Of Dreams, Saints, And Kingdoms
Stories
Object:
Contents
"The Worst Days" by Peter Andrew Smith
"Three Days Later: What Have I Done?" by Sandra Herrmann
"Of Dreams, Saints, and Kingdoms" by Larry Winebrenner
"Who Are the Saints?" by Larry Winebrenner
* * * * * * * * *
In his story "The Worst Days," Peter Andrew Smith tells the story of two women who discover God's grace and peace can still be felt even when we are surrounded by sorrow and fear.
The Worst Days
Peter Andrew Smith
Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4
"I can't take it anymore." Elizabeth slumped down in the front pew of the empty hospital chapel and looked up at the cross. "Why is this happening?"
She felt the tears start again and began digging through her purse. "Oh, come on! On top of everything else, I don't even have a tissue?"
"Here is one you can have." A woman dressed in jeans and a T-shirt stood in the doorway of the chapel with an outstretched hand. "You look like you need it more than I do right now."
"Thanks," Elizabeth said drying her tears and wiping her nose. "I thought I was doing better but I guess I'm not."
The woman sat down beside her and offered a second tissue. "How bad is it?"
"My husband is dying. The doctors have said there is nothing more they can do."
"I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be bothering you," Elizabeth said. "You didn't come in here to listen to my problems. You probably want some quiet to pray."
The woman smiled. "Actually, I was hoping that it wouldn't be quiet when I came here this morning."
"Oh, is there a worship service here today?"
The woman shook her head. "No, I just mean that it is very quiet here every time I come to pray and try to sort things out. Sometime I wish God would speak more clearly to me."
"I know what you mean," Elizabeth said. "Are you visiting someone in the hospital?"
The woman rolled back her sleeve to show the admission bracelet on her wrist. "I have been here six weeks."
"Oh," Elizabeth said. "How are you doing?"
"They stopped treatment last month because it wasn't doing any good." She took a deep breath. "The doctors say it is only a matter of time now."
"I'm so sorry. I just assumed because of your clothes that you weren't a patient. I didn't know."
"Don't worry about it," the woman said. "I hate hospital gowns. Putting on normal clothes helps me forget why I am here. Your husband got long?"
"They say a couple of days maybe a week. His sister is flying in tonight. Our son is here in town. He and the grandkids are with Tom now."
"Good to have family around at a time like this," the woman said. "Larry and I never had kids and I wish we did. I hate the thought of him being alone after I am gone. I wish he was as strong as you are. Your husband is lucky."
"Lucky? I'm a wreck. I can't deal with knowing that he is dying."
The tears started again and the woman gently took Elizabeth's hand.
"At least you know enough to come here," the woman said. "Larry keeps searching the internet for possible cures. That's why I come here so often to pray. I just wish God would answer."
"I prayed for Tom to be cured when he was diagnosed."
"Sometimes what we want isn't what happens," the woman said. "I prayed to be healed when they told me about the cancer too. I was so scared then."
Elizabeth squeezed her hand. "Maybe you will get your miracle."
The woman smiled. "I wouldn't say no if God offered, but actually I don't ask for that anymore. I'm more worried about Larry. He can't accept I'm dying. I'm scared for him as my time gets shorter."
"You're praying for your husband even though you are the one who is dying?" Elizabeth asked.
"I believe that there is something better waiting for me. I've accepted that I'm dying, and I've felt God's forgiveness. I'm ready to let go of this failing shell and move on." The woman sighed. "All of this has shaken Larry's faith. He's stopped going to church and praying, and I worry about him."
"Tom tells me he is ready to go. He's made his peace with God." Elizabeth reached for her tissue again. "I don't want him to die."
"I don't imagine he wants to go." The woman said. "Sometimes that isn't our choice to make."
"I guess not," Elizabeth said.
The woman's watch chimed. "Larry should be back soon."
"I should get back to Tom. The twins will probably have his room in shambles," Elizabeth smiled.
"Thank you," the woman said taking Elizabeth's hand again. "You've been an angel."
"But I didn't do anything." Elizabeth said.
"You talked to me," the woman said as she disappeared out the doorway. "I'll pray for you and Tom."
"I'll pray for you and Larry too." Elizabeth said softly to the empty room. She bowed her head and began to pray. She didn't bother to wipe her tears until she rose to go back to see her husband and family. They had a lot to talk about in the time they had left.
