing we could do, at least not by ourselves.
I had been working a few hours a week as the custodian for several years. Along with the cleaning, it was my responsibility to mow the church lawn. It was on a hot August morning when I had taken a break from mowing and stepped into the church to get a drink of water that everything changed.
Coming up the stairs into the narthex, I heard someone talking in the sanctuary. It seemed odd that anyone would be in the building on a Thursday morning. I stopped to listen and within a few minutes I discerned that it was the pastor's voice. But who was he talking to?
I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but curiosity got the best of me. Stepping farther into the narthex I could hear the pastor clearly through the open sanctuary door. I peeked around the corner to see Pastor Charis kneeling at the communion rail. He was talking to God, aloud.
I remembered that my grandfather used to pray aloud when he knelt beside his bed at night. That didn't seem unusual when I was a child, but as far as I knew, no one prayed that way anymore.
The pastor's hands were folded in front of him and resting on the rail. He was looking upward toward a picture of Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. The tone of Pastor Charis' voice was conversational. He could have been speaking to a friend over a cup of coffee. It was what he was saying that was extraordinary, like no prayer I had ever heard.
"Father, you brought me to this church and you know that I have only a little time to accomplish your purpose here. These are good people, but they are discouraged. Esther has been playing the organ for over sixty years. She doesn't have many years left and everyone knows that there will be no more music when she is gone. Byron has been teaching the Sunday school class for as long as anyone can remember, and he must be almost ninety. Edna told me last week that she won't be able to be the treasurer next year after she moves to the city to live with her daughter. Frank and Janet are moving Florida this winter. Eddie has been battling cancer. Faye and Hilbert have stopped coming to church after the big argument with Florence and Eileen."
The pastor went on like that, naming and expressing concern for each one of us.
My ears perked up when he said my name and told God about how deeply hurt Mary and George had been when I complained that they had been letting the flower beds go. I hadn't said it to them directly, but somehow the word must have gotten back to them. I wished, in that moment, that I was anywhere but where I was. But my legs were frozen. I couldn't bring myself to move.
Then the pastor's voice took on a softer tone. He pleaded with God that he might touch all of our hearts and make us wholly one with him, with Christ and with each other:
"Father, I ask not only on behalf of all these in this church, but also on behalf of those who will come to know you through their love. I know that your purpose for this church will be fulfilled in your time. I would like to live long enough to see it, but it will be enough to know that you will be at work here long after I have been relieved. What glory will be theirs as they open their hearts to your love, and what glory will be seen in the lives of the many you will bring to yourself through them."
I finally found my legs and was out the door before the pastor could get out an amen. The car took me straight to George and Mary's house to beg their forgiveness for complaining about the flower beds. They were clearly taken aback but didn't say anything. They didn't need to; the hugs and smiles said it all. I went home feeling lighter and more hopeful about the church than I had been in years.
The full meaning of what had happened didn't sink in until I was sitting in my usual spot, in the last pew in the back next to the door, at Pastor Charis' funeral three months later. The church was full and we were singing "Sweet Hour of Prayer," one of his favorite hymns. I looked over the congregation and could see a kind of radiance around each of these souls who had become so dear to me. Yes, we had hurt one another many times. There had been bitter disagreements over petty things, but in that moment, I knew I loved each one deeply, unreservedly, and I realized what the pastor had been saying when I heard him praying that we might all become one, as Christ and God are one.
When we had finished the hymn something pulled me up the aisle to the front, to the very spot where Pastor Charis had been praying at the communion rail that day. I told them about my eavesdropping, and what I had heard the pastor pray. Then I turned around and knelt at the rail. Soon everyone was kneeling around me, all looking upward at the face of Christ praying in the garden. A peace came over us that was to last the rest of our lives and to spill over into the lives of hundreds of souls over the next twenty years.
The last I heard, when the new pastor brought the children's choir to sing to us out at the nursing home, they were making plans to build a new church. This was the glory that Pastor Charis had hoped to see.
John Sumwalt is the pastor of Our Lord's United Methodist Church in New Berlin, Wisconsin, and a noted storyteller in the Milwaukee area. He is the author of nine books, including the acclaimed Vision Stories series and How to Preach the Miracles: Why People Don't Believe Them and What You Can Do About It. John and his wife Jo Perry-Sumwalt served for three years as the co-editors of StoryShare. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), Sumwalt received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for parish ministry from UDTS in 1997.
*****************************************
StoryShare, May 12, 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.
"The Cost of Standing Up for God" by Frank Ramirez
"They Didn't Have It in Them" by John Sumwalt
* * * * * * * *
The Cost of Standing Up for God
by Frank Ramirez
Acts 16:16-34
While (the slave girl) followed Paul and us, she would cry out, "These men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you a way of salvation."
-- Acts 16:17
In today's passage from the book of Acts the Apostle Paul rendered a slave useless through an action of healing in the name of Jesus, thus precipitating an economic crisis involving the merchants of Philippi who threatened Paul's life.
