Easter Stories
Stories
Object:
Contents
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "The Door to Eternity"
Shining Moments: "Easter Stories" by Ralph Milton, Lisa Lancaster & Ned Dorau
Good Stories: "The Mortician's Tale" by John Sumwalt
Scrap Pile: "Jokes as Hospitality"
What's Up This Week
If Easter is about truth, about something real that happened to Jesus, then there should be signs of it in our everyday lives. And there are, if we will just open our eyes to see. Joan Borysenko tells about a remarkable Easter-like experience that occurred at the time of her mother's death in this week's Story to Live By. Ralph Milton, Lisa Lancaster, and Ned Dorau share similar personal experiences of the holy breaking into their lives in Shining Moments. For some good Easter fiction, check out John's "The Mortician's Tale" in Good Stories. And if you are looking for just the right joke to open the Easter sermon, check out some of John's favorites in the Scrap Pile.
A Story to Live By
The Door to Eternity
So you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth, for you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.
Colossians 3:1-3
The night that she was dying I was sitting by [my mother's] bedside in the hospital. It was about three in the morning. My son Justin, who was 20 at the time, was sitting on the opposite side of the bed. We'd both been meditating and praying for my mother, and the room was very still.
Suddenly I had a vision -- and believe me, I'm not the sort of person who's prone to visions. And in that vision I was a pregnant mother giving birth to a baby, but I was also simultaneously the baby. That's an amazing thing: to find yourself conscious of being two people at once. And as the baby, I was coming out through a dark tunnel, and I came out into an experience of ineffable light -- just like the light that people talk about when they have a near-death experience. And in that moment, my entire life with my mother made sense, and it seemed perfect that she had birthed me into this world, and it seemed that I had just birthed her soul back out of the world. And I felt such gratitude for her.
When I opened my eyes, the room was literally filled with light. You could see it. You could see particles of light. And I looked across the bed and there was my son weeping, tears just pouring from his eyes. And he looked at me and he said, "Can you see the light in the room?" And I nodded and he said, "It's Grandma; she's holding open the door to eternity for us so that we can have a glimpse."
(Joan Borysenko, from Angels: The Mysterious Messengers, Ballantine, 1994, pp. 57-58)
Shining Moments
Easter Stories
...but God raised him on the third day and allowed him to appear, not to all the people but to us who were chosen by God as witnesses, and who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead.
Acts 10:40-41
Ralph Milton
Not long ago, at about 9:00 on a Sunday night, I had a call from my sister Peggy saying that our sister June had died. It was not an unexpected death. June was cursed with a tobacco addiction she was never able to shake, and so the last years of her life were spent in a half-life of emphysema, hooked up to oxygen, struggling to breathe. June was a vivacious, joyous, musical person, and it caused us much pain to see her living that way. So her death, when it came, was a blessing.
But I grieved anyway. That night, as I went to bed, I suddenly found myself with June and Peggy, and we were singing together as we often did as children -- loud and high and clear in our childhood voices the songs from Humperdinck's Hansel and Gretel: "When at night I go to sleep, fourteen angels watch do keep..." and the final line, "two to whom 'tis given to guide my steps to heaven."
This was not just a memory. It was far too clear and powerful, and I sang through the whole song, every word, with my sisters. I don't know if I was asleep or not, but I don't think I was. I don't recall ever having a memory or a dream as clear and powerful as that one. And it left me with a sense of joy and peace and thanksgiving.
I've told a number of people about that vision, and in each telling, and the feedback that it brings, I've understood it a bit more and valued it more deeply as my farewell to a much-treasured sister.
Ralph Milton has worked in Christian communication most of his adult life, serving in the Philippines, New York, and in his native Canada. He is a co-founder of Canada's largest religious publishing house, Wood Lake Books, and is the author of more than a dozen books. Milton edits "Rumors," a weekly online magazine of humor and faith, which is available free by sending an e-mail note to him at ralphmilton@woodlake.com. His efforts in Christian communication, especially his work in the field of humor and faith, have brought him two honorary doctorates from Canadian theological schools.
*************
Lisa Lancaster
John and I were good friends. His wife Katie and I just remained acquaintances. Then I found out that Katie had cancer, and that it had progressed to the point that there was no hope for recovery. I was able to be a support to John, but Katie pushed me away, right up until the very end. I always felt so unsettled that I had been able to help him, but not her or their three children. I had this nagging feeling for weeks that I had not done enough.
Then one night I dreamed about Katie. She walked toward me, with her hand outstretched for a handshake, and said to me, "I want to thank you for all that you did for my family." I knew it was actually a visitation, and I have always been grateful to God for this, and to Katie, for reassuring me in a way that finally enabled me to let go.
Lisa Lancaster was ordained as a pastor in the Presbyterian Church (USA) in 1987. After pastoring a church for four years, she answered a call to specialized ministry as a chaplain, becoming board certified by the Association of Professional Chaplains in 1994. For the past eleven years she has served as Chaplain/Director of Pastoral Care at CentraState Health Care System. She has taught on the topic "High Death Awareness" at a national conference. Lisa and her husband Richard, a research meteorologist, live in Millstone Township, New Jersey, with their "four-legged children" (one cat, one dog) and enjoy traveling.
*************
Ned Dorau
I recently baptized the second daughter of an Arizona couple, Kris and Mark. They had journeyed to Random Lake, Wisconsin, with the baby and their first daughter, Alexandra. Kris is originally from a Catholic family in the area, and her husband Mark, a Lutheran, is from Eau Claire. They are both active members of a Lutheran church in Arizona, and they thought that by having the baptism in Wisconsin, the whole family could be present for the joy that is always part of that special day. Many from the Catholic side of the family came to church that Sunday in late November, and we celebrated together during the liturgy and afterwards. I had the privilege of meeting Kris's dad, Tom, who, with his wife, had been a lifelong Random Lake resident before moving to Plymouth the previous year for health reasons.