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
Three Days Later: What Have I Done?
Sandra Herrmann
Luke 19:1-10
Zacchaeus was beside himself. His wife had not been able to calm him, nor could his little daughters. He doted on those girls so this was quite unusual. They had even brought in their little parrot, but even the parrot's antics had no effect on their father's mood. He just kept on pacing back and forth in his counting-house. Now his wife and daughters were busying themselves with household chores, leaving him alone to his pacing and muttering.
Every few minutes, Zacchaeus would go over to his counting bench and begin to go through the accounts he kept. But after a few minutes, he would shout out, "This is impossible! I had to have been insane to make such a pledge!" Occasionally, he would throw something at the wall, but he had mostly stopped doing that, because it scattered his papers, bringing on a string of swear words that caused his wife to cover the ears of one or the other of the children.
At last, Abigail went and knocked on her husband's door. But the voice on the other side of the door just said, "Go away and leave me to my work!"
Normally, Abigail was an obedient wife, soft spoken and lovely. But she had had all she could take of the mutterings and shouting for one day. Therefore, she very calmly reached out her hand and lifted the latch. It took her another agonizing wait to actually open the door and speak to her husband.
"Zacchaeus!" she said, sharply. "What on earth is wrong? Can I help in any way?"
Her husband turned toward her so fiercely that she took a step backward. This was NOT the man she had come to love, as her mother and father had assured her she would on her wedding day. So she stood her ground, but she also let him see how worried she was. Did it have anything to do with Jesus, the son of Joseph, the man who had come to a feast her husband ordered prepared on only an hour's notice? She crossed the room and laid a hand on her husband's shoulder.
"This is men's concerns, Abigail," he replied. "I can't imagine how you think you could help me with it."
She didn't move, not even an inch. "What promise did you make to that Rabbi Jesus?" she demanded.
"I promised to give half of my money to the poor," he said, hanging his head. This was the part of the story he was quite sure would bring Abigail's wrath down on him. To cut their living standard down to half of their present lifestyle would require a vast shift in their way of life. They couldn't turn their servants out into the streets! And it would require Abigail to do work now done by their slaves. He could barely bring himself to tell her.
But to his amazement, it was the second pledge he had made that caused his wife to throw up her hands in amazement and despair. He had to admit, now that he had had time to think things over, he had been a bit rash.
"Zacchaeus," she said in a stern voice that reminded him, somehow, of his mother, "I can't begin to think how you can actually pay back every person in this town what you charged them above and beyond their taxes. After all, the Romans don't pay you, and I'm absolutely positive you never kept track of what you collected above and beyond the taxes owed to Rome, did you?"
Zacchaeus shook his head. "No, that is exactly the problem. I kept no such records. Why should I? But now I have promised Jesus to return all the overcharges I made. And I can't possibly do it! It would ruin us financially. But if I don't, I'll lose face. Everyone in town will have even more reason to hate us, to mock us. What was I thinking?"
"Zacchaeus," Amanda said quietly, putting her hand gently on his shoulder, "How did Jesus get you to make this promise? What kind of pressure did he put on you?" Amanda, of course, was not at the table with the men as they had eaten and talked the night before; she had been with the women of the household, eating in a separate room, as was the custom when important men visited their home.
Zacchaeus put his hand over hers. "Nothing. He said nothing. It wasn't his idea, it was mine." He was silent, looking down at the papers spread across his desk. "The thing is, it's as though he could look into my soul." He turned to his wife, and his face took on a glow she hadn't seen in a long time.
"For the first time in a long time, I felt the loneliness of being a tax collector. The anger, the spite of our Jewish neighbors, because of the job I do. And not just because I collect taxes for Rome. Because the only way I get paid is to charge more than Rome has asked for. And because I got greedy. I got greedy for you, for the girls, for the sons we have yet to raise. Even if our Jewish neighbors despised us, at least you were able to wear silk and pearls. We have fine food, mosaics on the floor, paintings on the walls. We have been able to care for our parents, to see to it that they can live here with us, and they don't have to live from hand to mouth.
"But now, what shall I do?"
Amanda bowed her head. "We shall start by doing one thing. We shall take half of our cash on hand and distribute it to the poor. The rich will have to wait." Her mouth twisted in a tight smile, thinking of their noble "friends," waiting for their share of her husband's pledge.
