Dancing Before The Lord
Stories
Contents
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "Heads Will Roll" by John Sumwalt
Shining Moments: "Music Box Dancer" by Sandra Herrmann
Good Stories: "Dancing Before the Lord" by Frank R. Fisher
"The Fifth M" by Stan Purdum
What's Up This Week
Dancing is the featured theme in this edition of StoryShare, as we present a pair of stories that take their cue from this week's Hebrew scripture passage in which David joyfully dances as he brings the Ark of the Covenant into Jerusalem. Our Shining Moments piece tells of a man who dedicates his life to dancing; while Frank Fisher's insightful fable "Dancing Before the Lord" describes the differing responses of three congregations to the fundamental question: "What isyour purpose?" Our other Good Story this week, Stan Purdum's "The Fifth M," spins a yarn that every exasperated, stressed-out parent can relate to.
A Story to Live By
Heads Will Roll
by John Sumwalt
Immediately the king sent a soldier of the guard with orders to bring John's head. He went and beheaded him in the prison, brought his head on a platter, and gave it to the girl.
Mark 6:27-28a
Both management and union leaders were angry with Amos Dresser. To management he was a whistleblower, and to the union he was a snitch. Amos had committed the unpardonable sin of speaking the truth in a company where it was understood that certain production practices were never to be questioned or mentioned.
Amos broke the unspoken and unwritten rule. He asked questions of workers who became ill after coming into contact with illegal materials that were used in the manufacturing process. And when he discovered that the public was also endangered by the use of these contraband substances, Amos made a speech at a public meeting which was attended by members of the press. His charges about the company's use of illegal materials and the complicity of union leaders was front-page news for several weeks. Amos appeared on three national talk shows and testified at a special legislative hearing at the state capitol. The company paid fines of several million dollars, and the union president was defeated in the next election.
Still, the rank and file were generally displeased with Amos' public protestations. Some accused him of being a publicity seeker. Others said the company could have been held accountable without all the fuss of stories in the media. Amos reminded them that he was just a guy on the line who felt he had a duty to keep his co-workers and the public safe. "I want to do my job and be left alone," Amos said. But few believed him, and none of his co-workers called him friend.
When Amos' work was declared to be unacceptable in his next performance review, the supervisor insisted that the negative rating had nothing to do with Amos' public stand. And when Amos' section was downsized and he was laid off without severance pay or pension benefits, no one spoke up to defend him. "That's what he gets for being a snitch," some of Amos' co-workers said behind his back. "That'll teach him to stick his neck out."
John Sumwalt is the lead pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in suburban Milwaukee. He is the author of eight books for CSS. John and his wife, Jo Perry-Sumwalt, served for three years as co-editors of StoryShare.
Shining Moments
Music Box Dancer
by Sandra Herrmann
David danced before the Lord with all his might...
2 Samuel 6:14a
David stared at the music box nostalgically as his sister held it out to him. "I want you to have it, David," she said. "My special gift to you." He took it from her hands and opened the lid, fascinated again as the ballerina and her partner rose and fell and twirled to a tune neither of them had recognized the Christmas Sarah had gotten it.
David had always loved to dance. At two, he amused his parents, hopping and bouncing in front of the stereo to any song on the air. At five, he would swing his arms propeller-fashion, twirling until he fell over, dizzy but filled with exhilaration. At seven, he had seen his first musical, and he came home enchanted. He wanted dance lessons.
He had been lucky. His father saw in him another Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly. They went to see the Bob Fosse dancers, and when they saw the movie Tap, David's father had helped him fasten shiny taps to his shoes so he could try out the street rhythms, the way Gregory Hines had. When they heard of the School of the Arts, he also landed a scholarship, so he could study worry-free.
David had been talented. His teachers said he had the makings of a fine dancer and encouraged him to work hard. He'd worked too hard, and he had to go through rehab, wear special wrappings, and stretch daily to keep his muscles and tendons relaxed. He had to practically start over, but he worked, gently, carefully.
He had been chosen. Chosen to attend the best ballet school. Chosen by a great dancer for the rare privilege of studying in her small classes three times a week. Chosen to be an understudy at the Metropolitan Ballet. Chosen for the Royal Ballet, for a new work. His star had risen. Everything he had ever wanted, ever hoped for, had chosen him.
He was still dancing when the requests began to come in for him to teach, to mentor, to guide young men into realizing their potential in the arts, in the dance.