Several days later, Kris sent me an e-mail with a wonderful picture from the baptism, and the sad news that her dad, Tom, whom I had met less than two weeks earlier, had suffered a massive stroke and had irreversible brain damage.
At Tom's funeral I once again connected with the whole family, this time at the Catholic church. As I greeted Tom's wife and daughter Kris, they shared a special story about Alexandra. A couple of days before Kris's mother called her in Arizona to tell her of her dad's death, Kris had noticed her little daughter Alexandra returning again and again to a wedding picture she had in the kitchen of her with her parents. Each time Alexandra came to the picture she would say, "Mommy, Grandma, Grandpa. Grandpa go bye-bye." The statement concerned Kris so much that she immediately called her parents to make sure her father was all right. She was relieved when her father answered the phone. He talked to her about what a beautiful day it was and how much he was enjoying it.
A couple of days later, the call came from Wisconsin, confirming what little Alexandra had already sensed. The family understands her experience as a special moment for them, reinforcing the belief that the Lord indeed works in mysterious and wonderful ways.
Ned Dorau is a native of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, who earned his M.Div. degree from St. Francis Seminary in Milwaukee after a first career in business. He is the pastor of St. Paul's Lutheran Church in Random Lake, Wisconsin, where he is near family in suburban Milwaukee and close to longtime interests like the Milwaukee Symphony and Florentine Opera, the Milwaukee Brewers, and Marquette basketball.
Good Stories
The Mortician's Tale
by John Sumwalt
...she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?" Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away." Jesus said to her, "Mary!" She turned and said to him in Hebrew, "Rabbouni!" (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, "Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, 'I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.' " Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, "I have seen the Lord"; and she told them that he had said these things to her.
John 20:14-18
It was on a warm Saturday afternoon, late in the spring of 1911. I'll never forget the day. I had just returned from my regular Saturday fishing excursion with old Doc Hallister. We hadn't caught any fish -- we rarely did -- but we enjoyed each other's company. Doctors and morticians have many things in common. I used to kid him that my job was to bury his mistakes, and he used to accuse me of hovering around his office door like a vulture. This incipient black humor was just between us: a way of coping with the stresses and tensions of our work. He confided in me once that he had never gotten used to watching people die. He said it was his business to keep people alive. That was why he had become a doctor. He felt like a failure when death won the day. That was the way he had put it. Young people and children, whose mothers he had attended at their birthing, were the hardest, he said. I told him it was the same for me. Friends and the children of friends were the most difficult for me to bear. But we were both philosophical about it. These were our callings, after all: his to care for the dying, mine to prepare the dead for burial. So we went fishing every Saturday -- if he wasn't out in the country somewhere delivering a baby, and if I wasn't embalming a corpse -- and we talked about other things: politics and books we had read, the best tenor we had ever heard, women we had known or would like to have known, and baseball, the other great passion we shared. We were planning to take the train to Chicago to see the White Sox play in their new stadium, Comiskey Park, they called it. He never did get to go. I went with my wife a few years after he died, and I thought of him as we sat in the upper deck. Doc was a great source of comfort for me. I was glad that he was still alive after what happened on that Saturday afternoon.
As I pulled into the dooryard that day, I saw a rider bent over his horse, waiting for me under the butternut tree just beyond the gate. I pulled my rig over beside him. When he raised his head, I was able to see his face beneath the brim of his hat. It was one of Rupert Jones' boys. Rupert was a dairy farmer who lived about four miles outside of town, beyond the railroad bridge on the other side of the Little Pine River. He and I had been chums in grammar school, and we worked the railroad together when we were young bucks. We ran around together to dances and barn raisings, chasing some of the same girls. He went into farming with his father after he married Pearl, and I joined Pa in the mortuary business. Rupert had asked me to be godfather for his first boy, Frank. We didn't see each other much after that. This was one of the younger ones, Earl, I think his name was.
"Pa sent me to bring you," he said. "Frank's dead -- kicked by a horse this morning."
I didn't question him about the details. There was no need. It was a common occurrence in those days. I exchanged my fishing tackle for my embalming equipment, Earl tied his horse to the back of the buggy and joined me on the seat up front, and we were off. We rode in silence all the way out to the farm. Earl didn't say one word. He was in shock. I guessed that he must have been present when it happened, and I didn't try to get him to talk. It would all come out when he was ready.
The farmyard was already filled with neighbors who had come as soon as they heard. Wagons and buggies were parked all along the driveway. Some of the men had simply unhitched their work horses from the plow and ridden them across the fields. They stood in their harnesses with heads low, glad for an opportunity to rest early in the day. The men stood near their animals, speaking in quiet voices, going over the details of the accident. Small children were chasing each other around the barn. Rupert shook my hand when I got down from the buggy and thanked me for coming. He took me directly into the house, past the parlor filled with neighbor women, through the front hall and the kitchen, and onto the back porch, a lean-to room that had been added to the house as an afterthought and served as a summer kitchen. It was a large screened-in room, meant only for warm weather use. It served well for large family gatherings and as a place to feed threshing crews at harvest time. In the fall, when the air turned cold, they butchered deer and rabbits there and hung the carcasses up to cure for a few days before canning or smoking. Pearl was there with Frank's two sisters and several other women relatives. They had laid Frank's body out under a sheet on a long hardwood table, with only his head exposed. I expressed my sympathy to Pearl, and then asked them to excuse me for a little while so that I could prepare the body. They all filed out, wiping their eyes, blowing their noses, and leaning on each other for support. The sight of me had set off a new round of weeping. It always did. I was the final harbinger of death. There was no denying it, no more hoping that it wasn't true, after I arrived to do my work.