Her husband turned to her with a wider smile than hers. "You are not angry?"
She looked at him with great tenderness. "No, Zacchaeus, I am proud of you. You have always been a caring man. Now the entire world will see just what a great heart you have. I think this Jesus must be invited back soon. And this time, I would meet him, too."
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
Of Dreams, Saints, and Kingdoms
Larry Winebrenner
Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18
Have you ever had a dream? A really, really big dream? A Martin Luther King Jr. "I-have-a-dream" dream?
Most great leaders have larger-than-life dreams. Read Thomas Jefferson's Declaration of Independence. Consider Abraham Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation.
It's not only the high and mighty who have dreams, though. How about a couple of brothers in a bicycle shop in Ohio who envied the soaring eagles and dared to dream of flying?
Great movements owe themselves to great dreams.
Yet, not all great dreams are fulfilled in the dreamer's lifetime. Consider Daniel. He had a dream. They disturbed him, but when he asked for interpretation, he got one. Four beasts are four kingdoms.
What is to happen to these kingdoms? They will fall unto the saints of the Most High and the saints will possess them forever and ever.
Think about that. Not about what nations the four kingdoms are. Rather, who the saints of the Most High are.
Today is All Saints Day. Do you suppose the saints of the past that we celebrate today are those of whom Daniel dreamed? If so, where are they? They are to possess forever and ever. Where are they?
Ah! Perhaps they have not yet been born. We simply have to wait for them. But when? Isn't today part of forever and ever?
So that leaves today. All right. Who are the saints today?
Believe it or not, you are. Yes you. You -- if you are a believer. For, what is a saint?
A perfect human being?
Read St. Augustine's Confessions. Examine the lives of the saints of the past. Does St. Theresa of Avila sound like a saint when she falls off a horse in the middle of a stream? Not really. She sits there in the stream and shakes her fist at God. "You think that's funny," she accuses.
No. I'm afraid perfection is not the mark of a saint.
In the Eastern Orthodox tradition anyone in heaven is a saint whether recognized as such or not here on earth.
In First Corinthians Paul refers to the church members there as "Them that are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints" (1 Corinthians 1:2).
And one of the online dictionaries declares that a saint is "a person sanctified; a holy or godly person; one eminent for piety and virtue; any true Christian, as being redeemed and consecrated to God."
Thus, you can understand the request by a man that his brother be called as saint in the funeral oration. The only problem was that the brothers were known in that town to be the most exploitive, selfish, cheating, dishonest, uncaring, rascals in ten counties.
"I'll give your church building fund $50,000 if you will call my brother a saint in the funeral," offered the wicked brother.
"Give me a check for $100,000. If it clears, I give you my word I'll use the phrase, 'This man was a genuine saint' in the service," promised the preacher.
The check was written and deposited. At the funeral the clergyman spent twenty minutes cataloguing all the misdeeds he'd heard the dead man accused of, but at the end of that diatribe he said, "But compared with his brother, 'this man was a genuine saint'."
So, what kind of saint are you? And what are you going to do in this kingdom you have received? Where daily around the world the saints are praying, "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven."
Who Are the Saints?
Larry Winebrenner
Ephesians 1:11-25
Andy and his Uncle Jerry sat on a rock overlooking the third largest city in the Roman empire. Ephesus was not only large. It was also rich and important. It was the gateway to the East, the ancient Royal Road leading to Susa and beyond. The Cayster River was a ribbon of shining light and the Temple of Artemis stood inn all her glory grander even than the celebrated Parthenon.
"Uncle Jerry," said Andy. "Does the Temple of Artemis have saints?"
Jeremiah pondered the question a moment. He didn't want his sister's son to think his response was off the top of his head, really not important enough to give serious consideration.
"The temple has priests," he said.
"Are they saints?"
The older man realized he wasn't going to get off with a simple answer. Andy had a deeper concern than the question implied.
"To tell the truth, Andy, I really don't know. I wouldn't call them saints but the worshipers of Artemis might. Why do you ask? You planning to become a follower of Artemis?"
"I'm a follower of Jesus!" Andy replied hotly. "I just wondered."