Which was what had led him back to this stage, this night, this performance. He had come back to his junior high to give a performance, to show boys like he had been that dancing might be for them. His sister had met him backstage, holding out the music box and saying, "It should have been yours, really, all along. You were the one who loved the music, loved the dance. Remember? We didn't even know what the tune was!" They laughed together, forehead to forehead, listening to the tune from Swan Lake, the most popular of ballets.
David waited for the curtain to rise, remembering the interview with the newspaper reporter earlier that day. "Didn't anybody ever tease you, as a boy, about your love of the dance? I can't believe you were never a target for name-calling." He laughed again as he recalled his answer: "Oh yes, one boy once called me a fairy, and I said, 'Oh, I wish I were a fairy! I'd just spread my wings and fly.' "
Sandra Herrmann is pastor of Memorial United Methodist Church in Greenfield, Wisconsin. She is the author of Ambassadors of Hope (CSS).
Good Stories
Dancing Before the Lord
by Frank R. Fisher
David and all the house of Israel were dancing before the Lord with all their might, with songs and lyres and harps and tambourines and castanets and cymbals.
2 Samuel 6:5
"Of course we have a purpose, it's... it's..."
Those words faded into a shocked silence; a silence which now permeated the annual meeting of the First United Church of Crawlingville, North Dakota. Apparently the new pastor's question about the congregation's purpose had struck a nerve.
"What is your purpose?" the pastor repeated. "Why does this congregation exist?"
Immediately the members launched into yesteryear. Smiles began to spread over their faces as they told tales of the congregation's glory days. "We had such wonderful fellowship," one member proclaimed. "Yes," someone added, "we were always there for one another." "And we had 200 children on the Sunday School roll," yet another member shouted above all the rest.
The pastor silently wondered how 200 children could fit into three 9x5-foot Sunday School rooms. But no trace of doubt clouded his face as he replied, "That's nice, but why does your congregation exist now?"
Bit by bit, the discussion left the past and turned to the reason for the congregation's existence. It was, everyone knew, an important question -- for, they all agreed, attendance at their potlucks had been a bit sparse lately. And it had been a very long time since 200 people, let alone 200 children, had graced the membership roll.
After a long while, the members decided they really did have a reason to exist. "We're still here to support each other," the lay leader declared. "In fact, at our ages, we have to keep the doors of the church open so we'll have a place for our funerals!" Everyone present nodded in agreement with the lay leader's words.
"You do understand," the pastor asked, "that means your congregation is crawling through life until you all die? It means you really belong to a funeral society instead of a church!"
"Yes," the members responded. "And when the last one of us is buried, our doors can close forever."
"Of course we have a purpose, it's... it's..."
Those words faded into a shocked silence; a silence which now permeated the annual meeting of the First United Church of Walkertown, Montana. Apparently the new pastor's question about the congregation's purpose had struck a nerve.
"What is your purpose?" the pastor repeated. "Why does this congregation exist?"
Immediately the members began telling about the things most important to them. Smiles spread over their faces as they told tales of wonder about their church building. "We have the biggest pipe organ in the whole county," a choir member announced. "Just look at our wonderful stained-glass windows," an usher added. "And," the treasurer concluded, "our endowment means we don't have to pay a cent to maintain the place."
"You certainly do have a beautiful building," the pastor replied. "But why do you have it? What do you do with it to do God's work? How do you use it to reach out to and serve God's people?"
"Hmm... what do we do with it?" the members pondered. "Well," the lay leader finally replied, "we come to church every Sunday. And whenever anything breaks we fix it. With an old building like this one, we all have to work hard to keep it in the shape it deserves to be kept. That's why we do a building-check 'walkaround' every week."
"Walking around is about all you're doing," the pastor observed. "Are you sure you aren't called by God to do more than be in the business of building maintenance?"
"No, we don't think so," the members replied. "Of course, it's harder for us to work on the building now since we're down to 20 members. But we'll just keep on keeping on until the last one of us is gone."
"Of course we have a purpose, it's... it's..."
Those words faded into a shocked silence; a silence which now permeated the annual meeting of the First United Church of Walkertown, Montana. Apparently the new pastor's question about the congregation's purpose had struck a nerve.
Those words faded into a shocked silence; a silence which now permeated the annual meeting of the First United Church of Dancing, Iowa. Apparently the new pastor's question about the congregation's purpose had struck a nerve.