I pulled the sheet back and surveyed the body. There was a large red welt on the chest, but no marks on the head or face. The technical part of my job would be easy. I set myself immediately to the task at hand, trying not to let myself think too much about the life of this handsome, well-muscled young lad whose body lay before me. I would weep later, on the way home: get it all out, as I always did, before I greeted my own son. Oh, how my heart ached for Rupert and Pearl, but I put it out of my mind so I could do what I had to do. I had turned to get the needle and hose out of my bag when I heard a voice behind me speak my name.
"Mr. Cummens, is that you?"
I was startled to say the least. I turned around and there was Frank, sitting up on the edge of the table. He pulled the sheet around his body to cover himself. Then he spoke again.
"I know why you're here, and I won't interrupt you for long, but I have to tell you something before I go. Promise me you'll remember what I say. It's important that Ma and Pa hear the whole story. It will make it easier for them."
I promised him that I would listen carefully and tell them all that he said.
"Pa and I haven't been getting along," he said. "I was planning to run away and get a job in the city. I took some money out of the cash box -- about $50 -- just enough to get me started. I would have paid it all back. It's buried next to the big rock under the apple tree in the barnyard. I was going to leave in the morning while they were all at church. Pa probably doesn't know the money is missing yet, but he'll find out as soon as he looks in the cash box, and he'll know it was me that took it. I want you to see that he gets it back. And I want you to tell him and Ma that I am sorry for the trouble I caused them, and that I will always love them."
Then he laid his head back down on the table and was still. I stood there, numb, for a long time. I couldn't move; I couldn't think. Finally, I forced myself to go over and touch the body. It was cold and there was no pulse. Afterward, I wasn't sure if it was Frank's ghost or Frank himself, in the flesh, who had sat up and spoken to me, but I had no doubt that it had happened. The words that he asked me to remember are forever embedded in my memory.
The family must have wondered what was taking me so long. When I finished, at last, I bid them come in. Some of the men brought in the coffin and placed it by the table. Frank's mother and sisters would wash and dress him, and then his body would be placed in the coffin and carried into the living room for the wake that would go on all through the night and into the next day, until the time of the funeral. I would come back with the horse hearse and the preacher. My work would be complete after the procession and the burial in the cemetery. I picked up my bag of embalming equipment and the large blue bottle filled with Frank's blood, which I would dispose of later, and asked Rupert to join me outside. I walked out toward the apple tree in the barnyard with Rupert following along. When we came to the big rock, I picked up a stick and dug around until I found the package of money wrapped in a piece of old oilcloth. I gave it to Rupert, and then I told him everything that Frank had said. When I was finished, he grabbed me and hugged me to his big farmer frame so hard that I thought for sure he had broken several of my ribs. Then he turned, without saying a word, and went back into the house.
When I had finished repeating the story to old Doc, as we sat fishing on the bank of the Little Pine the following Saturday morning, he leaned back against a log, blew a big puff of smoke from his pipe, and said, "I'll be damned. Maybe death doesn't win!"
This story is shared in memory of Eleanor Cummings Steinhaus, who was a funeral director, with her husband Carl, in Montello, Wisconsin, from 1947 to 1976. They inherited the business from her father, C.A. Cummings, who founded it in 1905. Eleanor was the first woman to be licensed as a funeral director in Wisconsin.
Scrap Pile
Jokes as Hospitality
by John Sumwalt
Telling a good joke is a form of hospitality. I am not much for telling canned jokes in my sermons, but every once in a while I will slip one in if I think it is funny. It helps people to relax and it helps me establish a rapport that makes dialogue possible.
I usually save one of my favorite jokes of the year for Easter Sunday. I know there will be a lot of visitors present and I know that a good joke will help them feel at home. Laughter has a way of opening the heart. It is the verbal form of a warm embrace, which is the beginning of good communication.
I try to find what I think is a very funny joke (the sure winner) to tell on Easter (there are not that many around that you can tell in church). Someone sent me a good one recently that purports to be a true story. It is very funny and he insisted that it could be told in church, but alas, it is one of those "true" stories that circulate on the internet which sounds too good to be true... and is. I had actually figured out a way to tell it in the Easter sermon when I discovered that it is fiction -- which I think ruins the usefulness of this particular joke. Check it out for yourself. It is a good laugh which may help you get through Holy Week if nothing else. (http://www.bighoaxes.com/hoaxe_12_360.html)
My favorite joke of the year is the following one about four brothers. It is new to me, and if I can figure out a way to tell it as part of the Easter sermon, I will. If not, it will be just as funny at Easter dinner at my brother's house. And it will certainly preach on Mother's Day.
Four Brothers
Four brothers left home for college, and they all became very successful businessmen. Some years later, they chatted after having dinner together. They discussed the gifts that they were able to give to their elderly mother, who lived far away in another city.
The first said, "I had a big house built for Mama."
The second said, "I had a $100,000 theater built in the house."
The third said, "I had my Mercedes dealer deliver her an SL600."
The fourth said, "Listen to this. You know how Mama loved reading the Bible -- and you know she can't read it anymore because she can't see very well. I met this priest who told me about a parrot that can recite the entire Bible. It took 20 priests 12 years to teach him. I had to pledge to contribute $100,000 a year for 20 years to the church, but it was worth it. Mama just has to name the chapter and verse, and the parrot will recite it." The other brothers were impressed.