The stance on slavery adopted by the Dunkers, or German Baptist Brethren, a group of nonresistant Pennsylvania Germans, whose Meetinghouse near the town of Sharpsburg in Maryland would become a landmark in the ruinous battle of Antietam would lead to persecution and death for several members in the South during the American Civil War.
In the spring of 1861 many Dunkers wondered if it would be safe to travel south in late-May to the Beaver Creek Meetinghouse near Harrisonburg, Virginia, site of their Annual Meeting where they settled religious matters. The Dunkers had taken a firm stance against slavery from their founding, and insisted that slave owners who joined their church not only had to free their slaves, but train them into a trade and provide the proper clothing and cash for a fresh start.
Only four Dunkers traveled from the northern states to Virginia for the meeting, because of fears for their safety. The Dunkers met anyway, from May 19-22. The group decided, among other things, that men who chose to wear caps or women who wore hoops "should be admonished, and warmly too, to lay aside all superfluities, and conform to the order of the church."
The Elder John Kline, who would later be murdered by Confederate guerillas for refusing to recognize the Mason-Dixon line when it came to his traveling ministry, wrote in his diary "most of those present from the North as well as from the South carried away with them heavier hearts than they ever before have borne from a meeting of this kind. Many prayers were offered in the course of its progress in the behalf of our country. The Shekinah of God's care may be gloriously waving over our heads now, and we not able to see it."
One southerner, J.J. Wartman, senior editor of the Rockingham Register, reported on the Annual Meeting in his newspaper and misinterpreted the natural friendliness of Dunkers for agreement with slavery. Noting that even with the absence of Dunkers from the north up to 3,500 "Tunkers, or German Baptists" attended the meeting. In appreciation of the hospitality shown to outsiders and well as church members, he wrote in his newspaper: "We do not know when we have seen so much beautiful, well-baked bread; pure, sweet butter; well-boiled ham, beef, mutton, and so forth. We thought, as we sat at the table, how utterly astonished our Northern friends would be who talk about starvation in the South, if they could only drop in at this 'feast of fat things,' furnished by German Christians in the South. Whatever may occur elsewhere, we'll guarantee that famine's gaunt and hungry form will never make its appearance amongst the industrious, laborious Tunkers of the South."
Expressing his sorrow that the northerners stayed away "owing to the national troubles," he went on to say, "They ought to have come -- they could have come without danger of interruption. Religious liberty and tolerance still exists, thank God, in the South, whatever may be the state of things in the North." Wartman wondered if religious freedom might be curtailed in the north, but said "we hope never to see such a state of things in our 'sunny South,' where the rights of conscience are properly respected and where only white men are free."
Then he assured his general readers: "Let no man question the loyalty to their State and section of the Tunkers living in the South. As a matter of economy, their Church has nothing to do with our peculiar institution; but they interfere with nobody who sees proper to hold slaves. A better, truer, more industrious, provident and upright people than the Tunkers of the South, have no existence anywhere. They have no sympathy with abolitionists and abolitionism; and their brethren from the free States will have to let this delicate subject alone when they come to see them, or they will be keenly rebuked."
Dunker Editor James Quinter printed Wartman's article in full in the denomination's periodical, The Gospel Visitor, and while admitting, "we have the kindest feelings toward the writer of the above article," he protested, "If we have to suppress our religious convictions upon the evils of any institution, then we certainly do not enjoy 'religious freedom.' "
Quinter insisted that if "only white men" are free then one fourth of the population of the south was not free. He objected to the argument that Africans were an inferior race, and that if the Bible taught one should love thy neighbor as thyself then if one did not wish to be enslaved one should not enslave another.
But most of all he objected to Wartman's statement that Dunkers did not hold slaves as an economic matter. "Our reason then for having nothing to do with slavery is not merely a pecuniary one, but one of a moral character. We believe that when it is looked at in the undimmed light of the teachings of the gospel of Christ, it is an evil, and hence we do not hold slaves."
The cost of discipleship, of standing up for truth, turned out to be quiet high indeed. Many Dunkers were arrested in the South during the Civil War because of their stand against slavery. Some had all their property and possessions confiscated. And some were murdered.
What important issue are you willing to take a stand on, regardless of the consequences?
(For more information, and all citations of sources, see "Breaking Even: A Conversation in The Gospel Visitor and the Annual Meeting of 1861," by Frank Ramirez, Brethren Life and Thought, Vol. 57, Fall 2012, Number 2, pp. 28-43).
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.
They Didn't Have It in Them…
by John Sumwalt
John 17:20-26
I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me.
-- John 17:20-21
Unbeknownst to us, Pastor Charis came to our little church near the end of his life and what we all thought were the last years of our congregation. No one knew how ill the new pastor was until after his death. What we knew was that he was old, long past normal retirement age. I remember how disappointed we were.
The church had been in steady decline for years. Most of us who were left were retired. We had hoped for a young pastor with a family. How were we going to attract families with children with another old pastor?
Attendance dropped that first year. People who had been coming regularly appeared only once or twice a month. Some gave up altogether and started going to the "big box" church up the road. They didn't have it in them to keep hoping that things would get better. The rest of us didn't have it in us to do anything different.