"What is your purpose?" the pastor repeated. "Why does this congregation exist?"
Complete silence reigned for several minutes while the members pondered this new and interesting question. Then the oldest member, the one who always sat in the last pew, stood up and said, "I guess we don't have a purpose. We're simply existing, and that's wrong. I think we need to find out why we're here." Enthusiastic nods saying "yes" greeted the member's words.
And the entire congregation began to pray constantly, to worship intensely, and to study deeply as they searched for their purpose in life. Several months later they gathered again for a congregational meeting. And again the pastor asked, "What is your purpose? Why does this congregation exist?"
"We exist to glorify God," the oldest member spoke up once again. "We exist to praise God, and to serve God's people! To do that we need to bring God back into the center of all we do. Everything we do, and everything we say, and everything we are must be centered on the Lord our God!"
As the oldest member continued speaking, the congregation began to applaud in agreement. The drummer who'd been added to worship to drive their search began to play in time with the congregation's applause. Then the pianist joined in with a bouncy tune. And the oldest member stopped speaking, lifted trembling hands over a white-haired head, stepped out into the aisle, and began to dance.
One by one, pew by pew, row by row, the other members stepped out and joined in until a sea of white-haired people whirled and clapped in time to the music as they danced their joy at the coming of God into their midst.
"What's going on?" some kids on the street shouted as the celebration poured forth from the church building. Then they too joined in, as the dance spread wider and wider until the whole town shook with the glory of the coming of Lord.
From that day on there was no question about their congregation's purpose -- for they worshiped God and served their sisters and brothers with the same joy they'd felt on the day they began to dance. More and more people came to dance with all their hearts before the Lord and to joyfully serve in the way the Lord called them.
And as they danced out their joy, they gave all glory and honor only to God.
Frank R. Fisher currently serves as the interim pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Fairbury, Illinois. He is an Oblate of the ecumenical Abbey of John the Baptist and Saint Benedict in Bartonville, Illinois.
The Fifth M
by Stan Purdum
Who shall ascend the hill of the Lord?
And who shall stand in his holy place?
Those who have clean hands and pure hearts...
Psalm 24:3-4
Just before Sunday school was about to begin, two mothers, both members of First Church, met in the hall after seeing that their respective offspring had gotten to their classes.
The younger of the two, Sally Swenson, looked exhausted, and the other woman, Iva Jones, told her so. "You look exhausted," Iva said.
"Tell me about it!" Sally replied. "Getting my brood ready Sunday morning is starting to feel like more trouble than it's worth." Sally had three young children. "In fact, you know that sermon series on the four Ms of the Christian life our pastor just completed?"
"You mean Motion, Ministry, Mission, and Miracle?"
"Yes. Well, I've thought of a fifth one: Maniac. That's what getting my kids ready for church on Sunday morning turns me into -- a raving maniac."
Iva had three kids. The youngest was a senior in high school. So speaking from experience she said, "Well, cheer up, Sally. It gets harder before it gets easier."
"Impossible!"
"Why don't you tell me what you expect on Sunday morning? Maybe it will help if you talk about it."
Sally heaved a weary sigh. "Maybe you're right. Before John and I had any children, we used to get up lazily on Sundays, dress in our best clothes while listening to beautiful religious music on the radio -- sort of to set the mood, you know -- have a delicious cooked breakfast together and then drive happily to church. We were ready to worship. But now, with the kids, I arrive ready to kill."
"This morning wasn't quite like the pre-kid era, huh?"
"No. And hardly any morning since the kids were born has been like that."
"Let me guess," Iva said. "Now you spend your time dragging one kid out of bed, dressing another who keeps undressing herself, while you're helping the third who can't find his Sunday clothes that you hung freshly pressed in his room only the day before. You finally find them, wadded up in the bottom of the dirty clothes hamper, and the kid has no idea how they got there."
"Wow. How did you know?"
"You might say I've been there. And I'll bet that cooked breakfast has been replaced with a hurried affair of slopped cereal and half-eaten toast. I'll also bet the beautiful religious music has been replaced by a lecture to the kids from you and John about how to behave in church, especially during the children's sermon."
"That's exactly right. Did John already tell you what happened this morning?"
"No. It's just that most of us went through this when our children were small. Things haven't changed that much. Kids are still kids."