After the holidays, Mom sent out her "thank you" notes. She wrote: "Milton, the house you built is so huge. I live in only one room, but I have to clean the whole house. Thanks anyway."
"Marvin, I am too old to travel. I stay at home and I have my groceries delivered, so I never use the Mercedes. The thought was good. Thanks."
"Michael, you gave me an expensive theater with Dolby sound. It could hold 50 people, but all my friends are dead, I've lost my hearing, and I'm nearly blind. I'll never use it. Thank you for the gesture just the same."
"Dearest Melvin, you were the only son to have the good sense to give a little thought to your gift. The chicken was delicious. Thank you."
If you have a good one you have been saving for Easter, I would love to hear it. Write to us at jsumwalt@naspa.net.
Here is the joke I told last Easter. It was a winner. It may also be a true story, but in this case it doesn't matter one way or the other.
The Pastor's Cat
There was once a pastor that had a kitten that climbed up a tree in his backyard, and then was afraid to come down. The pastor coaxed and offered warm milk, but the kitty would not come down. The tree was not sturdy enough to climb, so the pastor decided that if he tied a rope to his car and drove away so that the tree bent down, he could then reach up and get the kitten.
He did! All the while, checking his progress in the car frequently, he figured if he went just a little bit further, the tree would be bent sufficiently for him to reach the kitten. But as he moved a little further forward, the rope broke.
The tree went "boiiing!" and the kitten instantly sailed through the air out of sight. The pastor felt terrible.
He walked all over the neighborhood asking people if they'd seen a little kitten. Nobody had seen a stray kitten. So he prayed, "Lord, I just commit this kitten to your keeping," and went on about his business.
A few days later he was at the grocery store, and met one of his church members. He happened to look into her shopping cart and was amazed to see cat food. Now this woman was a cat hater and everyone knew it, so he asked her, "Why are you buying cat food when you hate cats so much?" She replied, "You won't believe this," and told him how her little girl had been begging her for a cat, but she kept refusing. Then a few days before, the child had begged again, so the mom finally told her little girl, "Well, if God gives you a cat, I'll let you keep it."
She told the pastor, "I watched my child go out in the yard, get on her knees, and ask God for a cat. And really, Pastor, you won't believe this, but I saw it with my own eyes. A kitten suddenly came flying out of the blue sky, with its paws outspread, and landed right in front of her."
Never underestimate the Power of God.
(From "Stories For The Soul," http://www.geocities.com/ppotn/soul.html)
**********************************************
How to Share Stories
You have good stories to share, probably more than you know: personal stories as well as stories from others that you have used over the years. If you have a story you like, whether fictional or "really happened," authored by you or a brief excerpt from a favorite book, send it to StoryShare for review. Simply click here share-a-story@csspub.com and e-mail the story to us.
**************
New Book
The third book in the vision series, Shining Moments: Visions of the Holy in Ordinary Lives (edited by John Sumwalt), is now available from CSS Publishing Company. (Click on the title for information about how to order.) Among the 60 contributing authors of these Chicken Soup for the Soul-like vignettes are Ralph Milton, Sandra Herrmann, Pamela J. Tinnin, Richard H. Gentzler Jr., David Michael Smith, Anne Sunday, Nancy Nichols, William Lee Rand, Gail Ingle, and Rosmarie Trapp, whose family story was told in the classic movie The Sound of Music. The stories follow the lectionary for Cycle A.
Other Books by John & Jo Sumwalt
Sharing Visions: Divine Revelations, Angels, and Holy Coincidences
Vision Stories: True Accounts of Visions, Angels, and Healing Miracles
Life Stories: A Study in Christian Decision Making
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle A
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle B
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle C
Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit: 62 Stories for Cycle B
You can order any of our books on the CSS website; they are also available from www.amazon.com and at many Christian bookstores. Or simply e-mail your order to orders@csspub.com or phone 1-800-241-4056. (If you live outside the U.S., phone 419-227-1818.)
**************
About the Editors
John E. Sumwalt is the pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee, and is the author of eight books for CSS. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), John received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for Parish Ministry from UDTS in 1997. John is known in the Milwaukee area for his one-minute radio spots which always include a brief story. He concludes each spot by saying, "I'm John Sumwalt with 'A Story to Live By' from Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church."
John has done numerous storytelling events for civic, school, and church groups, as well as on radio and television. He has performed at a number of fundraisers for the homeless, the hungry, Habitat for Humanity, and women's shelters. Since the fall of 1999, when he began working on the Vision Stories series, he has led seminars and retreats around the themes "A Safe Place to Tell Visions," "Vision Stories in the Bible and Today," and coming this spring: "Soul Growth: Discovering Lost Spiritual Dimensions." To schedule a seminar or a retreat, write to jsumwalt@naspa.net or phone 414-257-1228.
Joanne Perry-Sumwalt is director of Christian Education at Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee. Jo is a graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Parkside, with a degree in English and writing. She has co-authored two books with John, Life Stories: A Study In Christian Decision Making and Lectionary Tales For The Pulpit: 62 Stories For Cycle B. Jo writes original curriculum for church classes. She also serves as the secretary of the Wisconsin chapter of the Christian Educators Fellowship (CEF), and is a member of the National CEF.
Jo and John have been married since 1975. They have two grown children, Kathryn and Orrin. They both love reading, movies, long walks with Chloe (their West Highland Terrier), and working on their old farmhouse in southwest Wisconsin.
**********************************************
StoryShare, March 27, 2005, issue.