Jeremiah smiled to himself, but was careful not to let Andy see. He did not want the boy to think he had not been taken seriously.
"Yes," he affirmed. "And a good one. But I was trying to get at your other question."
"Other question?"
"Yeah. You see, serious questions rarely stand alone. One leads to the other. Like when I'm taking an order for a new pair of sandals."
"You're a good sandal maker," said Andy.
"That's because I ask good questions. If I asked how much someone was willing to pay for the sandal they were ordering, they really wouldn't know what a good price is. If it were too low, I'd be in a jam because I'd asked and it wouldn't be good for me to demand more. It would make me look greedy or the customer look cheap or both."
"And if it were too high?" asked Andy.
"I'd be dishonest to take it and would make the customer look foolish if I said it was too much."
"So what do you ask?"
"Style," said Uncle Jerry. "Materials. How soon they needed it. Several things so I could say, 'It will cost five drachmas for a pair of sandals like that.' If that is considered too expensive, I can adjust what goes into making the sandals until we reach an agreement."
"What's this got to do with my question?" demanded Andy.
The older man laughed.
"Nothing. Unless you had another question in mind. One hiding behind the first."
Andy looked at his uncle thirty heartbeats.
"Am I a saint?" he blurted.
Jeremiah was taken aback. An eleven-year-old saint? He'd never heard of such a thing. He had been a Jew all his life -- until Paul came along. All the holy men, and they were men, not boys, that scriptures told about, had been mature adults.
Daniel? Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego? All men. Young men, but men all the same.
He knew he was not going to get off easy. Could he tell this intense boy, this follower of Jesus, that for all his faith, he just wasn't old enough to be a saint?
Finally, he fell back on a recent letter the followers of the Way had received from Paul. Paul didn't exactly call those in Ephesus saints. But he did refer to saints. He referred to their "love for all the saints." And his reference throughout the letter was to those who were in Christ.
"Andy," said Uncle Jerry. "In the letter recently sent by our founder, Paul, is the answer to your question. Paul said, 'You also were included in Christ when you heard the word of truth.' That's good enough for me."
"Yes, you are a saint. All believers are saints."
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
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StoryShare, October 31, 2010 & November 1, 2010, issue.
Copyright 2010 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 Worst Days" by Peter Andrew Smith
"Three Days Later: What Have I Done?" by Sandra Herrmann
"Of Dreams, Saints, and Kingdoms" by Larry Winebrenner
"Who Are the Saints?" by Larry Winebrenner
* * * * * * * * *
In his story "The Worst Days," Peter Andrew Smith tells the story of two women who discover God's grace and peace can still be felt even when we are surrounded by sorrow and fear.
The Worst Days
Peter Andrew Smith
Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4
"I can't take it anymore." Elizabeth slumped down in the front pew of the empty hospital chapel and looked up at the cross. "Why is this happening?"
She felt the tears start again and began digging through her purse. "Oh, come on! On top of everything else, I don't even have a tissue?"
"Here is one you can have." A woman dressed in jeans and a T-shirt stood in the doorway of the chapel with an outstretched hand. "You look like you need it more than I do right now."
"Thanks," Elizabeth said drying her tears and wiping her nose. "I thought I was doing better but I guess I'm not."
The woman sat down beside her and offered a second tissue. "How bad is it?"
"My husband is dying. The doctors have said there is nothing more they can do."
"I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be bothering you," Elizabeth said. "You didn't come in here to listen to my problems. You probably want some quiet to pray."
The woman smiled. "Actually, I was hoping that it wouldn't be quiet when I came here this morning."
"Oh, is there a worship service here today?"
The woman shook her head. "No, I just mean that it is very quiet here every time I come to pray and try to sort things out. Sometime I wish God would speak more clearly to me."
"I know what you mean," Elizabeth said. "Are you visiting someone in the hospital?"
The woman rolled back her sleeve to show the admission bracelet on her wrist. "I have been here six weeks."
"Oh," Elizabeth said. "How are you doing?"
"They stopped treatment last month because it wasn't doing any good." She took a deep breath. "The doctors say it is only a matter of time now."
"I'm so sorry. I just assumed because of your clothes that you weren't a patient. I didn't know."
"Don't worry about it," the woman said. "I hate hospital gowns. Putting on normal clothes helps me forget why I am here. Your husband got long?"