"You've got me worried now. You said it gets harder. What do I have to deal with in the future?"
"The teenage years have their own challenges. But even before you get there, the kids will start rebelling about all those nice dress clothes you buy them for church. They'll want to wear jeans and flip-flops and weird haircuts."
"But surely if you hold the line..."
"Believe it or not, you'll one day decide that clothes and hair are battles not worth fighting. You settle for just having them come with you to church without an argument, even wearing clothes and hairdos you don't approve of."
Sally asked, "How about getting them up for church? That at least gets easier, doesn't it?"
"Generally not. I'll never forget one Sunday morning when I was calling my oldest son for the third time to get up for church. He groaned and asked why church was always on Sunday morning. I told him it was because the Lord arose from the grave early on a Sunday morning, and that every Sunday was a mini-celebration of Easter."
"Did that help?"
"No. I think the spiritual point was lost on him. He responded, 'Why couldn't the Lord have arisen on a Tuesday in late afternoon?' and then pulled the covers over his head."
"If I have all that coming yet, I wonder if it's worth it."
"It is, Sally. It is. You know our older two are out on their own now. Naturally, being parents, we'll always worry about them, but they're both showing that they've picked up good values while living at home, and they are both going to church -- not every Sunday, granted, but often. We think the effort to bring them to church as children and youth was worth it."
"Thanks for talking to me, Iva. You made me feel a little better."
"I'm glad. But let me tell you what the final solution is. It's what the fifth M word ought to be: Maturity."
"You mean..."
"Yup. I mean one day they are going to grow up and you'll have the Sunday morning hassles no more. Of course, you'll continue to pray for them."
Suddenly a wicked gleam appeared in Sally's eye. "Yes. And I know precisely what I am going to pray: that they will each have kids EXACTLY LIKE THEM."
Stan Purdum is the pastor of Centenary United Methodist Church in Waynesburg, Ohio. He has served as the editor for the preaching journals Emphasis and Homiletics, and he has written extensively for both the religious and secular press. Purdum is the author of New Mercies I See (CSS) and He Walked in Galilee (Abingdon Press), as well as two accounts of his long-distance bicycle journeys, Roll Around Heaven All Day and Playing in Traffic.
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StoryShare, July 16, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2006 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., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "Heads Will Roll" by John Sumwalt
Shining Moments: "Music Box Dancer" by Sandra Herrmann
Good Stories: "Dancing Before the Lord" by Frank R. Fisher
"The Fifth M" by Stan Purdum
What's Up This Week
Dancing is the featured theme in this edition of StoryShare, as we present a pair of stories that take their cue from this week's Hebrew scripture passage in which David joyfully dances as he brings the Ark of the Covenant into Jerusalem. Our Shining Moments piece tells of a man who dedicates his life to dancing; while Frank Fisher's insightful fable "Dancing Before the Lord" describes the differing responses of three congregations to the fundamental question: "What isyour purpose?" Our other Good Story this week, Stan Purdum's "The Fifth M," spins a yarn that every exasperated, stressed-out parent can relate to.
A Story to Live By
Heads Will Roll
by John Sumwalt
Immediately the king sent a soldier of the guard with orders to bring John's head. He went and beheaded him in the prison, brought his head on a platter, and gave it to the girl.
Mark 6:27-28a
Both management and union leaders were angry with Amos Dresser. To management he was a whistleblower, and to the union he was a snitch. Amos had committed the unpardonable sin of speaking the truth in a company where it was understood that certain production practices were never to be questioned or mentioned.
Amos broke the unspoken and unwritten rule. He asked questions of workers who became ill after coming into contact with illegal materials that were used in the manufacturing process. And when he discovered that the public was also endangered by the use of these contraband substances, Amos made a speech at a public meeting which was attended by members of the press. His charges about the company's use of illegal materials and the complicity of union leaders was front-page news for several weeks. Amos appeared on three national talk shows and testified at a special legislative hearing at the state capitol. The company paid fines of several million dollars, and the union president was defeated in the next election.
Still, the rank and file were generally displeased with Amos' public protestations. Some accused him of being a publicity seeker. Others said the company could have been held accountable without all the fuss of stories in the media. Amos reminded them that he was just a guy on the line who felt he had a duty to keep his co-workers and the public safe. "I want to do my job and be left alone," Amos said. But few believed him, and none of his co-workers called him friend.