Copyright 2005 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., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "The Door to Eternity"
Shining Moments: "Easter Stories" by Ralph Milton, Lisa Lancaster & Ned Dorau
Good Stories: "The Mortician's Tale" by John Sumwalt
Scrap Pile: "Jokes as Hospitality"
What's Up This Week
If Easter is about truth, about something real that happened to Jesus, then there should be signs of it in our everyday lives. And there are, if we will just open our eyes to see. Joan Borysenko tells about a remarkable Easter-like experience that occurred at the time of her mother's death in this week's Story to Live By. Ralph Milton, Lisa Lancaster, and Ned Dorau share similar personal experiences of the holy breaking into their lives in Shining Moments. For some good Easter fiction, check out John's "The Mortician's Tale" in Good Stories. And if you are looking for just the right joke to open the Easter sermon, check out some of John's favorites in the Scrap Pile.
A Story to Live By
The Door to Eternity
So you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth, for you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.
Colossians 3:1-3
The night that she was dying I was sitting by [my mother's] bedside in the hospital. It was about three in the morning. My son Justin, who was 20 at the time, was sitting on the opposite side of the bed. We'd both been meditating and praying for my mother, and the room was very still.
Suddenly I had a vision -- and believe me, I'm not the sort of person who's prone to visions. And in that vision I was a pregnant mother giving birth to a baby, but I was also simultaneously the baby. That's an amazing thing: to find yourself conscious of being two people at once. And as the baby, I was coming out through a dark tunnel, and I came out into an experience of ineffable light -- just like the light that people talk about when they have a near-death experience. And in that moment, my entire life with my mother made sense, and it seemed perfect that she had birthed me into this world, and it seemed that I had just birthed her soul back out of the world. And I felt such gratitude for her.
When I opened my eyes, the room was literally filled with light. You could see it. You could see particles of light. And I looked across the bed and there was my son weeping, tears just pouring from his eyes. And he looked at me and he said, "Can you see the light in the room?" And I nodded and he said, "It's Grandma; she's holding open the door to eternity for us so that we can have a glimpse."
(Joan Borysenko, from Angels: The Mysterious Messengers, Ballantine, 1994, pp. 57-58)
Shining Moments
Easter Stories
...but God raised him on the third day and allowed him to appear, not to all the people but to us who were chosen by God as witnesses, and who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead.
Acts 10:40-41
Ralph Milton
Not long ago, at about 9:00 on a Sunday night, I had a call from my sister Peggy saying that our sister June had died. It was not an unexpected death. June was cursed with a tobacco addiction she was never able to shake, and so the last years of her life were spent in a half-life of emphysema, hooked up to oxygen, struggling to breathe. June was a vivacious, joyous, musical person, and it caused us much pain to see her living that way. So her death, when it came, was a blessing.
But I grieved anyway. That night, as I went to bed, I suddenly found myself with June and Peggy, and we were singing together as we often did as children -- loud and high and clear in our childhood voices the songs from Humperdinck's Hansel and Gretel: "When at night I go to sleep, fourteen angels watch do keep..." and the final line, "two to whom 'tis given to guide my steps to heaven."
This was not just a memory. It was far too clear and powerful, and I sang through the whole song, every word, with my sisters. I don't know if I was asleep or not, but I don't think I was. I don't recall ever having a memory or a dream as clear and powerful as that one. And it left me with a sense of joy and peace and thanksgiving.
I've told a number of people about that vision, and in each telling, and the feedback that it brings, I've understood it a bit more and valued it more deeply as my farewell to a much-treasured sister.
Ralph Milton has worked in Christian communication most of his adult life, serving in the Philippines, New York, and in his native Canada. He is a co-founder of Canada's largest religious publishing house, Wood Lake Books, and is the author of more than a dozen books. Milton edits "Rumors," a weekly online magazine of humor and faith, which is available free by sending an e-mail note to him at ralphmilton@woodlake.com. His efforts in Christian communication, especially his work in the field of humor and faith, have brought him two honorary doctorates from Canadian theological schools.
*************
Lisa Lancaster
John and I were good friends. His wife Katie and I just remained acquaintances. Then I found out that Katie had cancer, and that it had progressed to the point that there was no hope for recovery. I was able to be a support to John, but Katie pushed me away, right up until the very end. I always felt so unsettled that I had been able to help him, but not her or their three children. I had this nagging feeling for weeks that I had not done enough.
Then one night I dreamed about Katie. She walked toward me, with her hand outstretched for a handshake, and said to me, "I want to thank you for all that you did for my family." I knew it was actually a visitation, and I have always been grateful to God for this, and to Katie, for reassuring me in a way that finally enabled me to let go.
Lisa Lancaster was ordained as a pastor in the Presbyterian Church (USA) in 1987. After pastoring a church for four years, she answered a call to specialized ministry as a chaplain, becoming board certified by the Association of Professional Chaplains in 1994. For the past eleven years she has served as Chaplain/Director of Pastoral Care at CentraState Health Care System. She has taught on the topic "High Death Awareness" at a national conference. Lisa and her husband Richard, a research meteorologist, live in Millstone Township, New Jersey, with their "four-legged children" (one cat, one dog) and enjoy traveling.
*************
Ned Dorau
I recently baptized the second daughter of an Arizona couple, Kris and Mark. They had journeyed to Random Lake, Wisconsin, with the baby and their first daughter, Alexandra. Kris is originally from a Catholic family in the area, and her husband Mark, a Lutheran, is from Eau Claire. They are both active members of a Lutheran church in Arizona, and they thought that by having the baptism in Wisconsin, the whole family could be present for the joy that is always part of that special day. Many from the Catholic side of the family came to church that Sunday in late November, and we celebrated together during the liturgy and afterwards. I had the privilege of meeting Kris's dad, Tom, who, with his wife, had been a lifelong Random Lake resident before moving to Plymouth the previous year for health reasons.