We knew our days as a congregation were numbered. We would go the way of so many other once-thriving churches in places with declining populations. It wasn't that we hadn't made an effort to reach out to new people. There had been evangelism drives with printed brochures. We had "bring a friend" Sundays and had trained people to do follow-up visitations. We tried a soup kitchen and a food pantry. Our annual community dinner brought in over a hundred, but none of them ever came back on Sunday mornings. Even Christmas Eve and Easter had become dreary affairs with half-filled pews.
Looking back, I realize now that we were depressed. We had come to believe that there was nothing we could do to turn the church around. And it turns out we were right. There was nothing we could do, at least not by ourselves.
I had been working a few hours a week as the custodian for several years. Along with the cleaning, it was my responsibility to mow the church lawn. It was on a hot August morning when I had taken a break from mowing and stepped into the church to get a drink of water that everything changed.
Coming up the stairs into the narthex, I heard someone talking in the sanctuary. It seemed odd that anyone would be in the building on a Thursday morning. I stopped to listen and within a few minutes I discerned that it was the pastor's voice. But who was he talking to?
I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but curiosity got the best of me. Stepping farther into the narthex I could hear the pastor clearly through the open sanctuary door. I peeked around the corner to see Pastor Charis kneeling at the communion rail. He was talking to God, aloud.
I remembered that my grandfather used to pray aloud when he knelt beside his bed at night. That didn't seem unusual when I was a child, but as far as I knew, no one prayed that way anymore.
The pastor's hands were folded in front of him and resting on the rail. He was looking upward toward a picture of Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. The tone of Pastor Charis' voice was conversational. He could have been speaking to a friend over a cup of coffee. It was what he was saying that was extraordinary, like no prayer I had ever heard.
"Father, you brought me to this church and you know that I have only a little time to accomplish your purpose here. These are good people, but they are discouraged. Esther has been playing the organ for over sixty years. She doesn't have many years left and everyone knows that there will be no more music when she is gone. Byron has been teaching the Sunday school class for as long as anyone can remember, and he must be almost ninety. Edna told me last week that she won't be able to be the treasurer next year after she moves to the city to live with her daughter. Frank and Janet are moving Florida this winter. Eddie has been battling cancer. Faye and Hilbert have stopped coming to church after the big argument with Florence and Eileen."
The pastor went on like that, naming and expressing concern for each one of us.
My ears perked up when he said my name and told God about how deeply hurt Mary and George had been when I complained that they had been letting the flower beds go. I hadn't said it to them directly, but somehow the word must have gotten back to them. I wished, in that moment, that I was anywhere but where I was. But my legs were frozen. I couldn't bring myself to move.
Then the pastor's voice took on a softer tone. He pleaded with God that he might touch all of our hearts and make us wholly one with him, with Christ and with each other:
"Father, I ask not only on behalf of all these in this church, but also on behalf of those who will come to know you through their love. I know that your purpose for this church will be fulfilled in your time. I would like to live long enough to see it, but it will be enough to know that you will be at work here long after I have been relieved. What glory will be theirs as they open their hearts to your love, and what glory will be seen in the lives of the many you will bring to yourself through them."
I finally found my legs and was out the door before the pastor could get out an amen. The car took me straight to George and Mary's house to beg their forgiveness for complaining about the flower beds. They were clearly taken aback but didn't say anything. They didn't need to; the hugs and smiles said it all. I went home feeling lighter and more hopeful about the church than I had been in years.
The full meaning of what had happened didn't sink in until I was sitting in my usual spot, in the last pew in the back next to the door, at Pastor Charis' funeral three months later. The church was full and we were singing "Sweet Hour of Prayer," one of his favorite hymns. I looked over the congregation and could see a kind of radiance around each of these souls who had become so dear to me. Yes, we had hurt one another many times. There had been bitter disagreements over petty things, but in that moment, I knew I loved each one deeply, unreservedly, and I realized what the pastor had been saying when I heard him praying that we might all become one, as Christ and God are one.
When we had finished the hymn something pulled me up the aisle to the front, to the very spot where Pastor Charis had been praying at the communion rail that day. I told them about my eavesdropping, and what I had heard the pastor pray. Then I turned around and knelt at the rail. Soon everyone was kneeling around me, all looking upward at the face of Christ praying in the garden. A peace came over us that was to last the rest of our lives and to spill over into the lives of hundreds of souls over the next twenty years.
The last I heard, when the new pastor brought the children's choir to sing to us out at the nursing home, they were making plans to build a new church. This was the glory that Pastor Charis had hoped to see.
John Sumwalt is the pastor of Our Lord's United Methodist Church in New Berlin, Wisconsin, and a noted storyteller in the Milwaukee area. He is the author of nine books, including the acclaimed Vision Stories series and How to Preach the Miracles: Why People Don't Believe Them and What You Can Do About It. John and his wife Jo Perry-Sumwalt served for three years as the co-editors of StoryShare. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), Sumwalt received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for parish ministry from UDTS in 1997.
*****************************************
StoryShare, May 12, 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.