When Amos' work was declared to be unacceptable in his next performance review, the supervisor insisted that the negative rating had nothing to do with Amos' public stand. And when Amos' section was downsized and he was laid off without severance pay or pension benefits, no one spoke up to defend him. "That's what he gets for being a snitch," some of Amos' co-workers said behind his back. "That'll teach him to stick his neck out."
John Sumwalt is the lead pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in suburban Milwaukee. He is the author of eight books for CSS. John and his wife, Jo Perry-Sumwalt, served for three years as co-editors of StoryShare.
Shining Moments
Music Box Dancer
by Sandra Herrmann
David danced before the Lord with all his might...
2 Samuel 6:14a
David stared at the music box nostalgically as his sister held it out to him. "I want you to have it, David," she said. "My special gift to you." He took it from her hands and opened the lid, fascinated again as the ballerina and her partner rose and fell and twirled to a tune neither of them had recognized the Christmas Sarah had gotten it.
David had always loved to dance. At two, he amused his parents, hopping and bouncing in front of the stereo to any song on the air. At five, he would swing his arms propeller-fashion, twirling until he fell over, dizzy but filled with exhilaration. At seven, he had seen his first musical, and he came home enchanted. He wanted dance lessons.
He had been lucky. His father saw in him another Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly. They went to see the Bob Fosse dancers, and when they saw the movie Tap, David's father had helped him fasten shiny taps to his shoes so he could try out the street rhythms, the way Gregory Hines had. When they heard of the School of the Arts, he also landed a scholarship, so he could study worry-free.
David had been talented. His teachers said he had the makings of a fine dancer and encouraged him to work hard. He'd worked too hard, and he had to go through rehab, wear special wrappings, and stretch daily to keep his muscles and tendons relaxed. He had to practically start over, but he worked, gently, carefully.
He had been chosen. Chosen to attend the best ballet school. Chosen by a great dancer for the rare privilege of studying in her small classes three times a week. Chosen to be an understudy at the Metropolitan Ballet. Chosen for the Royal Ballet, for a new work. His star had risen. Everything he had ever wanted, ever hoped for, had chosen him.
He was still dancing when the requests began to come in for him to teach, to mentor, to guide young men into realizing their potential in the arts, in the dance.
Which was what had led him back to this stage, this night, this performance. He had come back to his junior high to give a performance, to show boys like he had been that dancing might be for them. His sister had met him backstage, holding out the music box and saying, "It should have been yours, really, all along. You were the one who loved the music, loved the dance. Remember? We didn't even know what the tune was!" They laughed together, forehead to forehead, listening to the tune from Swan Lake, the most popular of ballets.
David waited for the curtain to rise, remembering the interview with the newspaper reporter earlier that day. "Didn't anybody ever tease you, as a boy, about your love of the dance? I can't believe you were never a target for name-calling." He laughed again as he recalled his answer: "Oh yes, one boy once called me a fairy, and I said, 'Oh, I wish I were a fairy! I'd just spread my wings and fly.' "
Sandra Herrmann is pastor of Memorial United Methodist Church in Greenfield, Wisconsin. She is the author of Ambassadors of Hope (CSS).
Good Stories
Dancing Before the Lord
by Frank R. Fisher
David and all the house of Israel were dancing before the Lord with all their might, with songs and lyres and harps and tambourines and castanets and cymbals.
2 Samuel 6:5
"Of course we have a purpose, it's... it's..."
Those words faded into a shocked silence; a silence which now permeated the annual meeting of the First United Church of Crawlingville, North Dakota. Apparently the new pastor's question about the congregation's purpose had struck a nerve.
"What is your purpose?" the pastor repeated. "Why does this congregation exist?"
Immediately the members launched into yesteryear. Smiles began to spread over their faces as they told tales of the congregation's glory days. "We had such wonderful fellowship," one member proclaimed. "Yes," someone added, "we were always there for one another." "And we had 200 children on the Sunday School roll," yet another member shouted above all the rest.
The pastor silently wondered how 200 children could fit into three 9x5-foot Sunday School rooms. But no trace of doubt clouded his face as he replied, "That's nice, but why does your congregation exist now?"
Bit by bit, the discussion left the past and turned to the reason for the congregation's existence. It was, everyone knew, an important question -- for, they all agreed, attendance at their potlucks had been a bit sparse lately. And it had been a very long time since 200 people, let alone 200 children, had graced the membership roll.