Several days later, Kris sent me an e-mail with a wonderful picture from the baptism, and the sad news that her dad, Tom, whom I had met less than two weeks earlier, had suffered a massive stroke and had irreversible brain damage.
At Tom's funeral I once again connected with the whole family, this time at the Catholic church. As I greeted Tom's wife and daughter Kris, they shared a special story about Alexandra. A couple of days before Kris's mother called her in Arizona to tell her of her dad's death, Kris had noticed her little daughter Alexandra returning again and again to a wedding picture she had in the kitchen of her with her parents. Each time Alexandra came to the picture she would say, "Mommy, Grandma, Grandpa. Grandpa go bye-bye." The statement concerned Kris so much that she immediately called her parents to make sure her father was all right. She was relieved when her father answered the phone. He talked to her about what a beautiful day it was and how much he was enjoying it.
A couple of days later, the call came from Wisconsin, confirming what little Alexandra had already sensed. The family understands her experience as a special moment for them, reinforcing the belief that the Lord indeed works in mysterious and wonderful ways.
Ned Dorau is a native of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, who earned his M.Div. degree from St. Francis Seminary in Milwaukee after a first career in business. He is the pastor of St. Paul's Lutheran Church in Random Lake, Wisconsin, where he is near family in suburban Milwaukee and close to longtime interests like the Milwaukee Symphony and Florentine Opera, the Milwaukee Brewers, and Marquette basketball.
Good Stories
The Mortician's Tale
by John Sumwalt
...she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?" Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away." Jesus said to her, "Mary!" She turned and said to him in Hebrew, "Rabbouni!" (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, "Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, 'I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.' " Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, "I have seen the Lord"; and she told them that he had said these things to her.
John 20:14-18
It was on a warm Saturday afternoon, late in the spring of 1911. I'll never forget the day. I had just returned from my regular Saturday fishing excursion with old Doc Hallister. We hadn't caught any fish -- we rarely did -- but we enjoyed each other's company. Doctors and morticians have many things in common. I used to kid him that my job was to bury his mistakes, and he used to accuse me of hovering around his office door like a vulture. This incipient black humor was just between us: a way of coping with the stresses and tensions of our work. He confided in me once that he had never gotten used to watching people die. He said it was his business to keep people alive. That was why he had become a doctor. He felt like a failure when death won the day. That was the way he had put it. Young people and children, whose mothers he had attended at their birthing, were the hardest, he said. I told him it was the same for me. Friends and the children of friends were the most difficult for me to bear. But we were both philosophical about it. These were our callings, after all: his to care for the dying, mine to prepare the dead for burial. So we went fishing every Saturday -- if he wasn't out in the country somewhere delivering a baby, and if I wasn't embalming a corpse -- and we talked about other things: politics and books we had read, the best tenor we had ever heard, women we had known or would like to have known, and baseball, the other great passion we shared. We were planning to take the train to Chicago to see the White Sox play in their new stadium, Comiskey Park, they called it. He never did get to go. I went with my wife a few years after he died, and I thought of him as we sat in the upper deck. Doc was a great source of comfort for me. I was glad that he was still alive after what happened on that Saturday afternoon.
As I pulled into the dooryard that day, I saw a rider bent over his horse, waiting for me under the butternut tree just beyond the gate. I pulled my rig over beside him. When he raised his head, I was able to see his face beneath the brim of his hat. It was one of Rupert Jones' boys. Rupert was a dairy farmer who lived about four miles outside of town, beyond the railroad bridge on the other side of the Little Pine River. He and I had been chums in grammar school, and we worked the railroad together when we were young bucks. We ran around together to dances and barn raisings, chasing some of the same girls. He went into farming with his father after he married Pearl, and I joined Pa in the mortuary business. Rupert had asked me to be godfather for his first boy, Frank. We didn't see each other much after that. This was one of the younger ones, Earl, I think his name was.
"Pa sent me to bring you," he said. "Frank's dead -- kicked by a horse this morning."
I didn't question him about the details. There was no need. It was a common occurrence in those days. I exchanged my fishing tackle for my embalming equipment, Earl tied his horse to the back of the buggy and joined me on the seat up front, and we were off. We rode in silence all the way out to the farm. Earl didn't say one word. He was in shock. I guessed that he must have been present when it happened, and I didn't try to get him to talk. It would all come out when he was ready.
The farmyard was already filled with neighbors who had come as soon as they heard. Wagons and buggies were parked all along the driveway. Some of the men had simply unhitched their work horses from the plow and ridden them across the fields. They stood in their harnesses with heads low, glad for an opportunity to rest early in the day. The men stood near their animals, speaking in quiet voices, going over the details of the accident. Small children were chasing each other around the barn. Rupert shook my hand when I got down from the buggy and thanked me for coming. He took me directly into the house, past the parlor filled with neighbor women, through the front hall and the kitchen, and onto the back porch, a lean-to room that had been added to the house as an afterthought and served as a summer kitchen. It was a large screened-in room, meant only for warm weather use. It served well for large family gatherings and as a place to feed threshing crews at harvest time. In the fall, when the air turned cold, they butchered deer and rabbits there and hung the carcasses up to cure for a few days before canning or smoking. Pearl was there with Frank's two sisters and several other women relatives. They had laid Frank's body out under a sheet on a long hardwood table, with only his head exposed. I expressed my sympathy to Pearl, and then asked them to excuse me for a little while so that I could prepare the body. They all filed out, wiping their eyes, blowing their noses, and leaning on each other for support. The sight of me had set off a new round of weeping. It always did. I was the final harbinger of death. There was no denying it, no more hoping that it wasn't true, after I arrived to do my work.