"They say a couple of days maybe a week. His sister is flying in tonight. Our son is here in town. He and the grandkids are with Tom now."
"Good to have family around at a time like this," the woman said. "Larry and I never had kids and I wish we did. I hate the thought of him being alone after I am gone. I wish he was as strong as you are. Your husband is lucky."
"Lucky? I'm a wreck. I can't deal with knowing that he is dying."
The tears started again and the woman gently took Elizabeth's hand.
"At least you know enough to come here," the woman said. "Larry keeps searching the internet for possible cures. That's why I come here so often to pray. I just wish God would answer."
"I prayed for Tom to be cured when he was diagnosed."
"Sometimes what we want isn't what happens," the woman said. "I prayed to be healed when they told me about the cancer too. I was so scared then."
Elizabeth squeezed her hand. "Maybe you will get your miracle."
The woman smiled. "I wouldn't say no if God offered, but actually I don't ask for that anymore. I'm more worried about Larry. He can't accept I'm dying. I'm scared for him as my time gets shorter."
"You're praying for your husband even though you are the one who is dying?" Elizabeth asked.
"I believe that there is something better waiting for me. I've accepted that I'm dying, and I've felt God's forgiveness. I'm ready to let go of this failing shell and move on." The woman sighed. "All of this has shaken Larry's faith. He's stopped going to church and praying, and I worry about him."
"Tom tells me he is ready to go. He's made his peace with God." Elizabeth reached for her tissue again. "I don't want him to die."
"I don't imagine he wants to go." The woman said. "Sometimes that isn't our choice to make."
"I guess not," Elizabeth said.
The woman's watch chimed. "Larry should be back soon."
"I should get back to Tom. The twins will probably have his room in shambles," Elizabeth smiled.
"Thank you," the woman said taking Elizabeth's hand again. "You've been an angel."
"But I didn't do anything." Elizabeth said.
"You talked to me," the woman said as she disappeared out the doorway. "I'll pray for you and Tom."
"I'll pray for you and Larry too." Elizabeth said softly to the empty room. She bowed her head and began to pray. She didn't bother to wipe her tears until she rose to go back to see her husband and family. They had a lot to talk about in the time they had left.
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
Three Days Later: What Have I Done?
Sandra Herrmann
Luke 19:1-10
Zacchaeus was beside himself. His wife had not been able to calm him, nor could his little daughters. He doted on those girls so this was quite unusual. They had even brought in their little parrot, but even the parrot's antics had no effect on their father's mood. He just kept on pacing back and forth in his counting-house. Now his wife and daughters were busying themselves with household chores, leaving him alone to his pacing and muttering.
Every few minutes, Zacchaeus would go over to his counting bench and begin to go through the accounts he kept. But after a few minutes, he would shout out, "This is impossible! I had to have been insane to make such a pledge!" Occasionally, he would throw something at the wall, but he had mostly stopped doing that, because it scattered his papers, bringing on a string of swear words that caused his wife to cover the ears of one or the other of the children.
At last, Abigail went and knocked on her husband's door. But the voice on the other side of the door just said, "Go away and leave me to my work!"
Normally, Abigail was an obedient wife, soft spoken and lovely. But she had had all she could take of the mutterings and shouting for one day. Therefore, she very calmly reached out her hand and lifted the latch. It took her another agonizing wait to actually open the door and speak to her husband.
"Zacchaeus!" she said, sharply. "What on earth is wrong? Can I help in any way?"
Her husband turned toward her so fiercely that she took a step backward. This was NOT the man she had come to love, as her mother and father had assured her she would on her wedding day. So she stood her ground, but she also let him see how worried she was. Did it have anything to do with Jesus, the son of Joseph, the man who had come to a feast her husband ordered prepared on only an hour's notice? She crossed the room and laid a hand on her husband's shoulder.
"This is men's concerns, Abigail," he replied. "I can't imagine how you think you could help me with it."
She didn't move, not even an inch. "What promise did you make to that Rabbi Jesus?" she demanded.
"I promised to give half of my money to the poor," he said, hanging his head. This was the part of the story he was quite sure would bring Abigail's wrath down on him. To cut their living standard down to half of their present lifestyle would require a vast shift in their way of life. They couldn't turn their servants out into the streets! And it would require Abigail to do work now done by their slaves. He could barely bring himself to tell her.