After a long while, the members decided they really did have a reason to exist. "We're still here to support each other," the lay leader declared. "In fact, at our ages, we have to keep the doors of the church open so we'll have a place for our funerals!" Everyone present nodded in agreement with the lay leader's words.
"You do understand," the pastor asked, "that means your congregation is crawling through life until you all die? It means you really belong to a funeral society instead of a church!"
"Yes," the members responded. "And when the last one of us is buried, our doors can close forever."
"Of course we have a purpose, it's... it's..."
Those words faded into a shocked silence; a silence which now permeated the annual meeting of the First United Church of Walkertown, Montana. Apparently the new pastor's question about the congregation's purpose had struck a nerve.
"What is your purpose?" the pastor repeated. "Why does this congregation exist?"
Immediately the members began telling about the things most important to them. Smiles spread over their faces as they told tales of wonder about their church building. "We have the biggest pipe organ in the whole county," a choir member announced. "Just look at our wonderful stained-glass windows," an usher added. "And," the treasurer concluded, "our endowment means we don't have to pay a cent to maintain the place."
"You certainly do have a beautiful building," the pastor replied. "But why do you have it? What do you do with it to do God's work? How do you use it to reach out to and serve God's people?"
"Hmm... what do we do with it?" the members pondered. "Well," the lay leader finally replied, "we come to church every Sunday. And whenever anything breaks we fix it. With an old building like this one, we all have to work hard to keep it in the shape it deserves to be kept. That's why we do a building-check 'walkaround' every week."
"Walking around is about all you're doing," the pastor observed. "Are you sure you aren't called by God to do more than be in the business of building maintenance?"
"No, we don't think so," the members replied. "Of course, it's harder for us to work on the building now since we're down to 20 members. But we'll just keep on keeping on until the last one of us is gone."
"Of course we have a purpose, it's... it's..."
Those words faded into a shocked silence; a silence which now permeated the annual meeting of the First United Church of Walkertown, Montana. Apparently the new pastor's question about the congregation's purpose had struck a nerve.
Those words faded into a shocked silence; a silence which now permeated the annual meeting of the First United Church of Dancing, Iowa. Apparently the new pastor's question about the congregation's purpose had struck a nerve.
"What is your purpose?" the pastor repeated. "Why does this congregation exist?"
Complete silence reigned for several minutes while the members pondered this new and interesting question. Then the oldest member, the one who always sat in the last pew, stood up and said, "I guess we don't have a purpose. We're simply existing, and that's wrong. I think we need to find out why we're here." Enthusiastic nods saying "yes" greeted the member's words.
And the entire congregation began to pray constantly, to worship intensely, and to study deeply as they searched for their purpose in life. Several months later they gathered again for a congregational meeting. And again the pastor asked, "What is your purpose? Why does this congregation exist?"
"We exist to glorify God," the oldest member spoke up once again. "We exist to praise God, and to serve God's people! To do that we need to bring God back into the center of all we do. Everything we do, and everything we say, and everything we are must be centered on the Lord our God!"
As the oldest member continued speaking, the congregation began to applaud in agreement. The drummer who'd been added to worship to drive their search began to play in time with the congregation's applause. Then the pianist joined in with a bouncy tune. And the oldest member stopped speaking, lifted trembling hands over a white-haired head, stepped out into the aisle, and began to dance.
One by one, pew by pew, row by row, the other members stepped out and joined in until a sea of white-haired people whirled and clapped in time to the music as they danced their joy at the coming of God into their midst.
"What's going on?" some kids on the street shouted as the celebration poured forth from the church building. Then they too joined in, as the dance spread wider and wider until the whole town shook with the glory of the coming of Lord.
From that day on there was no question about their congregation's purpose -- for they worshiped God and served their sisters and brothers with the same joy they'd felt on the day they began to dance. More and more people came to dance with all their hearts before the Lord and to joyfully serve in the way the Lord called them.
And as they danced out their joy, they gave all glory and honor only to God.
Frank R. Fisher currently serves as the interim pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Fairbury, Illinois. He is an Oblate of the ecumenical Abbey of John the Baptist and Saint Benedict in Bartonville, Illinois.
The Fifth M
by Stan Purdum
Who shall ascend the hill of the Lord?
And who shall stand in his holy place?
Those who have clean hands and pure hearts...