I pulled the sheet back and surveyed the body. There was a large red welt on the chest, but no marks on the head or face. The technical part of my job would be easy. I set myself immediately to the task at hand, trying not to let myself think too much about the life of this handsome, well-muscled young lad whose body lay before me. I would weep later, on the way home: get it all out, as I always did, before I greeted my own son. Oh, how my heart ached for Rupert and Pearl, but I put it out of my mind so I could do what I had to do. I had turned to get the needle and hose out of my bag when I heard a voice behind me speak my name.
"Mr. Cummens, is that you?"
I was startled to say the least. I turned around and there was Frank, sitting up on the edge of the table. He pulled the sheet around his body to cover himself. Then he spoke again.
"I know why you're here, and I won't interrupt you for long, but I have to tell you something before I go. Promise me you'll remember what I say. It's important that Ma and Pa hear the whole story. It will make it easier for them."
I promised him that I would listen carefully and tell them all that he said.
"Pa and I haven't been getting along," he said. "I was planning to run away and get a job in the city. I took some money out of the cash box -- about $50 -- just enough to get me started. I would have paid it all back. It's buried next to the big rock under the apple tree in the barnyard. I was going to leave in the morning while they were all at church. Pa probably doesn't know the money is missing yet, but he'll find out as soon as he looks in the cash box, and he'll know it was me that took it. I want you to see that he gets it back. And I want you to tell him and Ma that I am sorry for the trouble I caused them, and that I will always love them."
Then he laid his head back down on the table and was still. I stood there, numb, for a long time. I couldn't move; I couldn't think. Finally, I forced myself to go over and touch the body. It was cold and there was no pulse. Afterward, I wasn't sure if it was Frank's ghost or Frank himself, in the flesh, who had sat up and spoken to me, but I had no doubt that it had happened. The words that he asked me to remember are forever embedded in my memory.
The family must have wondered what was taking me so long. When I finished, at last, I bid them come in. Some of the men brought in the coffin and placed it by the table. Frank's mother and sisters would wash and dress him, and then his body would be placed in the coffin and carried into the living room for the wake that would go on all through the night and into the next day, until the time of the funeral. I would come back with the horse hearse and the preacher. My work would be complete after the procession and the burial in the cemetery. I picked up my bag of embalming equipment and the large blue bottle filled with Frank's blood, which I would dispose of later, and asked Rupert to join me outside. I walked out toward the apple tree in the barnyard with Rupert following along. When we came to the big rock, I picked up a stick and dug around until I found the package of money wrapped in a piece of old oilcloth. I gave it to Rupert, and then I told him everything that Frank had said. When I was finished, he grabbed me and hugged me to his big farmer frame so hard that I thought for sure he had broken several of my ribs. Then he turned, without saying a word, and went back into the house.
When I had finished repeating the story to old Doc, as we sat fishing on the bank of the Little Pine the following Saturday morning, he leaned back against a log, blew a big puff of smoke from his pipe, and said, "I'll be damned. Maybe death doesn't win!"
This story is shared in memory of Eleanor Cummings Steinhaus, who was a funeral director, with her husband Carl, in Montello, Wisconsin, from 1947 to 1976. They inherited the business from her father, C.A. Cummings, who founded it in 1905. Eleanor was the first woman to be licensed as a funeral director in Wisconsin.
Scrap Pile
Jokes as Hospitality
by John Sumwalt
Telling a good joke is a form of hospitality. I am not much for telling canned jokes in my sermons, but every once in a while I will slip one in if I think it is funny. It helps people to relax and it helps me establish a rapport that makes dialogue possible.
I usually save one of my favorite jokes of the year for Easter Sunday. I know there will be a lot of visitors present and I know that a good joke will help them feel at home. Laughter has a way of opening the heart. It is the verbal form of a warm embrace, which is the beginning of good communication.
I try to find what I think is a very funny joke (the sure winner) to tell on Easter (there are not that many around that you can tell in church). Someone sent me a good one recently that purports to be a true story. It is very funny and he insisted that it could be told in church, but alas, it is one of those "true" stories that circulate on the internet which sounds too good to be true... and is. I had actually figured out a way to tell it in the Easter sermon when I discovered that it is fiction -- which I think ruins the usefulness of this particular joke. Check it out for yourself. It is a good laugh which may help you get through Holy Week if nothing else. (http://www.bighoaxes.com/hoaxe_12_360.html)
My favorite joke of the year is the following one about four brothers. It is new to me, and if I can figure out a way to tell it as part of the Easter sermon, I will. If not, it will be just as funny at Easter dinner at my brother's house. And it will certainly preach on Mother's Day.
Four Brothers
Four brothers left home for college, and they all became very successful businessmen. Some years later, they chatted after having dinner together. They discussed the gifts that they were able to give to their elderly mother, who lived far away in another city.
The first said, "I had a big house built for Mama."
The second said, "I had a $100,000 theater built in the house."
The third said, "I had my Mercedes dealer deliver her an SL600."
The fourth said, "Listen to this. You know how Mama loved reading the Bible -- and you know she can't read it anymore because she can't see very well. I met this priest who told me about a parrot that can recite the entire Bible. It took 20 priests 12 years to teach him. I had to pledge to contribute $100,000 a year for 20 years to the church, but it was worth it. Mama just has to name the chapter and verse, and the parrot will recite it." The other brothers were impressed.