But to his amazement, it was the second pledge he had made that caused his wife to throw up her hands in amazement and despair. He had to admit, now that he had had time to think things over, he had been a bit rash.
"Zacchaeus," she said in a stern voice that reminded him, somehow, of his mother, "I can't begin to think how you can actually pay back every person in this town what you charged them above and beyond their taxes. After all, the Romans don't pay you, and I'm absolutely positive you never kept track of what you collected above and beyond the taxes owed to Rome, did you?"
Zacchaeus shook his head. "No, that is exactly the problem. I kept no such records. Why should I? But now I have promised Jesus to return all the overcharges I made. And I can't possibly do it! It would ruin us financially. But if I don't, I'll lose face. Everyone in town will have even more reason to hate us, to mock us. What was I thinking?"
"Zacchaeus," Amanda said quietly, putting her hand gently on his shoulder, "How did Jesus get you to make this promise? What kind of pressure did he put on you?" Amanda, of course, was not at the table with the men as they had eaten and talked the night before; she had been with the women of the household, eating in a separate room, as was the custom when important men visited their home.
Zacchaeus put his hand over hers. "Nothing. He said nothing. It wasn't his idea, it was mine." He was silent, looking down at the papers spread across his desk. "The thing is, it's as though he could look into my soul." He turned to his wife, and his face took on a glow she hadn't seen in a long time.
"For the first time in a long time, I felt the loneliness of being a tax collector. The anger, the spite of our Jewish neighbors, because of the job I do. And not just because I collect taxes for Rome. Because the only way I get paid is to charge more than Rome has asked for. And because I got greedy. I got greedy for you, for the girls, for the sons we have yet to raise. Even if our Jewish neighbors despised us, at least you were able to wear silk and pearls. We have fine food, mosaics on the floor, paintings on the walls. We have been able to care for our parents, to see to it that they can live here with us, and they don't have to live from hand to mouth.
"But now, what shall I do?"
Amanda bowed her head. "We shall start by doing one thing. We shall take half of our cash on hand and distribute it to the poor. The rich will have to wait." Her mouth twisted in a tight smile, thinking of their noble "friends," waiting for their share of her husband's pledge.
Her husband turned to her with a wider smile than hers. "You are not angry?"
She looked at him with great tenderness. "No, Zacchaeus, I am proud of you. You have always been a caring man. Now the entire world will see just what a great heart you have. I think this Jesus must be invited back soon. And this time, I would meet him, too."
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
Of Dreams, Saints, and Kingdoms
Larry Winebrenner
Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18
Have you ever had a dream? A really, really big dream? A Martin Luther King Jr. "I-have-a-dream" dream?
Most great leaders have larger-than-life dreams. Read Thomas Jefferson's Declaration of Independence. Consider Abraham Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation.
It's not only the high and mighty who have dreams, though. How about a couple of brothers in a bicycle shop in Ohio who envied the soaring eagles and dared to dream of flying?
Great movements owe themselves to great dreams.
Yet, not all great dreams are fulfilled in the dreamer's lifetime. Consider Daniel. He had a dream. They disturbed him, but when he asked for interpretation, he got one. Four beasts are four kingdoms.
What is to happen to these kingdoms? They will fall unto the saints of the Most High and the saints will possess them forever and ever.
Think about that. Not about what nations the four kingdoms are. Rather, who the saints of the Most High are.
Today is All Saints Day. Do you suppose the saints of the past that we celebrate today are those of whom Daniel dreamed? If so, where are they? They are to possess forever and ever. Where are they?
Ah! Perhaps they have not yet been born. We simply have to wait for them. But when? Isn't today part of forever and ever?
So that leaves today. All right. Who are the saints today?
Believe it or not, you are. Yes you. You -- if you are a believer. For, what is a saint?
A perfect human being?
Read St. Augustine's Confessions. Examine the lives of the saints of the past. Does St. Theresa of Avila sound like a saint when she falls off a horse in the middle of a stream? Not really. She sits there in the stream and shakes her fist at God. "You think that's funny," she accuses.
No. I'm afraid perfection is not the mark of a saint.
In the Eastern Orthodox tradition anyone in heaven is a saint whether recognized as such or not here on earth.