Psalm 24:3-4
Just before Sunday school was about to begin, two mothers, both members of First Church, met in the hall after seeing that their respective offspring had gotten to their classes.
The younger of the two, Sally Swenson, looked exhausted, and the other woman, Iva Jones, told her so. "You look exhausted," Iva said.
"Tell me about it!" Sally replied. "Getting my brood ready Sunday morning is starting to feel like more trouble than it's worth." Sally had three young children. "In fact, you know that sermon series on the four Ms of the Christian life our pastor just completed?"
"You mean Motion, Ministry, Mission, and Miracle?"
"Yes. Well, I've thought of a fifth one: Maniac. That's what getting my kids ready for church on Sunday morning turns me into -- a raving maniac."
Iva had three kids. The youngest was a senior in high school. So speaking from experience she said, "Well, cheer up, Sally. It gets harder before it gets easier."
"Impossible!"
"Why don't you tell me what you expect on Sunday morning? Maybe it will help if you talk about it."
Sally heaved a weary sigh. "Maybe you're right. Before John and I had any children, we used to get up lazily on Sundays, dress in our best clothes while listening to beautiful religious music on the radio -- sort of to set the mood, you know -- have a delicious cooked breakfast together and then drive happily to church. We were ready to worship. But now, with the kids, I arrive ready to kill."
"This morning wasn't quite like the pre-kid era, huh?"
"No. And hardly any morning since the kids were born has been like that."
"Let me guess," Iva said. "Now you spend your time dragging one kid out of bed, dressing another who keeps undressing herself, while you're helping the third who can't find his Sunday clothes that you hung freshly pressed in his room only the day before. You finally find them, wadded up in the bottom of the dirty clothes hamper, and the kid has no idea how they got there."
"Wow. How did you know?"
"You might say I've been there. And I'll bet that cooked breakfast has been replaced with a hurried affair of slopped cereal and half-eaten toast. I'll also bet the beautiful religious music has been replaced by a lecture to the kids from you and John about how to behave in church, especially during the children's sermon."
"That's exactly right. Did John already tell you what happened this morning?"
"No. It's just that most of us went through this when our children were small. Things haven't changed that much. Kids are still kids."
"You've got me worried now. You said it gets harder. What do I have to deal with in the future?"
"The teenage years have their own challenges. But even before you get there, the kids will start rebelling about all those nice dress clothes you buy them for church. They'll want to wear jeans and flip-flops and weird haircuts."
"But surely if you hold the line..."
"Believe it or not, you'll one day decide that clothes and hair are battles not worth fighting. You settle for just having them come with you to church without an argument, even wearing clothes and hairdos you don't approve of."
Sally asked, "How about getting them up for church? That at least gets easier, doesn't it?"
"Generally not. I'll never forget one Sunday morning when I was calling my oldest son for the third time to get up for church. He groaned and asked why church was always on Sunday morning. I told him it was because the Lord arose from the grave early on a Sunday morning, and that every Sunday was a mini-celebration of Easter."
"Did that help?"
"No. I think the spiritual point was lost on him. He responded, 'Why couldn't the Lord have arisen on a Tuesday in late afternoon?' and then pulled the covers over his head."
"If I have all that coming yet, I wonder if it's worth it."
"It is, Sally. It is. You know our older two are out on their own now. Naturally, being parents, we'll always worry about them, but they're both showing that they've picked up good values while living at home, and they are both going to church -- not every Sunday, granted, but often. We think the effort to bring them to church as children and youth was worth it."
"Thanks for talking to me, Iva. You made me feel a little better."
"I'm glad. But let me tell you what the final solution is. It's what the fifth M word ought to be: Maturity."
"You mean..."
"Yup. I mean one day they are going to grow up and you'll have the Sunday morning hassles no more. Of course, you'll continue to pray for them."
Suddenly a wicked gleam appeared in Sally's eye. "Yes. And I know precisely what I am going to pray: that they will each have kids EXACTLY LIKE THEM."
Stan Purdum is the pastor of Centenary United Methodist Church in Waynesburg, Ohio. He has served as the editor for the preaching journals Emphasis and Homiletics, and he has written extensively for both the religious and secular press. Purdum is the author of New Mercies I See (CSS) and He Walked in Galilee (Abingdon Press), as well as two accounts of his long-distance bicycle journeys, Roll Around Heaven All Day and Playing in Traffic.
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StoryShare, July 16, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2006 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., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