After the holidays, Mom sent out her "thank you" notes. She wrote: "Milton, the house you built is so huge. I live in only one room, but I have to clean the whole house. Thanks anyway."
"Marvin, I am too old to travel. I stay at home and I have my groceries delivered, so I never use the Mercedes. The thought was good. Thanks."
"Michael, you gave me an expensive theater with Dolby sound. It could hold 50 people, but all my friends are dead, I've lost my hearing, and I'm nearly blind. I'll never use it. Thank you for the gesture just the same."
"Dearest Melvin, you were the only son to have the good sense to give a little thought to your gift. The chicken was delicious. Thank you."
If you have a good one you have been saving for Easter, I would love to hear it. Write to us at jsumwalt@naspa.net.
Here is the joke I told last Easter. It was a winner. It may also be a true story, but in this case it doesn't matter one way or the other.
The Pastor's Cat
There was once a pastor that had a kitten that climbed up a tree in his backyard, and then was afraid to come down. The pastor coaxed and offered warm milk, but the kitty would not come down. The tree was not sturdy enough to climb, so the pastor decided that if he tied a rope to his car and drove away so that the tree bent down, he could then reach up and get the kitten.
He did! All the while, checking his progress in the car frequently, he figured if he went just a little bit further, the tree would be bent sufficiently for him to reach the kitten. But as he moved a little further forward, the rope broke.
The tree went "boiiing!" and the kitten instantly sailed through the air out of sight. The pastor felt terrible.
He walked all over the neighborhood asking people if they'd seen a little kitten. Nobody had seen a stray kitten. So he prayed, "Lord, I just commit this kitten to your keeping," and went on about his business.
A few days later he was at the grocery store, and met one of his church members. He happened to look into her shopping cart and was amazed to see cat food. Now this woman was a cat hater and everyone knew it, so he asked her, "Why are you buying cat food when you hate cats so much?" She replied, "You won't believe this," and told him how her little girl had been begging her for a cat, but she kept refusing. Then a few days before, the child had begged again, so the mom finally told her little girl, "Well, if God gives you a cat, I'll let you keep it."
She told the pastor, "I watched my child go out in the yard, get on her knees, and ask God for a cat. And really, Pastor, you won't believe this, but I saw it with my own eyes. A kitten suddenly came flying out of the blue sky, with its paws outspread, and landed right in front of her."
Never underestimate the Power of God.
(From "Stories For The Soul," http://www.geocities.com/ppotn/soul.html)
**********************************************
How to Share Stories
You have good stories to share, probably more than you know: personal stories as well as stories from others that you have used over the years. If you have a story you like, whether fictional or "really happened," authored by you or a brief excerpt from a favorite book, send it to StoryShare for review. Simply click here share-a-story@csspub.com and e-mail the story to us.
**************
New Book
The third book in the vision series, Shining Moments: Visions of the Holy in Ordinary Lives (edited by John Sumwalt), is now available from CSS Publishing Company. (Click on the title for information about how to order.) Among the 60 contributing authors of these Chicken Soup for the Soul-like vignettes are Ralph Milton, Sandra Herrmann, Pamela J. Tinnin, Richard H. Gentzler Jr., David Michael Smith, Anne Sunday, Nancy Nichols, William Lee Rand, Gail Ingle, and Rosmarie Trapp, whose family story was told in the classic movie The Sound of Music. The stories follow the lectionary for Cycle A.
Other Books by John & Jo Sumwalt
Sharing Visions: Divine Revelations, Angels, and Holy Coincidences
Vision Stories: True Accounts of Visions, Angels, and Healing Miracles
Life Stories: A Study in Christian Decision Making
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle A
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle B
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle C
Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit: 62 Stories for Cycle B
You can order any of our books on the CSS website; they are also available from www.amazon.com and at many Christian bookstores. Or simply e-mail your order to orders@csspub.com or phone 1-800-241-4056. (If you live outside the U.S., phone 419-227-1818.)
**************
About the Editors
John E. Sumwalt is the pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee, and is the author of eight books for CSS. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), John received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for Parish Ministry from UDTS in 1997. John is known in the Milwaukee area for his one-minute radio spots which always include a brief story. He concludes each spot by saying, "I'm John Sumwalt with 'A Story to Live By' from Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church."
John has done numerous storytelling events for civic, school, and church groups, as well as on radio and television. He has performed at a number of fundraisers for the homeless, the hungry, Habitat for Humanity, and women's shelters. Since the fall of 1999, when he began working on the Vision Stories series, he has led seminars and retreats around the themes "A Safe Place to Tell Visions," "Vision Stories in the Bible and Today," and coming this spring: "Soul Growth: Discovering Lost Spiritual Dimensions." To schedule a seminar or a retreat, write to jsumwalt@naspa.net or phone 414-257-1228.
Joanne Perry-Sumwalt is director of Christian Education at Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee. Jo is a graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Parkside, with a degree in English and writing. She has co-authored two books with John, Life Stories: A Study In Christian Decision Making and Lectionary Tales For The Pulpit: 62 Stories For Cycle B. Jo writes original curriculum for church classes. She also serves as the secretary of the Wisconsin chapter of the Christian Educators Fellowship (CEF), and is a member of the National CEF.
Jo and John have been married since 1975. They have two grown children, Kathryn and Orrin. They both love reading, movies, long walks with Chloe (their West Highland Terrier), and working on their old farmhouse in southwest Wisconsin.
**********************************************
StoryShare, March 27, 2005, issue.
Copyright 2005 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., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