In First Corinthians Paul refers to the church members there as "Them that are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints" (1 Corinthians 1:2).
And one of the online dictionaries declares that a saint is "a person sanctified; a holy or godly person; one eminent for piety and virtue; any true Christian, as being redeemed and consecrated to God."
Thus, you can understand the request by a man that his brother be called as saint in the funeral oration. The only problem was that the brothers were known in that town to be the most exploitive, selfish, cheating, dishonest, uncaring, rascals in ten counties.
"I'll give your church building fund $50,000 if you will call my brother a saint in the funeral," offered the wicked brother.
"Give me a check for $100,000. If it clears, I give you my word I'll use the phrase, 'This man was a genuine saint' in the service," promised the preacher.
The check was written and deposited. At the funeral the clergyman spent twenty minutes cataloguing all the misdeeds he'd heard the dead man accused of, but at the end of that diatribe he said, "But compared with his brother, 'this man was a genuine saint'."
So, what kind of saint are you? And what are you going to do in this kingdom you have received? Where daily around the world the saints are praying, "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven."
Who Are the Saints?
Larry Winebrenner
Ephesians 1:11-25
Andy and his Uncle Jerry sat on a rock overlooking the third largest city in the Roman empire. Ephesus was not only large. It was also rich and important. It was the gateway to the East, the ancient Royal Road leading to Susa and beyond. The Cayster River was a ribbon of shining light and the Temple of Artemis stood inn all her glory grander even than the celebrated Parthenon.
"Uncle Jerry," said Andy. "Does the Temple of Artemis have saints?"
Jeremiah pondered the question a moment. He didn't want his sister's son to think his response was off the top of his head, really not important enough to give serious consideration.
"The temple has priests," he said.
"Are they saints?"
The older man realized he wasn't going to get off with a simple answer. Andy had a deeper concern than the question implied.
"To tell the truth, Andy, I really don't know. I wouldn't call them saints but the worshipers of Artemis might. Why do you ask? You planning to become a follower of Artemis?"
"I'm a follower of Jesus!" Andy replied hotly. "I just wondered."
Jeremiah smiled to himself, but was careful not to let Andy see. He did not want the boy to think he had not been taken seriously.
"Yes," he affirmed. "And a good one. But I was trying to get at your other question."
"Other question?"
"Yeah. You see, serious questions rarely stand alone. One leads to the other. Like when I'm taking an order for a new pair of sandals."
"You're a good sandal maker," said Andy.
"That's because I ask good questions. If I asked how much someone was willing to pay for the sandal they were ordering, they really wouldn't know what a good price is. If it were too low, I'd be in a jam because I'd asked and it wouldn't be good for me to demand more. It would make me look greedy or the customer look cheap or both."
"And if it were too high?" asked Andy.
"I'd be dishonest to take it and would make the customer look foolish if I said it was too much."
"So what do you ask?"
"Style," said Uncle Jerry. "Materials. How soon they needed it. Several things so I could say, 'It will cost five drachmas for a pair of sandals like that.' If that is considered too expensive, I can adjust what goes into making the sandals until we reach an agreement."
"What's this got to do with my question?" demanded Andy.
The older man laughed.
"Nothing. Unless you had another question in mind. One hiding behind the first."
Andy looked at his uncle thirty heartbeats.
"Am I a saint?" he blurted.
Jeremiah was taken aback. An eleven-year-old saint? He'd never heard of such a thing. He had been a Jew all his life -- until Paul came along. All the holy men, and they were men, not boys, that scriptures told about, had been mature adults.
Daniel? Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego? All men. Young men, but men all the same.
He knew he was not going to get off easy. Could he tell this intense boy, this follower of Jesus, that for all his faith, he just wasn't old enough to be a saint?
Finally, he fell back on a recent letter the followers of the Way had received from Paul. Paul didn't exactly call those in Ephesus saints. But he did refer to saints. He referred to their "love for all the saints." And his reference throughout the letter was to those who were in Christ.
"Andy," said Uncle Jerry. "In the letter recently sent by our founder, Paul, is the answer to your question. Paul said, 'You also were included in Christ when you heard the word of truth.' That's good enough for me."
"Yes, you are a saint. All believers are saints."
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
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StoryShare, October 31, 2010 & November 1, 2010, issue.
Copyright 2010 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.
